Survivor - TWD (Daryl Dixon)

Chapter 4 - Say the Word

Nelly

It's another night of restless tossing and turning. My attempts to find solace in sleep have long since failed. Frustrated, I give up and sit up in bed, the cold bite of the concrete against my skin. I fumble for my lighter, flicking it on to cast a flickering glow over the book resting in my lap. I've probably read it three times already, but tonight, the words blur together as if taunting me with their simplicity.

My mind whirls with chaotic thoughts, unable to settle. Every flicker of the lighter seems to cast shadows that dance with the ghosts of my past. My body tenses as if bracing for a nightmare that never seems to fully arrive. Sometimes, when the darkness is particularly oppressive, I flinch as though waking from a dream that clutches at my heart, but the nightmares never quite make it past the edge of my consciousness.

I can't concentrate. The lines of the book, meant to offer distraction, twist into a tangled mess of memories and regrets. I find myself replaying every choice, every mistake, that has led me to this desolate moment. The silence of the night is filled with the echoes of decisions I can't escape, and I am left with nothing but time and the suffocating weight of my own thoughts.

I can't stop thinking.

The Governor. The prison. What I ran from. What I did.

I release my thumb from the lighter, plunging the room into pitch blackness. Only the faint moonlight filtering through the makeshift curtain casts a ghostly glow. I lay back and close my eyes, trying to push away the haunting thoughts of before.

Food. Art. Music. Work. My friends.

My parents. My mom.

I remember how she would make me pancakes in the morning when I visited. I recall her unwavering cheerfulness even when faced with her diagnosis. I remember lying by her side all night until she took her last breath. I can still feel the sting of my tears when she was gone.

The hospital room was cold and hollow. The only splash of color was the bouquet of flowers I had brought. I hoped they would brighten her day, and they did. Her smile when I walked in was a beacon of warmth. She sat up in bed, eating and drinking water on her own. She looked so much better. I thought it was normal for her to be tired after all the talking she had done. But as the color drained from her face, mine did too. I stayed by her side all day, holding her delicate, cold hand. I read to her and sang the songs she used to sing to me when I was sick. She had fallen asleep after a few songs.

I didn't know it would happen so soon.

The rhythmic beeps of her heart monitor turned into a single, endless tone. I clung to her, tears streaming down my face, choking on my sobs as I buried my face in her bed.

Then I hear the door creak open, and a hand touches my shoulder.

"Honey."

My eyes shoot open, a jolt of anger and disappointment surging through me.

Not him.

The faint whisper his voice brings a rush of bitterness. It stings, pulling me back to a time I desperately try to forget. The warmth and love I once clung to only deepen the ache now. I push the memories away, unable to escape the stark reminder of the person I used to be and the people I've lost.

Don't think of the before. It only hurts more.

Then what do I think about?

My thoughts drift to Danny.

Danny.

I smile as memories of him flood my mind. I remember our group and the good times we shared—sleeping in trains, camping out in abandoned buildings, swimming in lakes. Despite the constant struggle and loss, we always managed to find joy in those fleeting moments.