𝐇𝐀𝐙𝐀𝐑𝐃 │ 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐘𝐋 𝐃𝐈𝐗𝐎𝐍 ¹ [✔]

[59]: thread

"Daar buiten loopt een schaap..."

No one told me it would be this way. No one tells you these things, they don't even prepare you for it - the mere possibility. Not even what our once normal world had installed, but this one was much worse.

But I knew, and I know, this isn't the way it's supposed to be. This isn't the way it's supposed to be. Nobody is supposed to hurt this much, but I figured, it had to be someone. And it was me.

"Een schaap met witte voetjes..."

My body felt like it weighed a thousand pounds, each breathe, inhale or exhale took more energy than it should have. And that gave me a clear sign that something was wrong.

"Die drinkt zijn melk zo zoetjes."

Along with each word that escaped me, the ones taught by my father, I could hear Daryl and Rick still banging endlessly on the door. And I wished I could just get up and open it. But I was too busy trying to breathe.

I gritted my teeth, moving the arm beneath me to a better position, reaching out onto the floor with my palm downwards. My nails scratched the floor, as I tried to grasp some sense of leveling around me. Each muscle in my abdomen and upper body rippled under the pressure, and I felt the heat come over me, unlike before when cold was all I knew.

I did everything in my power to turn my body onto its front, hearing my own hoarse breath leave my lips in a guttural gasp.

Laying heavily on my wounds, I now used both arms, pushing my elbows into the floor and lifting my chin from the ground.

I must have looked, let alone felt, like those undead monsters we fought every day. The ones who, when we stared into what face they had left, all I saw was disparity and desperation.

I pulled forward, dragging the rest of my body across the floor, but my whole being protested as a squeak echoed in my ears, and I heard my own calls to stop and give up.

My body fell once again, onto the floor, and I turned my face to let my cheek press itself into the tiles below. Tears streamed downwards, trailing past the bridge of my nose, and onto the floor. It wet the surface, turning red as I pressed a light fingerprint into the pattern.

I gasped once and twice, playing with the fabric of my clothes to press it further into the blood that painted my front.

I couldn't exactly make out the words Daryl was saying, just that he said them so loud, I heard it knock against the metal door, along with his fists.

I whimpered, taking in my view of the bodies around me. I only took in air, continuously breathing in every half second. I could not breathe out, and I could feel my ribs caving in.

"Oh my-" a voice, much louder than the two behind the door, came from above me and I reached my free hand around the back of my body to try and shield away from anything coming.

Quick footsteps and deft hands came up my back and sides and I almost cried out in protest until it was all paired with a recognizable voice. "Jesus, Mar'."

"Gle-," I coughed, and used my hand I once used to shield myself, to frantically point at the door. "The door! The door!" My voice was high with desperation and worry.

Someone followed my orders, as Glenn kept beside me, moving the hair from my eyes.

T-Dog ran to the handle, pulling quickly and heavily until it threw itself open. I couldn't see properly, but the once shouting voices faded as the two men were given freedom.

"Laura?" I heard Harvey's tone fill with tears, and it only made me breathe in faster. To the point where my vision was blurring at the blinding point of panic.