R A N D O M || OS

197. (TWD) Daryl Dixon - Monsters Like Us

https://crossbowking.tumblr.com/

Summary: (Set late season 4) After the prison falls, the reader is forced to survive on their own. Soon after, they run into a group called "The Claimers" and things quickly go from bad to worse. But there they find a familiar face who may prove to be the difference between life and death.

Trigger Warning: This story is based around The Claimers who we know are horrible people. There is attempted sexual assault and general disturbing dialogue throughout this entire story so if this will be a trigger for you, please do not read.

Joe: leader of the pack, the one who gets his throat bitten out by our boy Rick.

Dan: creepy pedophile, the one who Rick guts.

Tony: wears black bandana, holds Michonne at gunpoint, is also killed my Michonne (yas queen).

Billy: wears blue beanie, one of the two that beats up Daryl, head stomped in by Daryl (yas king).

Harley: the second one who helps beat up Daryl, shot in the head by Michonne (though he plays a bigger role in my story).

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 The weather was starting to turn.

It had to be nearing November, you figured. Some days were still humid, the Georgian heat relentless even with the shifting weather — but today, even with the sun at its highest peak, you found yourself fighting a chill you couldn't shake.

The nights, on the other hand, were hollow.

Or maybe it wasn't the nights — maybe it was you. Maybe you were the hollow one now.

It was strange the way time passed — you were finding it harder and harder to distinguish between days, sunsets and sunrises blending into one long existence. It could've been weeks, even months since you'd been on your own. You could hardly tell anymore.

Sometimes if you sat with your thoughts for too long, you found yourself back there — as if you could still feel the tremble of the Earth as structures collapsed, smell the wafting smoke, hear the incessant barrage of gunfire. You had to keep your thoughts in check otherwise images of them would slip their way through your mind — and then, in turn, images of him.

You halted the thought dead in its tracks — no, you couldn't do that. You couldn't let yourself go there, couldn't let yourself feel what you so desperately needed to feel because it would surely consume you.

But your family was gone — dead, scattered, missing — it didn't really matter.

You'd never see them again.

"Stop," you hissed aloud, the word tumbling from your lips and into the silence around you. Your footsteps faltered — you hadn't spoken since the prison fell. Your own voice sounded nearly foreign to you, thick and croaky from being unused, the vocalization breaking the expanding voidness around you.

You came to an abrupt halt, spinning on your heels, seeing nothing but a sprawling forest surrounding you. The trees were full, leaves colored brilliant oranges and reds, stark against oaky branches. The woods appeared endless — like you'd accidentally stepped foot inside a storybook.

How long had you been walking? Where the fuck even were you?

You took a breath, forcing yourself to refocus. The tracks — where were the train tracks?

Two days ago you'd stumbled across them, spotting signage that informed you of some sort of 'sanctuary' called Terminus. It was probably bullshit — most likely bullshit — but you had nowhere else to turn to. You couldn't just keep walking as you had been the last few days — especially with your limited supplies dwindling.