𝐇𝐀𝐙𝐀𝐑𝐃 │ 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐘𝐋 𝐃𝐈𝐗𝐎𝐍 ¹ [✔]

[20]: jim

I was stood on the end nearest to the graves. Between Sophia and Carol, and Shane. We all watched as the last body was being lowered into the ground - Amy's body. Wrapped up in a white sheet. Andrea struggled, and Dale was there trying to help. Any time he would try, Andrea would say, "I can do it." In the end, she gave in and let him lower the other end.

I was battling with my own internal struggling. I didn't want to cry, therefore I didn't let myself. I was meant to be getting better at these things. Pushing myself to do the things I never would have done before. I wanted to be stronger. For many reasons. But I found it hard.

I felt a small hand to my right grab my own carefully. I looked down to see Sophia had grasped it. She was looking down at her shoes, obviously she was struggling too.

I gave her hand a reassuring squeeze, as hard as my bandaged hands would.

Then I looked to my right.

There was Shane. His hand was too his side. I wondered whether I should grab it. Would he freak out? I wasn't scared of Shane at all. Sure, he could break me like a twig, but I was on too good of terms with him.

I went with my gut, and I reached out for his much larger hand. I expected him to jerk away at the slightest touch, but he didn't. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him look down at my pleading hand. He met me half-way and gently wrapped his around mine. My spirits were then lifted at that moment.

I looked up from our intertwined hands, and saw Andrea was now getting out of the grave. Her clothes were stained with Amy's blood. I sniffed away any tears that threatened to spill over.

No more bodies to deal with, I thought. For now.

I let go of both Sophia's and Shane's hands, and walked with the rest of the group back to camp.

You could feel the grief around everyone. The sadness. It was like a bad smell that hung over everything. A fog. We couldn't do anything about it. It was like despair was a creation of mother-nature, and only she could control it like the weather. We just had to wait for it to pass like a treacherous storm.

All of us who had nothing else to do started packing. I was quite lucky, as I never really fully unpacked. I always kept my things in my faded purple backpack. My toothbrush, my clothes, my notebook, and anything that could fit in there really. The only thing I needed to pack was my cot and tent, and I couldn't do that with my bandaged hands. Before I did anything, I made sure to change my clothes - I was now wearing a loose black tank-top, dark blue jeans, and my trusty grey converse. I asked Carol to put my hair up, and she obliged putting it in a loose bun.

Now I had to get someone to take down my tent.

Before I could ask anyone to do it, I turned around to see someone already doing it.

Daryl.

"What are you doing?" I asked suspiciously. This was very not Daryl-like.

"Wha's it look like?" He counteracted. He just automatically took down my tent, like it was something he did everyday.

He never took down my tent when it was just him, me, and Merle. I was always the one to do it (even if I didn't want to).

"Please don't do that thing where you answer a question with a question," I pleaded, putting my hands in a prayer-stance. He just carried on taking down my tent.

"You ain't gonna' do it with those hands, are ya?" He said pointedly, taking down the last peg, and putting it all in the bag it came in.

"Again, with the question," I seethed, licking my lips. I crossed my arms over my chest, looking up at his much taller self. He was at least seven inches taller than me.