Daisy | The Walking Dead

2. Days gone bye

~Day fifty-nine~

Daisy Mae Linette reclined atop a weather-worn camper van, having found an unexpected ounce of comfort on the sun-soaked, rust-pocked metal. Her doe-like eyes, idly drifting across the pages of a book before her, were framed by a wild cascade of unruly golden-brown curls that tumbled into a wayward ponytail.

Her clothing, previously blood-soaked, grime-coated and near to tatters, had quietly undergone a transformation. Now, she was adorned in a slightly oversized ensemble, as though she'd borrowed a touch of whimsy from a kinder realm. Cartoon strawberries danced merrily on the pockets of her denim shorts, and a cherished baby pink t-shirt draped loosely over her form.

Despite the unrelenting sun's fierce embrace, its harsh rays coaxing glistening beads of sweat to caress her skin, she clung to her thick plaid coat. Its itchy sleeves were cuffed to her elbows and held in place by a collection of carefully arranged safety pins.

That coat held more significance for her than mere fabric; it was a tangible link to unspoken promises and a treasure trove of memories shared with her brother. Within its folds, a vow lay nestled, a pledge she held close to her heart—a promise that it would one day find its way back to him.

She despised the heat, loathed the oppressive weight of summer. Yet, for him, she'd endure it all.

As her focus waned from the words before her, the characters and their worlds receded into her periphery. Typically, she found herself almost scarily absorbed, but today was different. The icky weather, the annoying gnats and the relentless buzzing of cicadas conspired to strip away all semblance of concentration, leaving her feeling irritated. 

Absently, she tapped her bare feet, toenails painted in a vibrant array of hues, against the camper's surface. Each tap produced a soft resonance against the weathered metal, its seasoned frame emitting a chorus of creaks and groans, as though reproaching her for disturbing its well-earned repose.

She let out a soft sigh, rolling over to her back. With a deliberate pause, she closed her book and shifted her position, fixing her gaze upon the expanse of the sky.

In this very spot, she had lovingly fashioned a nest for herself from stained cushions and soft but threadbare blankets—a refuge amidst the occasionally overwhelming reality of the survivor camp she now called 'home'. It stood like a small oasis, perched precariously on the edge of the quarry.

For nearly three weeks, this microcosm had been her world—a world she shared with Glenn and the enigmatic savior who had plucked them from the jaws of peril, a man who bore the name T-Dog.

Unconsciously, her hand found its way to a faded sunshine yellow Jansport bookbag beside her. It bore an eclectic collection of patches, charms, and whimsical embroideries.

Among her modest possessions, it held a cherished spot, nestled deep within her affections. This bookbag had been a lucky discovery, unearthed in the remains of a desolate thrift store during those early, lonely days of survival when it had been just Daisy and Glenn against the world.

In its own peculiar way, the bookbag had become her unwavering companion, a silent friend bearing witness to their odyssey through the apocalypse.

But now, the world was no longer a desolate expanse of solitude. Instead, it thrummed with life, the camp abuzz with the presence of at least half a dozen other survivors at all hours.

Daisy clumsily rolled to her knees, her gaze sweeping across the camp.

In spite of her tender age, she possessed an uncanny knack for forming astute opinions about people. Her maturity had always set her apart, but the unyielding circumstances that enveloped her had hastened her growth, endowing her with a wisdom beyond her years.