One way or another [Daryl Dixon]

[9] TARGET PRACTICE.

"Everyone wants the sun to brighten up someone's life, but why not the moon, to shine on someone's darkest hour?"
-Anonymous

In a prison, there was only so much you could do before you got bored. The days passed while everyone worried about the governor and his army, about what to do and what not to do. I'd heard everything. He had the numbers and the artillery, while we had the fighters. We could overpower them all if we devised some clever tactics, and then it would be game over.

I also haven't forgotten about my five-second head start on killing Martinez. Not that I needed it, but it would make my job that little bit easier.

"Does anyone have a pen or a marker?" I turned to the small group in front of me.

"Beth was the first to get to her feet, sprinting up to her cell and returning with a black permanent marker. That's exactly what I needed. I hadn't talked to Beth much; all I knew was that she was the Greene family's youngest member, and while she came across as sympathetic and frail, Beth stepped up to the plate, and became the warrior when she needed to be.

"Thank you so much, Beth." I smiled as I rested my hand on her shoulder. "How's Judith doing?" When she wasn't busy helping the group with walkers or enemies, Beth spent her time with Judith. Singing her lullabies, feeding her, playing with her, and generally making sure the baby's was healthy and growing at a normal rate.

"She's fine, she just went down for a nap." Beth informed me.

I nodded, thanking her again for the marker, and began making my way outside to the courtyard with my bow and arrow. Glenn and Maggie were the only people outside at the time, and they were both on guard. Because the governor knew where we were, many people chose to remain inside for the time being. It was understandable it made them feel a lot safer.

There were some wooden pallets stacked up in the corner that weren't being used, so this was an excellent opportunity for some target practise. Hershel told me to rest as much as possible after I was shot in the chest, which meant I had to use my dagger and knives for a while. So far, my bow hadn't seen much use since Robin tracked me down in the woods.

After putting down my bow and arrow, I grabbed a pallet and placed it on top of a stool that was up against a wall, making it high enough for me to use. I bit the marker's lid and drew a rough outline of an archers board, with the target in the centre. My outline was a little off, but it would work nicely for now; once this is all over I'll be back in the forest, and my target practise will consist of a walker's brain, and the occasional squirrel.

I firmly gripped my bow in my left hand as I picked up my bow and arrow and aligned myself in front of my archers board. I paused for a moment to reacquaint my hands with the sensation. I reached into my quiver for an arrow and carefully placed it between the bowstring and drew it back. The strain against the natural strength of the bow caused all of the muscles in my arms and back to flex. The bowstring was digging into the flesh of my index and middle fingers, leaving small imprints, as I pushed the arrow all the way back until my fingers brushed against my cheek.