FALLEN ANGEL ➵ DARYL DIXON [1] ✓

Chapter Two: Winged Devil Trouble

Chapter 2

"It's getting far too late and plus we have a big day ahead of us."

"Aww."

"I know, I know, darlin'. Now ya go to sleep."

"Dad?"

"Yes?"

"Ya promise to tell me the rest tomorrow?"

"If the grass is green tomorrow I'll tell ye tomorrow night."

"You're the best."

"The grass could be pink tomorrow for all ya know."

"Yeah, right."

"Goodnight. I love ya."

"I love ya more."

"Impossible."

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Merle had ran three miles until someone threw a knife at him, the knife digging in deeply into his right shoulder. He was thrown back and he landed on a large hard tree branch. He vociferates and tries to move. His blood was stained into his black shirt and everytime he moved, he winced. "Who's out there!" He howls out in excruciation, not thinking things through more gingerly. He tries to get up but the throb and the twinge of the ghastly pain wasn't very helpful to him.

A man appeared from his right side, followed by a woman. The man seemed to be quick and he had sharp features. The woman looked delicate and it looked easy just to snap her in two like a twig. Merle acknowledged her more closely. She was sweating, out of breath, and breathing quiet heavily. She heels over and coughs up blood and Merle cringes back. The man kneels down beside Merle.

"You're not one of them," he looks at Merle and the knife was still in his shoulder.

"I'm terribly sorry for this. Let me take you back to our camp. We can help you there." The man had an English accent and it was very deep and rich. Merle just nodded, clueless, only wanting the sharp pain to disappear. The last thing Merle remembered was the man lifting him up and the woman pulling up her sleeve to revile a bite.

🔸🔸🔸

When he wakes up, the sun was blinding him through a scratch on his tent. He sits up and feels his shoulder. The knife was gone, but an unpleasant scar was now forever retelling the story.

He was on a sleeping bag, dirt lining the bottom. He hears hustling from outside but he was nervous to go out. Suddenly, a little girl opens up his tent and peeps through. She gasps and runs away shouting, "Dad!"

Merle didn't like the attention on him. He always hated it. He feels as if he had just woken up from a hangover. Merle had many hangovers in his days. So much so, that it would be rare if he didn't get drunk every weekend. Over time, Daryl learned that drink was the root of all evil. His mother told him this. But how ironic was it that his mother told him all this while she was drunk as hell, tumbling down the stairs, breaking her leg. Funny, right?

Daryl was a drinker. Once. But now, he would pass it, like some type of old enemy. It was no secret that Merle was worse than Daryl. Everyone thought that Daryl was worse, because of the way he looked. But as the saying goes:

Don't judge a book by it's cover.

Daryl only wished people would actually think like that.

Merle sees a shadow through the tent he was in. But it wasn't a person. It was a four legged animal. By the posture and the shape, it seems like a large dog. Merle hated dogs, despised them. Not since Sebastian...