Broken Memories • The Walking Dead Fanfiction

20

Skye

"Can you hear the stars singing for you?"

I turned my head as we lied within the bed our old, red trunk to face my father, his eyes glued on me with a soft sense of pride and curiosity. He pulled the quilt tighter over me to restrain any cold air to enter.

"No." I whispered quietly. "How do I hear it?"

I looked up at the sky, my young, innocent, 6-year-old eyes wide in awe as I gazed at the white diamonds that shone against the dark night. They dotted the sky in an artwork that had me feeling inferior. I understood this as a young child.

The sky was the most beautiful thing in world.

"If you listen you can hear it." Dad said silently. "They sing to you when it gets quiet enough. I named you after them, just for that reason. They're generous."

My father took my smaller hand in his large, soft hand and held it up to point at a constellation.

"That's the big dipper. He has the best voice."

"I can't hear him though." I whispered, snuggling closer into my Dad's leather jacket on the hard truck bed.

"That's why we've got to be quiet honey." He chuckled. I nodded and squeezed my small hands over my mouth, allowing the soft rumbles of gentle wind and earthly settling to take space in my ears rather than my own voice. My dad was silent and I strained my ears to where I could hear, or what I though I could hear over natural cricket chirps and shaky trees rustles, a serene chime.

It was like a melody, and I was certain as a small child that I wasn't making it up. It was definitely there. I held my breath in awe.

"Daddy, Daddy! I heard it! Did you hear it?" I whispered excitedly, afraid to talk too loud and cause the song to stop.

My father nodded and smiled, pulling me closer into him before looking back up. "I heard it. I told you; the stars love to sing."

"Do you think they ever stop singing?" I asked curiously.

"No. We just get too caught up with life to stop and listen." My father responded as he traced his fingers through a constellation.

"What does that mean?"

My father didn't answer right away. He stayed quiet for a while, and as the night was late and I was covered with a soft blanket ( despite the hardness of the trunk bed ) , a cozy blackness dripped into my vision and pulled my eyelids closed over my blue orbs. I had comfort, warmth, and most importantly, love to make sure my young innocent soul would fold into the darkness of dreams.

Before I fell back asleep in my father's arms as we stargazed, I heard him answer me: "Don't ever get too caught up with reality to forget about peace. Don't ever forget that SkyeBug."

+++

My eyes opened quickly, but it wasn't out of fear or anger or panic that drove me from my slumber. It was sadness. My mind was now filled with memories of my father... memories that happened a long, long time ago. Before anything mattered.

I was an older, different, and darker girl than I was then.

The memories were like golden reminders that I hardly thought to pull out in times of trouble. I was worried of course, but now, the thought of the past made me sad.

I sat up from my spot on the pew and gazed around the darkened church. A lamp on the far side blinked and faintly colored the corner of the room where Rick, Michonne, Tara, Tyreece, and Glenn sat awake. They talked quietly, allowing the others to attempt to capture some sort of rest.