SURVIVE.
❝ Let the end of the world be
inside you, then you don't
need to fear the end
of the world out there. ❞
THE WALKING DEAD.
DARYL DIXON.
BOOK ONE of the LANCASTER SAGA.
[ SEASONS 1 - 3 ]
******
I do not own The Walking Dead or any of its...
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[ xv. hangover ]
october 27th, 2010
➸➸➸
ASTRID AWOKE THE FOLLOWING morning, stiff and in much pain, face down on an uncomfortably small throw pillow. Confusion obliterated her, understanding vaguely that she did not know this place in the slightest. Where the hell was she?
Struggling to push herself up—her neck, her stomach, and her head all protesting her every movement—Astrid found her body had been curled up at the edge of a strange and unfamiliar cot-like bed. Across the room, a battered couch cradled the slumbering figure of Daryl Dixon, his left arm sprawled out, so it touched the carpeted floor. Astrid rolled her eyes at the sight. She could not believe her luck—or lack thereof—waking up next to the redneck hunter of all people.
With a groan, Astrid collapsed back onto the bed, her head throbbing with a relentless ache. She turned her gaze upward, her partially opened eyes fixating on the cracked and yellowed ceiling. It was a sight she remembered despite the rest of the clouds in her mind. She was still within the CDC, her sanctuary. She was still safe. The realization washed over her like a wave of relief. This was not some twisted dream.
As she lay there, the silence of the room was soon splintered by echoes of voices in the hallway. Shrill laughter and racing feet followed, and Astrid could only assume that Carl and Sophia were part of the group outside her door. As their footsteps drifted away down the hall, she knew they were in search of breakfast.
Astrid's own thoughts then shifted to food, and her stomach growled like a ferocious beast. Despite the feast they had enjoyed the previous night, it did not amount to the days she had spent scavenging for scraps before finding refuge within these cold steel walls. A part of her, she was convinced, would always be hungry in this new world.
Amidst Daryl's light snoring in the background of her mind, Astrid scowled. Such a simple sound, yet it aggravated her splitting headache. Gathering her strength, she sat up abruptly, causing her vision to blur momentarily. With a swift motion, she grabbed her pillow and hurled it mercilessly at Daryl's oblivious form. The pillow connected soundly with his face, and he jolted awake, instantly reaching for his knife, ready to face the supposed intruder. But there was no intruder—just Astrid.
"The hell was that?" Daryl growled, his eyes narrowed in confusion.
"Your snoring woke me up," Astrid snapped, brushing a lock of disheveled hair from her face. She moved to the edge of the bed and dropped her head to her knees, groaning. Her irritation was amplified by the pounding in her head.
"Hungover?" The hunter assumed from outside her vision.
Astrid nodded in defeat, admitting the obvious. "What about you?" She returned through gritted teeth. Slowly, she lowered herself off the bed and onto the soft floor. Holding her breath, she bent over her small bag as she searched for new clothing that did not reek of sweat and alcohol.
