"Don't be scared, I'm still here
No more time for crying dear"
Blackbird Song
By Lee DeWyze
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Nelly
It took me about half a day to reach my old shelter, nestled just three miles deep into the woods from the prison. I figured I'd swing by first to pick up a few things—most of my gear had been moved to the prison, but I left a backpack under the cot, containing a gun, some ammo, a flashlight, and some food and water.
As I approach the familiar concrete, my heart sinks. The door to the sewer, usually hidden behind a makeshift cover of branches, is wide open.
My grip tightens around the hunting rifle, its weight a cold reassurance in my hand. I glance around, the light from outside offering only the faintest glimpse of the darkness within the tunnel. There's no sign of recent activity, but the open door sends a shiver down my spine. I steel myself and step into the shadows.
The silence of the tunnel is heavy, almost oppressive. My footsteps echo softly against the walls as I walk, my eyes straining to adjust to the dimness. The light behind me fades quickly, swallowed by the dark. I turn right into the tunnel, my breath catching when I see that the door at the end is ajar.
I move closer, the meager light filtering through the tiny window. I approach the cot in the far corner, bending down to retrieve my bag. But it's gone. My brows furrow, confusion turning quickly into dread. Carl was the only one who knew about this place, and it made no sense for him to take it—unless...
Unless someone else had been here.
Panic surges through me, a cold rush of fear that propels me out of the tunnel and back into the open air. I sprint through the woods, my legs pumping furiously as I follow the direction of the prison. The dense forest around me blurs, my only focus the growing number of walkers I encounter. I slash through them with my short sword, the blade flashing in the weak sunlight.
My breathing is ragged, each gasp for air filled with mounting anxiety. The sheer number of walkers and the gnawing instinct that something terrible has happened drive me to push harder. I abandon the futile attempt to clear the path and simply run, my eyes locked on the distant outline of the prison.
As I near the prison, the scene before me is a nightmare come to life. Smoke billows from the walls, mingling with the stench of decay. The once-imposing gates are nothing but splinters and twisted metal, trampled under the weight of the walkers pouring through. The familiar sight of the prison's cement walls, now stands shattered and breached. The crops in Rick and Hershel's field, once green and hopeful, lie decimated and dead.
My heart pounds as I take in the destruction. The tower, where I once found some solace, is a charred ruin, completely blown apart. The prison, our sanctuary, is nothing more than a smoldering battlefield.
A cry of anguish escapes me, raw and heart-wrenching. I drop to my knees, the grass beneath me wet with tears. The pain in my chest is a deep, unbearable ache. I curse myself for my naivety, for believing that it might somehow be different. I had been given a chance to avoid this, and I chose to return, only to find everything gone.
All the faces of those I cared about flash before my eyes—Daryl, Carl, Michonne, Carol, Glenn, Maggie, Beth, Hershel, even Rick. The weight of their last moments presses down on me, and I am overwhelmed by grief, guilt, and self-hatred.
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Survivor - TWD (Daryl Dixon)
FanfictionSeason 3- 8 Nelly, a hardened survivor who has been on her own for a long time, must navigate newfound tensions and alliances when a group of survivors moves into a prison near her camp, forcing her to confront both her past and her future. As old t...
