Everything blurred together in a maddened rush of conflicting memories and mixed up words, lost in a thick storm of mass insanity. The two had watched their family fall, one by one, horrified screams echoing through the tombs. Maggie, Beth, Rick, Glenn, Carl, everyone they had come to call family, and through every petrifying moment of this nightmare, they had grasped each other's trembling hands, as if this would make everything alright. As if their persistence would cure the disease clawing away at their friends souls, invading their bodies, poison spreading through their veins like gasoline.
"Daryl." Carol pleaded, "Stay with me, please, don't go." She cried, his cold hand still curled around hers, never letting go. It was just the two of them now, alone in this prison of cold souls, and dead bodies. Daryl stared up at Carol, despair clawing at his heart. He hated when she cried, he hated seeing her sad, loathed being unable to curl around her, and promise her anything. Daryl was curled in a corner, back painfully pressed up against the gray walls of the prison. Lying in a corner. Carol was crouched protectively infront of him, the knife he had given her clutched in one hand, while the other laced through his fingers.
The walkers were closing in on them now, bleak eyes hunting them, staggering towards them, eagerly awaiting the chance to feel the taste of their flesh in their teeth. It wasn't even that they wanted it, not that they found it interesting, or tasteful. The monsters didn't feel anything, emotionally, or physically. It seemed programmed into their robot hearts.
In a city of robot hearts, ours were made to beat.
Months before, Carol had whispered those words to Daryl. It was the first time they'd slept together. Not as in, sleep together. But, that night, in the darkness of their cell, Carol was curled in Daryl's arms like a baby, Daryl's face buried in the crook of her neck, hands laced with other. They hadn't said anything for hours, just stared at each other with this overwhelming sense of love. Trust. Daryl marveled at this woman, just gazing, and she gazed back. It had been raining, and the only sound that filled the cell was the repetitive song of eachothers breathing, and the blissful noise of the earth weeping, her tears falling until they met something solid. Carol opened her mouth for the first time in hours. "In a city of robot hearts, ours were made to beat." She had whispered, and Daryl had smiled, grinned even.
Now, as everything seemed to come to an end, the words ran marathons through their heads. It served as a means of persistence, kept them going to no end. It was half the reason Daryl kept fighting to stay awake, despite his eyes begging him to sleep, but he knew what that meant. They knew. He had been stabbed, the knife wound deep, and painful, though they both knew it was better than a bite. More injuries, scratches, punches, and it hadn't helped he hadn't eaten properly in months, but then again no one had. While Carol was repeating those words to herself, fighting a physical war of her own, to protect herself and the man she loved, Daryl repeated the same one's, fighting a war inside, staring at the woman he loved as if she were going to guide him away from the harm.
It was a hit she hadn't expected, a loud shot rang, and pain lurched in Carol's stomach. With a cry, she fell back against Daryl. It was like falling down the rabbit hole, as they both let sleep wrap it's selves around them like a warm blanket on a cold day. And still, they grasped eachothers hands.
In a city of robot hearts, ours were made to beat.
In a city of robot hearts, ours were made to beat.
It a city of robot hearts, ours were made to beat.
"Breath…Stay….with….me…"