Be me, be 24 years old now.
Being literally drug into the state institution by big, brawny security guards or in other words, ex mall cops. My counselor claims she fears for the health of others and myself, because for the past twenty visits instead of talking about my feelings and problems, I've gave her a complete, detailed recap of AMC's The Walking Dead in its entirety.
She has listed me as 'schizophernic' and 'possibly suicidal or homicidal,' I am told by some tall man in a white labcoat.
"I'm not crazy, sir! I'm not homicidal, I'm not sucidal or anything like that! I just love The Walking Dead! I don't see what's so wrong with that!" I scream at the man, myself near tears at just the mention of The Walking Dead; only two Sundays left until the season finale.
"Your obsession is unhealthy."
"You don't understand, Daryl is love. Daryl is life..."
The labcoat guy shakes his head and growls. "Take her away, solitary confinement." I scream obscenities at him, at the guards too as they grab me again, ready to carry me away when I am spared. I witness an arrow as its shot through the labcoats' head and the next one for one guard and one for the other. The surrounding paitents and staff scurry off to hiding. I turn slowly, arms confined by the straitjacket they wrapped me in, and before me stands Daryl Dixon all over again. I am so relieved.
"Let's git you outta here," Daryl quietly renounces, "But first..." He takes his knife out, a Bowie I assume, and cuts me free of my straitjacket. I hug him tightly like the night we met.
"Daryl, you never answered my..."
"Let's git you home."
Daryl and I break free from the institution and he sets me behind him on the back of his motorcycle for the ride home. I do not ask how he knows where I live, how he knew to begin with, I just wrap my arms around his waist on the ride and brush my fingers at the hem of his zipper from time to time until he's hard and then, without asking, I unzip his long, throbby dick and stroke the length with heavy, slick polishes. I can't see his face for his thick, grimy hair slapping me in the face in the wind, but that's okay. I am pleasing my hero I am sure.
When we make it to the curb, Daryl comes in my hand, filling my palm and between my fingers with his love. I draw my hand back and hop off the bike at rest, Daryl zipping himself back up quickly as my mother and D.J. step out on the porch, waving feverishly at Daryl. Wiping my sticky hands off on my jeans, I walk around to Daryl's side. He glances around me to my mom and D.J. and smiles.
"He's growin' up," Daryl laughs a little to himself. I disregard this.
"Daryl, will you please tell me something now? Now that you're here again? Are you Daryl Dixon for real...I mean, you are...right? You're not...just...Norman Reedus...but if you are, then why'd you do all this for me? How did you..."
"You believed in me, you put yer lost faith into my existence, kid. It doesn't matter who I am because you - and Robert Kirkman, gave me life. I just heard de callin' an' answered it, you did the rest."
My mouth I'm sure agape as I take in every thing he's just said, as deep as that was, all I can find myself easy to mutter is, "But that still doesn't answer my question..."
Daryl or Norman, whoever he is, rolls his beady eyes at me and kickstarts the motorcycle again. "Take care of our little asskicker."
"How in the hell will I ever know the truth?!" I nearly yell at him, but take it an iota down upon realizing the volume. He smirks.
"Maybe yer not supposed to know.."
"What?"
He nods to me and gives the bike gas, cutting out off into the street and into the sunset, eventually disappearing from sight.
That was the last time I ever saw him, even when I'd close my eyes and mumur, "Daryl is love, Daryl is life," he would never show up anymore. I guess he thought I was taken care of, I don't know; But other than on my tv screen every new season, I never saw him ever again.
I went on to raise my son and take care of us and my mother by working a part-time job waiting tables while attending college as well at the Arts Institute. After graduating, I was able to quit my part-time job and was hired full-time to draw floor plans for homes and businesses in the surrounding area. In spare time, I paint and doodle zombies for fun while taking care of my Daryl jr. My life has changed so much and for the best...all thanks to Daryl Dixon.
Thank you Daryl, thank you for everything, wherever you are.
Daryl is love, Daryl is life.