Blessing or a Curse? ➳ Daryl Dixon

35. Helplessness

Darkness. He expects to see Dale, he had hoped for it, but there was nothing. The one time it was the only thing he wanted, and he couldn’t have it. He’d give anything to see that man’s face. Anyone's face that wasn’t him. For a while, there was nothing— he was stuck in the darkness. He knew that he would come back, but it took longer than it ever had— much longer. His body ached in ways it never had before, even while there was nothing, and a part of him wished that he wouldn’t wake up. It was too much, he couldn’t do it. He didn’t care that he was leaving them behind, at that moment he didn’t care at all, he just wanted to be dead. 

To stay dead. 

In an apocalypse world where dead people were eating people, people were killing people, people were eating people, he didn’t think it was that hard of a request. 

Until he woke up.

It was still dark, but he knew that he was awake. He sneezed and coughed, gagging at the feeling of blood making its way up and onto the floor. He couldn’t see it but he knew it was blood. 

He grasped at the concrete floor, trying to feel for anything, breathing ragged. His hands brushed fabric and he grasped onto it, pulling it close to him. He felt at it for a moment before realizing that it was his pants, the lack of clothing slipping his mind for the briefest moment. He struggled for a moment in the dark, to get them on, and felt around more, looking for his shirt— or his shoes. He found nothing else. 

Every bone in his body told him not to move as he braced himself against the cold and damp floor, but he forced himself to push off the ground anyways. He stumbled— and fell, smacking against the concrete floor. He groaned in pain, and he thought about not moving again. 

He didn’t want to. But somehow, he forced himself to sit up again, staring into the darkness. He couldn’t see anything. This time he decided against standing up immediately, instead deciding to crawl straight until he fit a wall. He grasped against the flat surface, trying to find where the door was. He knew that it was here somewhere, he just couldn’t see it. For a second, he wondered if he was now missing both eyes— but he pushed the idea into the back of his mind.

Finally, his hand touched a different material, and he slid his hand in every direction until it bumped into something. A doorknob. 

The sun had hurt. Not as much as every other part of his body, but it hurt. His head pounded, he struggled to stand up straight, vision blurring when he attempted to focus. Sydney wasn’t entirely sure how he even made it out— wasn’t even sure what direction he was walking in. 

He hadn’t even noticed he had stumbled upon anything or anybody until people started talking. 

His people. 

He stared at them and they stared back. Sydney had no idea what he looked like right now, but even through the dizziness, he could see the horrified look on all of their faces.