𝐇𝐀𝐙𝐀𝐑𝐃 │ 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐘𝐋 𝐃𝐈𝐗𝐎𝐍 ¹ [✔]

[47]: his cigarettes

When all were asleep, and darkness overcrowded the light - could I walk.

Only when people were inactive could I walk amongst them, but around and stepping over.

The blanket that gathered at my waist curled in my fingers, scratchy under my soft fingertips. I pulled it higher to be around my shoulders, the cold chill fluttering from my skin and a warmness searing there. It was an odd feeling.

My knees cracked as I slid up the tree I was leaning against, having to stop for a moment when my hair caught against the rough bark.

The grass was cool under my bare feet, sending chills up my legs and to my spine where an ache had set in. Sitting against a tree in the open air was no good for muscles or bones but I still did it.

Walking closer to the shed, it was eerily quiet. There wasn't even the crickets chirping like they did most nights, and it was so still most nights you could hear the river not far from the farm; the one that Daryl said he had fallen down. The little drips knocking through your ears like a badly made tap.

It was still... still. Just incredibly quiet, like someone had turned down the volume of the world for one night.

The shed seemed to be not guarded, but as I got closer, there was the telltale trail of white smoke trailing upwards by the door. On top of that, the wood of the shed seemed to give off a steam which I was certain was a trick of my eyes. The moonlight shooting through it. It reminded me of when you were in an enclosed space, and there was one crack that burst that space and a beam came through. You could see the dust falling through it, and it made your eyes hurt.

I clutched the blanket closer to me, the end of it dragging on the ground behind me.

I soon regretted not putting on some shoes when the path I was taking became riddled with small stones and caused me to have to tiptoe further.

He looked utterly bored, but I had to say the darkness suited him. His back rested against the rotting wood, one arm tucked around him, the other holding a cigarette between his index and middle finger. His eyes were shadowed because he had his head down, looking at me approaching him.

He blinked slowly, and I did it back. A word wasn't spoken between us as he took he space to his left, watching as he took another drag of his cigarette, the ash falling by my feet causing me to shuffled away from him slightly.

"Lovely," I muttered, giving him a smile he most definitely did not return.

He didn't say anything to me but I could tell he had a lot stored away inside his head to throw at me. All the insults that only suited me, the names, the orders. Everything Daryl ever said to me - I never felt like he was lying.

Except only a few times, but people are allowed to lie once in a while.

"They've got you guarding that piece of shit like a guard dog, Daryl," I stated evenly, watching him at the corner of my eye. "You don't have to follow Rick."

He stood from the wall, taking a few steps away from me so that his back was facing me. The wings on his leather vest were highlighted in the moonlight, and I wanted to get closer and admire the stitching.

I slid down the wall, the wood most probably giving me, at least, one splinter on my back. The ground below me was uneven and I took a moment to listen in on the boy inside. His breathing was slightly erratic and panicked. He sounded like he had been crying.

"Can I have one?" I called to Daryl, hoping he would come and sit down beside me.

He looked over his shoulder, eyeing me with a questionable look.