Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Ophelia woke up on Daryl's motorcycle with her cheek leant against the handle bars and the sour taste of moonshine lingering on her lips. It was evening and the moon was rising in the sky — but it was not quite dark, for the sky was still a gentle pink.
The girl was tired and disoriented as she woke up, furrowing her brows in confusion — how did she end up on Daryl's bike? But, eventually images of her shoving Shane into the mud and going off at him in a drunken state, before being pulled away by the redneck, flashed through her mind and she remembered.
A yawn escaped Ophelia's dry lips and she tiredly rubbed her eyes before she scanned the area — she couldn't see Daryl.
All she could see was a concrete road the bike was parked by and a dozen trees swaying refreshingly in the evening breeze. But, she did notice a trail of fresh footprints imprinted in the grass and decided to bite the bullet and follow them — they more than likely belonged to Daryl anyways.
Ophelia swung her leg over and jumped off of the bike. She rubbed her temples and groaned as the loud sound of crickets chirping worsened her throbbing headache — which was no doubt thanks to the moonshine she drunk earlier.
For the rest of the journey of which she followed the trail of footprints, she was walking almost in diagonal lines and massaging her head (and cursing the maker of moonshine for making the alcoholic beverage so strong) until the trail came to a swift end and she came to a halt.
Ophelia dropped her hands to her side and looked up with squinted eyes. She'd reached a round lake hidden behind a line of swinging trees. It was rather big, but the water was clear and gentle. Little fish were swimming inside, and a couple of Lilly pads were floating on the edge. It reminded the girl that the world wasn't completely lost — part of it, really, was still beautiful. Perhaps even more so now, with people leaving nature alone.
A little peer was on the side of the flowing lake with a couple of small boats and paddles tied to it. They were packed with armbands and beach balls. Ophelia smiled, thinking back to how people would play in the lake — small children and their friends jumping inside and playing games. Their parents sitting on the peer with drinks and watching. Teenagers venturing inside during the summer nights, complaining about how close school was.
She sighed — now it was empty and deserted, the boats being rusty and abandoned, the armbands deflated. She wondered where they all were now.
Shaking her head, the girls eyes then landed on a pile of clothes screwed up by the edge of the lake and a loaded crossbow. She immediately knew Daryl had taken a dip inside — from his bow if not from his idea of 'folding' — and turned her head back to face the lake as he emerged from underneath the water.
