SURVIVE.
❝ Let the end of the world be
inside you, then you don't
need to fear the end
of the world out there. ❞
THE WALKING DEAD.
DARYL DIXON.
BOOK ONE of the LANCASTER SAGA.
[ SEASONS 1 - 3 ]
******
I do not own The Walking Dead or any of its...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
[ viii. my good intentions ]
october 24th, 2010
➸➸➸
THE MINUTES STRETCHED ON in a haunting silence, broken only by the howling, summer-storm wind that whipped around the five exposed heads of the horrified group who stood, weary and guarded, atop the desolate, and near damning, department store building.
Daryl Dixon wiped away his tears with a rough hand, and his focus locked onto Astrid's from afar. In that intense stare, she found herself unable to hold his gaze and forced her eyes to frantically avert themselves. But as her attention shifted, she could not help but notice, once again, the severed hand that lied before them. The grisly sight held their entire group captive, their bleak focuses fixed on the gruesome reminder of their massive failure.
Suddenly, a burst of rage erupted from Daryl as he grabbed his crossbow and sharply turned, his finger already tightening around the trigger as he aimed it directly at T-Dog's head.
"No!" Astrid's cry filled the air as she lunged forward. In her desperation to spare another life, she clutched onto Daryl's arm, and her hands wrapped tightly around his wrist, trying to pull him away. But he stood firm, unbreakable, his bloodthirsty attention solely on T-Dog.
"Daryl, don't do this," She pleaded.
Rick materialized at her side, his revolver quickly finding its home against Daryl's temple. Astrid released her grip on Daryl's arm immediately and watched as he stiffened slightly beneath the cold barrel, yet did not ultimately waver, his satiation to carry out the final act of vengeance only growing stronger. Rick cocked his gun, a threatening sound as it echoed in Daryl's ear.
"I don't care if every walker in the city hears this shot," The sheriff hissed.
Daryl remained frozen, torn between the risks and the rewards of such an execution. After immense deliberation, he let out a deep breath and slowly lowered his crossbow again. Surrendering for now, he would resolve to fight T-Dog another day. Turning around, Daryl did not meet any cautious gaze as he crouched down and examined the severed hand of his brother. "Must have used his belt as a tourniquet, or else there would have been more blood," He noted through gritted teeth.
Confusion clouded Astrid's face. "Why would he cut off his hand? Was he really that desperate? It's only been a day, right?" She crossed her arms over her chest, unable to fathom the extent of desperation that would drive someone to such an extreme act. If she were handcuffed on a roof, she would meticulously evaluate every possible scenario before resorting to self-mutilation. And even then, she did not think she could commit such a desperate act.
"A day can feel like a lifetime to Merle," Daryl insisted, rising to his feet. He stalked toward Astrid, and before she could back away from his impending assault, he dipped around her hips and yanked a small piece of cloth from her back pocket. It had been dangling there, and she had not even noticed it. She had not even realized she carried such a thing.
