The Tears I Cry

Everyone thinks Merle was a bad guy. Maybe he was, but he'll always be my knight in shining armor. Daryl needs to know that there was more to the douchey exterior of Merle, and that Merle did care. We sat around the fire every night, and I'd always hear about Daryl at one point. Yeah, he'd bring Daryl up to just put him down but it's the simple fact he said anything in the first place. He cared.

And I'd rather die then let anyone think he never gave a da*n. This is our story.

~

"God Jesus I'm sorry I'm sorry- get me out uh this and I'll be good I promise! I'll be good-" the man was badly sunburned, with peeling skin and chapped lips. "Rrrrra grarrr." The zombies pressed in deeper attracted by the noise. He paused. He was going to die. It was certain, him being chained to a pipe on the roof of a building now over run by zombies wasn't the best situation. In fact it was pretty horrible. The door to the roof was chained shut, but that didn't stop the zombies from trying to squeeze through. It was holding. For now, at least. Licking my lips I grin. The taste of dust laced the inside of my mouth and coated my body like another skin. Those sons of b*tches left him like a teenage girl leaves Twinkle Toes for Uggs 25% off. Laughter bubbles at my lips and it's a hella job of keeping it in. Lack of water really does make you crazy. Shut up. What a dufus. There's a reason we were both left for the dead. He wouldn't shut his pie-hole and... and, I, was dead weight. Perhaps it's cruel to just sit and watch him struggle and maybe I should try to figure a way out to help him. But I can't find it in me to.

I can taste the heat, weighing down on my tongue like fresh tar, goey and hot hot hot. Dust. That's my name. Okay it's not but it's my nickname-well it feels like me right now. Really it's Erna The Jinx. Serousily though my parents named me Erna The Jinx- don't ask. All I got to do is get up and find some water and then I can sit back and be done, done with life and die in comfort. Water water water. Yum yum yum.

Maybe I should help him. "S...sir." I get up but my world spins at an unnatural speed. Sh*t. 

I waited to long. Looks like I'm gonna die and be eaten by vultures aka zombies.Guess this is what I get for being a 12 year old in the zombie apocalypse. Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiz. My head burns something feirce so I decide to just sit- or lay down. Yes, lay down even better. I'll help the man when I wake up.

"Ahh-nnnnmf!" Jolting awake I stumble into a ready position. My vision is a screwed up kalidoscope. The vultures moan louder pressing harder into the door. The noise is coming up ahead from the spot the man is- or was in. "Hello?" I hear another muffled scream and I advance, weilding my blunt kitchen knife wearily. That's when I see it. I bite back a scream. Let's get things straight, I used to gut fish for a living, okay? Tis the life of a Native American needing to make a quick buck- but let me tell you gutting fish is one thing, but sawing your f*cking hand off- is a whole other level. My jaw drops and hits the floor, it is so red. Dark red almost a black. "Jeezus A Crust. What the f*ck man?"

Yeah I'm not gonna help this man out any time soon looks like he gots it all under control. Slowly back away Dust SLOWLY back away. -" Hey little girl- help me! C'mere!"

If my jaw wasn't already touching the floor I'm sure it would be now. He wants MY help? Yeah, so not happening dude. "Ummmm no I'm good nice meeting you bye." Spinning around I get ready to take my leave but is stopped.

"You little b!*ch get back here." There was a deadly tone in his voice but that's not why I turned around, oh no. I turned around because I could read between the lines, he needed me. No one has needed me before so much- my decision would decide his fate...probably. On the off chance he survives finds me and I didn't help him I will be so scr*wed that I got it coming out of my ears. "Look here mister, shut the f*ck up cause they're hungry. I'm gonna help you just... hold on. Let me get my pack." The man was caucasion oor somein', what my Granny liked to call a "redneck". I never met a redneck living on the rez and all but I guess when you father finally gets his sh*t together it's the perfect time for the world to go to h*ll. My momma told me not to believe him and stay with her, guttin fish all day knuckle deep in fish scales and hunting trips... but I thought, hey maybe things changed. I snort. Grab my pack full of bandages and Advil. "Yo' Mister there's a kitchen thing downstairs- we can fix you up there." Bending I yank with all my might on his arm- the one that hasn't been sawed off of course. He's heavy though and I'm so repulsed by his gushing arm I have to swallow my throw up. Twice. He doesn't need my help as much as I hoped and or thought. he had it pretty much handled- I heard not a moan from him. "Son of ah b*tch." He cursed.

The only way down was to crawl through a window thing, I could do this easily but he was gonna be challenged.  

"Do... can you come down?"

He grunts in pain. Or maybe in answer, I'm not entirely sure. Well shit.