Posted 11 April 2013 - 05:50 PM
by Dead Cave
The sun rose up on the prison as she stepped outside in the warm air. It was always nice to be outside after the cold walls of the interior kept the entire group cool overnight. Michonne adjusted the strap of her scabbard and reached up behind her shoulder to test the reach of her sword handle. She took a seat on the concrete steps and blew into the tin cup full of hot coffee. Someone from the Woodbury group had brought a large bag of it with them on the bus. There wasn't a lot and Rick managed to convince everyone to allow those who stood watches to have first priority over it. She drank hers and winced at the strong taste, wishing that she thought to put some sugar in it before stepping outside. Satisfied she scanned the fences for Daryl who took the night watch. Something he had been doing since the death of his brother, Merle, and when they brought back the refugees from Woodbury.
She found the man to be an enigma. Around others he was aloof and didn't seem to care for their little day to day problems. But with Rick's baby, Judith, or as Daryl preferred to call her “Little Ass Kicker”, he was a doting “uncle”. Insisting to hold the baby whenever she was crying and he was in the room. Michonne allowed herself a small grin as she reflected that the baby always stopped crying whenever Daryl held her. He was a hard man with a soft heart. Maybe he wasn't such an enigma after all. Rick had argued with him to allow others to take the night shift of watch duty but he insisted pulling doubles, saying he doesn't get that tired. His watch stood from 7 pm to 7 in the morning. Michonne checked with Glenn, who was always up early in the morning, the time and she was forty five minutes early for her shift, but she couldn't sleep any more no matter how much she tried. Months on the road and evading the dangers that their world now threw at them on a daily basis, made her a light sleeper. She heard every cough, sniffle and sometimes even the soft crying of someone as they mourn the loss of a loved one. She reflected that it was better hearing live human sounds than the occasional grunts and growls of her pets through the night.
She watched him as he stood silently by the fence, ignoring the walkers clawing to get to him. She knew that he missed his brother Merle and she wished that she could say something to him to ease his pain. The thought of Merle and Daryl as brothers was at times, difficult. They were so different and yet so much alike. Both men raised in a poor Georgia home, struggling to get by with whatever they could get their hands on. Living a hard life that now had just gotten harder. At least he was inured to hardship.
She turned her head and stared out at the rising sun. The sky lightening in color and the redness of the dawn providing a beautiful punctuation to yet another day. As the sun rose she let her mind drift to one of the conversations she had with Merle during their walk to the Governor.
Merle had already confessed to killing sixteen men before they hurried off out of sight of a small group of walkers. She thought her comment about how an evil man was light as a feather from any guilt hadn't any effect upon him. But as they walked she discovered she wasn't too far off in her assessment.
“You know,” Merle spoke in an attempt to be light hearted, “you talk about how I might be feeling guilty about the things I've done, about the how the weight would pull me down, but I'll tell ya again and again, it's not. I haven't felt that way since I cut off my hand. I've got nothing but hate left in me.” She kept silent and allowed him to rant on. Her experience as a lawyer taught her that people tend to reveal much about themselves if allowed to rant. You just have to know how to listen between the lines.
“After the Governor found me, fixed me up, and gave me this,” holding up the stump of his arm with the brace and the now broken bayonet end sticking jauntily out at the end, “he put me in charge of scouting for supplies. Seem to think I had a knack for it. Gave me a group of guys and told them to do as I say when I say it.” He paused to reflect, “Hell, I couldn't get that much respect when I was in the Army back then.” he chuckled to himself.
“Anyway we were out scouting around and one of us found this guy with his two daughters, camped out in the woods not too far off the road. They didn't have much, living out of a tent and tending to probably the crappiest campfire I'd ever seen. This guy was pitiful. But his daughters were something else though. Cute as can be. Young, sweet looking things,” Merle paused to look at her, as if to gauge her reaction as he told his story. She remained stolid and he continued.
“The boys had been out for a while. Woodbury back then didn't have as many women or girls and I thought what the hell. Let 'em have fun. So, I kept the daddy at gunpoint while the guys had their fun. Made him watch, even though he tried not to. It's hard to respect a man who sits and does nothing while his family is getting hurt. He didn't even try. More worried about his own skin, pitiful bastard.” He paused long enough to spat on the ground and continued walking, tugging at the wire leash attached to her wrists.
Though most of their walk he kept her in front of him but this time as he related his story she was lead. She studied Merle's back, seeing it tense up and relax as he spoke. Telling the story was getting to him, in spite of his tough-guy exterior the human part of him was struggling to get out. Like many men she had known, there was a war going on inside of him. She prodded him, “You didn't get yourself some of that?” He nearly stopped in his tracks but continued on, “Nah, I ain't got much use for rape, not as much fun as when a woman is willing and eager. Some guys though just don't care.
“There was this one kid in our group who kinda hung back and watched as the other guys had their fun. Randy or Randall I think his name was.” Merle chuckled again, “th' boy must've been a virgin because he just stood there watching as if he didn't know what was going on or what to do. Then Tony came up to him and pushed him towards one of the girls. He told him to “g'wan and get some, it's free!”... everyone had a big laugh about that.” Merle shook his head and slowed his steps.
“Sometimes I still hear those girls crying and screaming. Then I think about their father and whatever bad feelings I might have, just melt away” again he paused then his voice hardened. “Nah, that man deserved to watch his daughters get raped. Being there, on his knees, my gun to his head and doing nothing but sobbing and whispering for us to stop.”
Merle suddenly spun on Michonne and shouted, “The least the bastard could've done was make the attempt to fight for his girls. Live or die, make the attempt, do something, fight it.” She saw the rage in his face melt away as they stared at one another. “That's when I decided not to kill them. Let him live with it. Let him suffer the guilt that I don't feel for him, or his daughters. They didn't fight either, they just screamed and let it happen.” His voice fell to normal tones and became matter of fact “In this world darling, you fight or die or let bad shit happen to you...” his eyes wandered off to a spot somewhere behind her, focused on nothing in particular. “You do bad shit before it happens to you.” His eyes refocused on her again and he fell silent. Tugging at the leash he finally turned away from her, “C'mon, there should be a motel on up ahead, might find something there to drive. I'm getting tired of this walking.”
Michonne brought herself out of her memory and saw that Daryl had moved on out of her sight. She got up and took another small sip of her coffee and went to find him. She rounded a corner of the main cell-block and spotted him beyond the now repaired gate, the one that the Governor's men had torn down to gain access to the building complex. His ever-present crossbow across his shoulder and wearing a poncho to keep the night-chill off his body, he stood by the fence and was facing the sunrise. As she approached him she could see he was tired. The way his shoulders slumped and the bend at one knee to take the weight off that foot before switching to the other. At first it seemed he was restless but she knew that it was fatigue and he was fighting sleep.
She walked silently across the pavement and slipped through the gap in the fence for their egress to the space between the yard and the buildings. If Daryl heard her, and she didn't doubt that he had, he showed no sign. Apparently he knew where a threat might be coming from and acted accordingly. Still she spoke up, letting him know her presence. It was simple courtesy. Daryl in her opinion was a good man, a great warrior, multi-talented and dangerous in his own way, but not anywhere near a threat to the group that he (and she now) called family.
“Daryl” she called out softly. He turned and acknowledged her with a single nod. Even in the dim morning sunrise light she could see his eyes were wet. He noticed her stare and wiped at his eyes as if something had gotten into them. She pretended to ignore it, “Your watch is almost over, I'll take over from here. You go on and get some sleep.” She kept her voice soft but neutral. He stood, watching her, his thoughts hidden as his face betrayed no emotion. She knew he was thinking about his brother and how she was the last person to see him alive, before the Governor shot him anyway. She could feel he had questions to ask her and at the moment she felt that she would answer whatever he might have asked.
But the only question that he had was when he pointed at her cup. “Anymore of that coffee left?” She looked down at the cup to hide her growing smile. Composing herself quickly she looked back at him and handed the coffee to him. “Take this. It's straight black. I prefer mine with sugar.” He took the cup from her and nodded in thanks, then walked off. She watched his back until it disappeared around the corner of the building. Her heart suddenly feeling a weight of sadness for the man. The sadness quickly turned to anger as she thought of the man responsible; the Governor. She reflected upon how Merle let her go and attempted to kill the Governor himself, as if that one act would atone for his sins. She knew that her anger was that he failed to do that. That his soul was condemned because of that failure.
A walker approached the fence where she stood and began pulling at the chain links, snarling, breaking her train of thought. Irritated, in a single lightning fast move she reached up and unsheathed her sword and plunged the tip through the opening of the chain link fence and into the skull of the walker clawing at her. The creature stopped growling and dropped to the ground in a heap when she pulled her blade out. She wiped the offensive matter off the tip of her blade and returned it to it's sheath on her back. The sun now crested over the tops of the trees, the brightness making her eyes water, or maybe it wasn't the sun that caused it.
69% of the people find something dirty in everything they read. http://http://www.gofundme.com/c66cv4
Posted 11 April 2013 - 11:01 PM
Posted 12 April 2013 - 01:50 AM
Posted 12 April 2013 - 03:47 PM
Edited by Canadian-Walker, 12 April 2013 - 03:48 PM.
Also tagged with one or more of these keywords: Michonne, Daryl, Merle, Governor
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