(UPDATES TEMPORARILY ON HOLD)
Blake Dixon was a silent but mighty 10-year-old girl living in the Atlanta camp with her dad, George Dixon, and her uncles, Merle and Daryl Dixon.
Growing up, Blake always noticed that her uncles had a hatred for her da...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
🐛
Being twelve meant a lot of things for Blake. Physically, anyway. Over the months as they stayed at the prison, she grew a little bit taller and a little bit stronger.
But, since she and Carl weren't the only kids at the prison anymore, Blake was treated like every other kid rather than an adult. That meant she couldn't carry her gun or knife around with her anymore because kids don't need weapons, apparently. She was barely able to convince Daryl to let her keep her bow with her in case of emergencies. She'd gotten quiet good at her archery skills with the help of Daryl.
"Bee, c'mon. Wake up b'fore ya miss breakfast," Daryl said, shaking the pre-teen's shoulder gently.
"I ain't hungry," Blake groaned tiredly, burying her face in her pillow.
"Yeah, I'd let that slide if ya actually ate dinner last night, but you didn't. C'mon," he said before walking out of her cell.
Blake huffed in annoyance as she climbed out of bed. She didn't bother changing. She was wearing a pair of baggy blue jeans, along with a long-sleeved grey shirt. She threw on her blue jacket and slid on her shoes. She also made sure to sling her bow over her shoulder and stuff a couple of arrows into one of the belt loops on her pants before making her way out of the cell to catch up to Daryl.
The walked down the court yard and toward the area where breakfast was usually served. Behind the counter was a boy named Patrick. He was a year or two older that Carl was, which was strange because he acted younger than Carl most times. He was a bit of a weirdo, but Blake couldn't be the one to talk.
"Uh, Mr. Dixon," Patrick began. "I just wanted to thank you for bringing that deer back yesterday. It was a real treat, sir. And I'd be honored to shake your hand," he said.
Mr. Dixon, didn't sound right to Blake because she'd only ever called Daryl "dad" or "uncle Daryl".
Patrick held his hand out to Daryl. Daryl licked each of the fingers clean on his right hand before returning the handshake with the boy.
Blake scrunched her face up in disgust. Boys were quite weird.
"Make sure she get enough ta eat," Daryl said to Patrick, suppressing a laugh as he gave Blake a pat on the shoulder with the hand he'd just licked. "And you. Listen ta Rick while I'm gone. Goin' on a run," he said before walking away with Carol.
After she a generous amount of food was given to her on a plate, she sat down at one of the tables outside, planning to eat alone in peace.
"Blake," a voice called out to her. It was Elliot.
Over the month, the two had been hung out every so often. Blake wasn't sure why he wanted to hang out with her, though. The last interaction they had before the outbreak was her pushing him onto the pavement and making his nose bleed.
