𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃．✯ 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗅𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖽𝖾𝖺𝖽．

𝟎𝟎𝟑 | 𝗋𝖾𝗍𝗋𝖺𝖼𝖾．

[𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄]

Simone sighed, she had this unwritten rule of doing one entry a day for the purpose of saving space in her notebook. Her notebook isn't big and her handwriting isn't small though she tries－I tOld carl id protect hiM but i didnT. we On a farm tonighT and it smells old but like Clean to.

__________

Simone ended up going to Dawson's room anyway, consented by a glaze-eyed Rick, backed up by again by Shane who truly didn't care. There was nothing to do, at least for a little while. Hershel and his family were working on getting one of the bullet shards out of Carl's stomach which Simone wasn't familiar with that terminology.

Her older sister, Nari, was studying to be a nurse－or a doctor, she cannot remember the details. Unfortunately, she never cared about the subject, Nari would try get her involved but Simone never shared the interest, to wrapped up in fairy books, toy horses and playing Super Mario Bros on Nintendo ds.

Dawson's room was neat with grey-blue-green painted wall's with a few teddy's splayed across the bed, the most noticeable being a giant panda teddy. He had a stack of board games and a skateboard leant up under the window ledge, another broken looking board being used as a shelf for old shoes and creased comics.

The girl took in Dawson's room while he sat on his bed, his legs crossed with his back up against the rough wall, eyeing Simone suspiciously. It was just a basic room, he thought and he was right but Simone missed her room back at home. Something she left messy because of her rushed packing the night before. she wished she could get back soon and see her dad and sisters.

"Stop! You're killing him!" Rick's rough voiced carried from downstairs. Simone did a full one-eighty and ran down the stairs to see what's happening. These people were strangers, no idea what they're capable of and Rick isn't exactly ready for a fight. When Simone burst into the room, the smell of hospital hit her nose, as well as old wood.

There was a thin, silver tool in the bloody hole formed in Carl stomach from the bullet, he's awake now which was good. Or not good. He was crying and screaming for his dad who had an old-ish lady cleaning his forearm for the needle to be inserted in. Shane having to hold Carl down so he wasn't injured further as he was flailing around.

"He needs blood," Hershel, the old man with clean white hair, his hairline at the top of his head, his white button up bloody.
"Do it now!" Shane yelled, making Dawson's expressionless exterior slip with a flinch.

No one noticed with everything going on, and his hiding behind Simone. Dawson has a thing with blood. He hates it. The smell, the sight, the taste, the feel. It makes him to curl him into a ball of protective bubble wrap.

Carl was thrashing－until coming to a sudden stop. Quiet. His blue eyes flutter shut and he was unconscious again. Simone had the urge to yell the question, 'is he dead' repetitively again but Hershel, their doctor here, answered their fearful expression, "He just passed out," he extracted a little piece of blood covered lead, "One down," he placed it into the tray with a clink, "Five to go," Simone huffed from the corner of the room, she thought that was it.