𝐇𝐀𝐙𝐀𝐑𝐃 │ 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐘𝐋 𝐃𝐈𝐗𝐎𝐍 ¹ [✔]

[32]: endotracheal incubator

The whole ride there was completely awkward and filled to the brim with tension.

Each of us spilled over with guilt. Shane, for letting Carl come with us. Me, for not seeing Otis in time to maybe push Carl out of the way and maybe even take the bullet myself. Otis, obviously, for shooting Carl.

I was actually used to silence. But it was this type of silence that I loathed and tried to avoid with all my will. It was like when you're sitting in a waiting room, and there was a baby crying next you, and you fight every urge not to turn to the parent and demand they shut their baby's tiny, but noisy mouth.

I realise that wasn't exactly silence itself, but it held the same feeling.

It was like I wanted to tell the silence to shut up! Or at least punch it in the face so that it would once learn its place.

It wasn't anything like the long Dixon brother road-trips. With chewy squirrel (and occasionally a snake). Merle sitting on the opposite side of the fire to me and Daryl, telling me cringe-worthy stories about his ex-cell mates. Every story would end up either sounding like complete bullshit, or Merle would twist them in a way only his mind could. Whilst Daryl sat as far away from me as he could, without being out of sight.

Those days, I was allowed to not worry about a thing. Only once in a while would I be given a pinch of responsibility, which even at that time, seemed a bit much.

Now I had to worry about respirators that could hopefully save a little boy's life.

Oh, how times had changed.

Somehow I had this feeling that I would turn to my left and Daryl would be there. One his last cigarettes delicately hanging from his lips, and always resting his elbow on the windowsill, to which the window was open. The short, and greasy hair would somehow move in the wind, but I didn't know how since he never washed it and the Georgian heat didn't help.

The truck we were sitting in was eerily similar to Daryl's uncle's truck. But this was a sky blue colour, whilst the former one held a dirty mustard colour.

Daryl would steal glances at me, and although he was quite observant, I don't think he noticed that In noticed. Most of the time it would make me uncomfortable since I had spent years of my pathetic life with weird men stealing more than a glance and trying to cop a feel. The women, however, were more respectable than them, though. Daryl would do it so often, I eventually didn't care.

I would turn to my right and I would be at my window, with my ugly pillow, eyelids drooping since the boys often woke me up at the crack of dawn.

I adored those car rides. Those were the type of silences I would like.

Unfortunately, I did turn to my left and saw the man that shot Carl. My best friend. My dear young sir.

It was funny that the best friend that I make in this mess was a 12-year-old boy.

I turned to my right and saw Shane. Who seemed to be Carl's best friend. Shane always had this weird explosive vibe to him. Push the wrong button and... Boom! He appeared like a shark who would taunt his prey rather than eating it, just to seem more dominant. Like he had a constant need to be Alpha, but someone who would never admit it just to be humble.

As we pulled up to the high school, it was quite dark out, which already made me feel worried that we were already gone too long.

Otis stopped the truck, wiggling the gear stick as we all sat there for a split second to breathe. But right now there was no time to breathe.

The three of us slid out rather noisily, the springs in the chairs squeaking.

On the bed of the vehicle, I picked up my two guns, opting to put them in the waistband of my jeans, and the black hiker bag's peeling straps on my shoulders.