what if he just died
the screams. the screams so miserable.
he's so weary.
he couldn't keep his word. what a man does that?
it had to occur, that in this world, words does not matter. not at all.
he decided to never speak shit again.
Dixons don't do pain. Whining and wincing is for pussies. Dixon men were brought up, almost trained, not to be weak. But Daryl was shambling, panting badly; too aware of his left side, which was reminding him how nice it'd been to not be injured. His own arrow.
the one that saved his life one many times.
And at that moment, the farm, where everyone were, seemed to be a distant memory, instead of a place in some distance. However, he was going back empty handed. That way he wished he hadn't came back, really.
useless trash.
He only hoped he wouldn't stumble across no undead dead bastard no more. Hell, he probably looked like one himself: half-alive, bloody, dirty, deathbringer.
so fucking tired.
As if the world was in the mood of mocking him, Daryl heard a rustle in the forest. Snatching his crossbow up, he squatted as fast as his wounded side allowed him, waiting. Observing. Everything else fell quiet. No other sounds in the whole area. The hunter would swear that an ant would be heard in this strangely quiet air. The rustle continued.
His mouth felt dry from hoarse inhales that allowed him to hear better. Arms already stiff. A tug of some kind of hope in the back of his head managed to form a thought - could it be her? Maybe she heard him fighting with those walkers. Maybe the forest carried his angry shouts at his brother.
imagined brother.
He wanted to call Sophia softly if it was her, but he knew better. Patience is the key. Nothing is certain.
Well, except maybe death. But even if you died, you wouldn't die for sure. Someone else were to give that to you.
if you were kind enough not to bite their face off first...
Suddenly the movement revealed a slow figure. And Daryl scowled mentally. It wasn't her.
another disappointment.
An arrow in the head was a mercy for that soul. Or whatever was once in there.
Adjusting his blood-soaked makeshift wound-dress, he sighed after retrieving his arrow from the walker's body. Damn he needed to get to the farm soon.
so fucking tired.
That's when he saw it.
There, where that one big tree laid silently and its roots created a core, where a small animal - or human - would find shelter for a while.
In that opening, Daryl spotted her. Crouching under the roots, with her back to the world. Her hair in more mess than August's hay bundles. Once blue shirt, now all covered in dirt and everything one could possibly make out of the forest ground.
"Sophia!" -the hunter called softly.
No reaction. He had to take few steps forward, feeling loud pounding of his heart. Her image gave him more energy, than he had while climbing that damned cliff. She had to be scared deathly. Probably she was hiding from that walker. But Hell, she was there!
"Sophia, it's okay! Come on, kid!"
She moved. Daryl didn't know what to expect from her reaction, when she'd see him. Of course he wasn't the first person a scared, young girl would want to see as her rescue. But still, he was her rescue after all. He saw her turning towards him slowly, and he stilled to not approach her too quickly. What if she spooked, thinking he was one of the dead..?
But then he heard her groan lousily and his heart sank.
no
I'm heading out. For the girl.
Her hands were covered in blood. Blood of a freshly devoured wild animal. She'd been feeding.
no
I believe this one.. bloomed for your...
Blue was dark red. Her shirt ragged. Stained. With blood.
her blood...
no
older brother's mocking laugh echoed in his head.
Strength. Hope…
no.
there was no hope.
Small arms were already stretching towards him. Eyes lifeless. Skin lifeless.
life lifeless...
Only snapping teeth and mindless hunger.
Daryl drew his knife, though he couldn't move an inch. He just waited as the groaning shell of a little girl approached him close enough.
Then he did what had to be done; by grabbing her hair, keeping her at distance. Far from his face, close enough to put the knife deep into the back of her head.
so small head. once innocent.
She fell limp in his arms.
dead lifeless.
And as Daryl looked at her pale, filthy face. As his eyes traced an old, ugly bite on her neck and shoulder. As he spotted dirt and blood under her fingernails... one thought came to his mind. A crow so dark and hungry, he knew, it's gonna feed on him for a very long time...
He failed.
He failed so fucking much.
What are you gonna do now, you scum? You can't do nothing right. Useless. All those pretty words and smiley teeth are not gonna do good for you, or for the world that around you.
Shut up...
But seriously, what now?
Go back? How?
He couldn't leave her body here. She deserved a burial. He could do it. Find a nice spot and dig a hole...
No, he didn't have an inch of energy left. Besides, they had to know. SHE had to know.
Oh, the fear. Sudden, even bigger fear crept in. The face of the mother. The very thought turned Daryl's guts. She believed him. She trusted him. The way her blue eyes searched for his, encouraged him to go. She knew, he was gonna find Sophia and bring her safe home.
Oh, you found her, alright. Killed her ye damn self. Now you gonna wrap the body in a nice paper and drop at mother's doorstep. She's gonna be so happy.
Daryl could only imagine.
But he promised. He gave her the word. I'll find her. I will track and bring her to you. You'll see.
He wanted to mean something. But what remains now, instead of empty words.
Decision made. Energy preserved. He suffered enough. Amazing, how self-hatred gives you that much of determination. I promised. Here ya go. I'm a scum. Alright. I know. Worth nothing. But I keep my words... He was so angry. But it mattered nothing.
Then, with nothing on his mind but a blank space, he lifted the lightweight in his arms and started heading back. He didn't complain about his pulsing side or his legs dragging heavily. There was only hatred eating on his whole body, that dimmed everything else.
A/N Hey, if you reached this point, I'd like to thank you for reading this! I'd really appreaciate any kind of comment/review, we are here to support each other! :)
The second, and last chapter is in progress! I was supposed to finish this the day before, but I got distracted by happy lit Caryl tag, and couldn't wrap my mind about depressing writing. I got lost, but I'm on it. Listening to unsettling and disturbing songs about abuse helps, I guess. For the next chap, I am listening (BUT IT'S NOT BASED ON) a song Daddy by Korn. (Not recommend for victims of any abuse).
What am I doing with this fic, hell, i have no idea. It's slightly OCC for Daryl, but I'm just exploring with psychology a bit... I hope.
Have nice days, people.
PS: THE WALKING DEAD SUNDAYS RETURN!