This was what it was like, to be at war.
To be a soldier.
Daryl always wondered, (though not enough to sign himself up) what it would be like to go to war.
To be a soldier.
Merle was a soldier. Semper fi and all that shit.
Nah, Daryl was never any good at taking advice, much less orders.
Merle joined the Marines to escape.
Daryl was never that brave (or stupid)
But this. This was war. This was hellfire and damnation.
This was what it was like to fight for your freedom.
He felt like a soldier (under a Ricktatorship) as he lifted the AR15 To his shoulder and pulled the trigger, popping off assholes where they lay.
A harsh, humorless laugh bubbled up from his throat.
He woulda made a damn good Sniper had he ever joined up.
The train of thought, and the laugh was cut short as something caught his eye.
There was a flash, a glint on metal a head that rolled, a spray of blood and a child.
Like a set of photographs, the scene played out before him.
Life, sometimes to Daryl, was like a stack of polaroid's.
Freeze framed in succession.
Towns person, twenty feet to his left.
Walker, Six feet fourteen inches to his right.
Carol was twenty feet away, ducked under an alcove, safe.
(Damn woman, pitching a God damned fit the moment it was suggested that she stay home)
(of course, there wasn't a single damn shred of pride in his gut as she shot down the towns person and the walker. Nope, not a damn one.)
(Taught her everything she knew.)
Governor on the roof.
Two small white dots- (take note of that) (It's out of place)
Martinez to the left, fifteen feet and a half feet, facing west. (shot in the leg)
Michonne, also on the roof.
Rick two hundred, down the street, to the right, ducking over Maggie.
The world snapped to. All silence gone. All numb and void and static silence that had filled his ears moments ago. Gone.
He felt ice spread down his spine as he saw the spark of a match.
A grin so vile and white that it should have belonged in a comic book (Or the Dr. Susues's the Grinch.)
(He wasn't sure where that image came from- some repressed Childhood memory brought on by head trauma, he was sure) was reflected in the tiny spark.
But then, it was gone, as fire light and dawn glinted on a long blade. (Two more white dots in the darkness. White teeth too. Not a grin, a grimace.)
The man known as Phillip Blake's head fell to the roof, his blood spraying and his body crumpling under Michonne's blade.
But Daryl knew it was too late.
The fuse lit would blow the gin apart in ten and a half seconds. (eleven if he was lucky)
Would blow the two little white dots apart.
(White dots, he now knew, being the eyes of a small black boy. Had he not seen the whites of his eyes, he would have never noticed the boy hidden next to the body of a long dead woman with skin the same color)
The thought process lasted no more than two seconds from start to end before Daryl was running.
He skid to a halt on his knees like a Babe Ruth into home (did he play that position? Oh who the fuck cared? He never liked baseball any'how.) The popping of charges went off in his ears.
He wouldn't be able to make it, he knew that much. Wouldn't be able to lift the boy and carry him away.
So he did what he could as the metal started to fall.
He grabbed ahold of the boy's legs and threw the boy (and a prayer of safekeeping) to the right with all the strength he had left in his tired body.
Kid didn't weigh anything more than a sack of flour, Daryl thought as he watched the boy fly through the air, all limbs and feet.
He didn't know if the boy had landed in the grass like he'd planned. (Though, he was probably killed anyhow, his head smashing into earth) He wouldn't know if the boy survived.
But as he braced himself for death as the metal rained down upon him, he thought he was okay with that.
And now everyone! for another installment of how to write badly, with Hannah Beth!
*sigh*
This. Was. Interesting.
WHYISDARYL('sintellagence)SOHARDTOWRITE?!
damn that bastard for being so smart.
This chapter is horrible. But ya'll will survive. I dare say.
As always, thanks for reading and PLEASEREVIEW!
because this near killed me.
And well, I need some sort of life support.