Bayonet
Merle vs. governor but plans goes awry and so does a certain bullet. 1st person crazy headspace with filthy language, racial slurs and disrespecting women. In other words, the Merle we love and love to hate. Merle and all other characters from TWD are not owned by me. The OC is owned by me (much good it will do me). Much of this will be a character study and it all will be 1st person study from multiple characters point of view. I will try to keep it somewhat canon but much of it will be behind the scenes that we know best. Slight alterations will occur due to ramifications of that certain bullet going astray and our favorite antihero having some luck for once. Merle is a southerner but I most certainly am not. That being said I tried to make his speaking voice be close to Southern speech.
This is a rewrite folks; thanks to my amazing Beta, Sinvisigoth the grammar and the flow of the story should hopefully improve (other than this note). My thanks for her thoughts and support. It's great to have the constructive criticism that I've needed for a long time.
~Lefty~Merle POV.
"I ain't gonna beg. I ain't begging you!"
I looked into the governors emotionless blue eye, and although my battered body was screaming a litany of curses at him, I had lost so much that I had to hold onto my pride and go down fighting like a Dixon; tough and stubborn to the bitter end. The gunshot rang out, hit me in the chest and played ping pong in my insides, careening through me like a drunk on payday before crashing through my back. The only problem with that idea was that, impossibly, this was not my end. To hurt this much and not die, well that's just fucking wrong…I WANTED to die now. You make an entrance, do your job and if you do it well, then you get to make an exit. If not, then you go out on your own terms. To understand this you have to rewind this crazy world a couple of days. Bear with me. You know you can't resist the Dixon charm.
There's no place for me in this world, not anymore. The governor sees me as a traitor to be killed and Officer Friendly's group sees me as the Devil, someone to keep around and use for the dirtiest of work. Where can I fit? I won't go down to Crazy Eye's level. Maybe if I take out enough of Crazy Eye's fighters…just maybe Daryl will be okay and maybe - that's a big maybe - all will be forgiven on their end. Well, that was the idea anyway. Anyone will tell you I'm a selfish bastard and I won't deny it. Call me anything but soft, but my baby brother will always come first with me. He's still got a chance and I will do anything for him; maybe I can make up for not being there for him when he was a kid.
He's all I've ever had. I wasn't a good brother to him. I wasn't there when he wanted me, needed me. Even when I was gone, I thought of him, imagined what he'd say to shit I was doing. We're eight years apart, too much to really grow up together, but too little for me to really be able to raise him. Having him kept me from having a bullet for lunch several times. Come on, look at me, who in their right mind would think I should take care of a kid? And people think I'm stupid…right. Some simple minded piece of shit that's what you think…yes? Except that's not true; I think, I feel. I have to work with the hand I've been dealt. As I told Michonne, I only have one. Too bad it's not a very good one. But I've always been good at making the best of nothin', because that's all I've ever had. Daryl being the greatest exception to that.
Our Daddy was a drunken bastard, dumb as a box of rocks and loved to cause misery, especially to his family. Daryl and I are covered in belt marks courtesy of that evil sonofabitch. I hoped that when I left he would stop hitting, since I couldn't ever stop myself from provoking the stupid bastard. I think now I was hiding the ugliest of truths from myself. But not smart enough to see it right before my eyes, and powerless to prevent it. Daryl paid the price for that mistake and I see my sins on every scar etched in his back by my daddy's belt. No matter that I have at least double the marks he does. That don't matter; he shouldn't have any marks. He was a good kid, sweet, only wanted to please. In another family he would have been perfect. As a Dixon he was a pussy. I worked hard to toughen him up so he'd be Okay when I had to leave. I knew it was only a matter of time. So I taught him to hunt and track to live off the land, to survive alone in the woods. I hope I raised him well enough. Who knew those were exactly the skills we need for surviving a fuckin' apocalypse?
Our Momma was a sad, lumpish housewife who tried to drink away the bruises and broken bones. Easier than to get up off her butt and actually stop all the abuse. She finally ended herself when Daryl was about ten by passing out in bed with a lit cigarette and setting herself afire. What else she gonna do? High school sweetheart, dropped out to be a mommy. She must have had shit for brains to put up with the crap that my daddy dished out. I remember how she loved Daryl for about two days until he cried at night. She was shaking him and instead just tossed him on the bed where he cried and cried. I told her it's ok, I'll watch him. Picture of maternal concern was my mamma. See, you can't judge a book by its cover; I don't actually eat babies for lunch, and I am quite good with them. It's just that their Mothers don't like the look of me. I honestly can't blame them; even I have to admit that I avoid the mirror more often than not.
I've always been a selfish bastard, and ruthless. Taking Michonne to Woodbury to be a torture surprise for governor didn't taste too good any more. So, being a dumbass, I kick Michonne out of the car and make it my own party. I just can't lower myself to the governor's level knowing what he will do. I might be a real piece of work, and I often don't understand why I come to the decisions I do, but its done come time to take a stand. Maybe Mouse is right and I am a late bloomer. Things that were okay a month ago don't sit so well anymore. I may not live to see Daryl again but I can choose a good way to end this sorrowful life of mine. I doubt I will survive this; about as much chance as finding a vegetarian walker. Turns out even the best constructed military plans go awry. And the military couldn't handle ol' Merle anyway. I have a small chance to survive. Let's see if I'm as good at this shit as I think I am.
So, how to make a good diversion to buy me some time to take my shots. I find a bunch of geeks and herd them to Woodbury. Damn slowest idiots ever. Shit. I thought I'd run out of gas. I'm the fuckin' Pied Piper of walkers. So I finally get there with my little bunch of admirers, take cover, and set up my ambush in an old warehouse. I put my rifle out the window, still a little clumsy as I have to sight out of my right eye but have to use the trigger with my left hand, my only hand. Adjusting the sights and shooting is fuckin' awkward one handed.
I start to think my little game of distracting the governor's thugs with my herd of hungry admirers is gonna work. I start picking the stupid bastards off while they're busy. I keep moving window to window so they don't draw a bead on me until I get them all. I am so close to getting the governor as well but then unfortunately one of the walkers found me and attacked me while I was sniping and I got revealed. I was surrounded by the dumbasses that I used to lead and they took pleasure kicking the shit outta me. I covered my head with my hand and little Merle my prosthetic –but I still took some damage. I felt a rib go but protected my head somewhat. Then the governor showed up.
"Leave him to me," with the emptiest tone of voice. Deader than those brainless bastards trying to chew my ass off.
He tussled me a bit. Choked me. Never thought he was so strong. He's taller but I thought I was meaner as well as stronger; turns out I was wrong. As he was beating the living shit outta me, the coldness in his eye chilled me to the bone. He was dead to the core of his being, more so than the corpses. I wonder how he hid that behind his politeness and cold charm that never quite seemed right. He might have only one eye but I was the one who was blinded. Typical Merle, dumbass bullshit; throwing in for the wrong thing and forgetting what was important.
Then he bit my smallest two fingers off of my remaining hand. REALLY! He enjoys being cruel and brutal does the governor. Now I truly want to die. I can't be a cripple. How does one survive with that much damage to their hands? I refuse to be seen as weak. No-one knows how hard I have to work at not seeming gimpy with only one hand, even with the bayonet.
Have you ever tried to tie your boots one handed or do your belt? Or even cut your food and eat without looking like an animal? Not. Easy. Then he grabbed my bayonet arm and yanked it opposite of the elbow. SNAP. There goes the bone above the elbow. Red hot lava exploded inside my arm, right above the metal supports. Shit shit shit that fuckin' HURT!
I refuse to beg and I won't be a cripple but I'm too broken to use a gun anymore; my plan's gone to shit. I WON'T BEG. I just hope what I did is enough. Goodbye, Daryl. You always were the sweet one, the smarter one, and I love you even if I couldn't say it. One of my earliest lessons in this cruel world was that you have to be tough to survive all the ugliness and at times fight back with ugliness of your own. No, I don't think it's enjoyable; it's just what I had to do to be a survivor. Ain't as cold as most people think. Even a trashy redneck like me has to have some pride. Damn. So I won't beg, and I say so.
"I ain't gonna beg. I ain't begging you!"
I look the Governor in the face and expect his to be ironically the last face I see in this half assed existence. As I've said before, Karma is a wily bitch with a truly reprehensible sense of humor. Go figure; my death is a joke just like my whole fucking life was. Now I stare back with time a slowing down and I'm done ready to call it my end. At least my suffering is well and done.
Or not!
"No, Merle. Ya won't never have to beg; not while I'm here," said Daryl, who had just snuck in. He fires a bolt at the governor, hitting him high in the chest as he turns to his blind side, dropping him to the floor.
BANG. The governor's gun goes off and hits me mid chest at an angle
Oww my chest. Shit, is this what a heart attack feels like? I can't fuckin' breathe. It hurts. It hurts. I think my chest is shattered like a beer bottle in a bar brawl. Why can I still feel it? The force spins me and throws me down to the floor. The shock of still being alive and still being able to move a little sets in. I flip onto my left side and start coughing and breathing with blades of glass slicing me with every breath, laughing at the irony.
"What? Why are you here, baby brother?!"
He told me later he hit governor with a bolt. Right in the chest just like me. But he was too concerned about keeping me breathing to care about ending him.
"Damn pussy, Darylina, whatchya here for? Just lemme be. I ain't no good now".
"Shut up, Asshole; you don't get to fucking die. Shut up. Just breathe. Gotta stop the bleeding here hold this wrapper. Your chest sucks," he said as he pressed into my wounds to keep me from bleeding out. Yes, I did snicker at that.
Darylina, leave me, leave me. Why are you dragging me, you stupid motherless asshole? What are you doing? OHH, the Nubian queen; she came to help.
I found out later that she followed him. The only reason they caught up to me was the damn slow geeks and me playing Pied Piper of walkers. It's funny that the walkers in some crazy ass way saved ole Merle for the ladies. Hummph.
