Daisy | The Walking Dead

1. Neighbors

~Day one~

In the haunting embrace of an apartment living room bathed in eerie shadows, a young child sat huddled in the dusty recesses of a cob-web laden corner, her form a heart-rending display of anguish.

Her silhouette, frail and near skeletal, carried with it the weight of an insurmountable burden. 

The narrative of her harrowing past and the ceaseless cruelty of her present found expression not solely on her face but also in the violent tremors that shook her frame—a haunting testament to profound sorrow and the merciless theft of innocence. 

Each whimper, each ragged breath escaping from her cracked lips, every quiver that wracked her body wove together a tale meticulously penned by a fate determined to entangle her existence in an unending tapestry of trials and tribulations.

The room's ghostly hues and melancholic atmosphere seemed to blend into her pallor, casting her as an otherworldly figure—a specter attempting to dissolve into the very desolation that encompassed both herself and her surroundings.

The walls, once vibrant and full of life, now wore a veil of neglect. Time had etched its story onto their surfaces—peeling paint and remnants of forgotten wallpaper whispered tales of abandonment, each crack and imperfection a silent reverberation of the sheer terror that pervaded the air.

A solitary window fought to usher in traces of daylight, struggling through blinds that hung askew, twisted, and only partially drawn. Its effort was complemented by a fractured, grimy pane that offered a distorted glimpse into a world both remote and malevolently harsh, echoing the child's reality.

Stiffly enfolded within herself, the child tightly hugged her knees against her chest, her face buried between her legs and torso. Her hands, mirroring the tremors coursing through her body, pressed against her ears in a frantic bid to shut out the terrifying symphony outside—a dissonance where humanity's sorrow and rage clashed in an unsettling harmony.

The echoes of anguished screams seemed to transcend the boundaries of time, intertwining with the heart-wrenching cadence of gunshots that pierced the very fabric of the soul as mournful sirens wailed their lament, carrying the heavy burden of grief for the dead and dying. 

These sounds, born from the ashes of a world's demise, etched a solemn elegy-an anthem of finality where hope and despair grappled in what would be an eternal contest for dominance within the hearts of those who remained to bear witness.

In the depths of her distress, the girl felt a profound sense of disconnection, as though she were adrift in a bewildering haze that stubbornly refused to lift.

Fragments of her past emerged like shattered anchors to reality, each one a distant star flickering in an expansive cosmos of memories.

There, she captured ephemeral glimpses of her brother's smile, the resounding echoes of her father's screaming that reverberated through the apartment's walls, mere snippets of news anchors in a frenzied discourse about flu season, and the phantom feeling of her mother's touch that now lingered like a spectral whisper.

Yet, these threads of recollection remained enigmatic, their connection elusive as they wove together a mosaic of emotions and experiences. It was as if the puzzle pieces were scattered before her, yearning to be joined, yet defying her attempts to find the unifying thread that would bind them into coherence.

Reality felt distant, unreal, as if she were observing her entire life from a distant vantage point, separated by an invisible barrier.

Time lost its grip, hours merging seamlessly with minutes, becoming indistinguishable. She struggled to grasp the ebb and flow of temporal currents. How long had it been since that distant, numb sensation had crept into her being, severing her from the world's touch? How much time had slipped through her fingers as she clung to the shadows of non-existence?