A Brother's Influence (A Daryl Dixon Story)

Lost

The sun was setting low and gave off a look of the woods being on fire. The warm red glow gave no comfort to Daryl as he sat on a log trying to stop the crying that had been non-stop for the past few hours. All the trees and trails looked the same. He even got down on his hands and knees and tried his hand at tracking himself, to see if he could see which way he came from. It looked like he needed to go west. He sat for a few more minutes then wiped his nose on his sleeve. It was time to get up and get moving because it was going to be dark soon and the last thing Daryl wanted was to be in the woods at night with no light or fire going. He walked around for another 45 minutes and found a one room shack with no door or window. The inside had about 3 inches of dirt inside the eight by ten room, with a few weeds thrown in for good measure. By now, it's completely dark; Daryl only getting a little light from the moon which was full and beautiful. He was starving but knew with certainty that no food was coming tonight. He was thirsty and he wasn't certain if he'd find any water and that was the worst part. He knew he had to have water so in the morning that would be the first thing he'd try to find. For now though, he was exhausted and just wanted to pass out. He broke off some large branches and stuck one in front of the one lone window and twined three other branches together to stand in front of the door. Anything could still get in but hopefully now he'd hear it while they did.

Daryl's clothes were stuck to him from all the blood. It was uncomfortable but bearable but he could also smell it which was disgusting. 'Dad really gave it good to me this time" he thought as he tried to lay down. But he also thought that he never hated someone so much in life as he did his dad. When his mom was alive, he could sit down next to her and tell her stories about his adventures in the woods. She would ooh and aww in all the right places but never forgot to tell him to always be careful because sometimes the woods were dangerous. But he was a growing boy who liked to play Robinhood. He loved the whole bow and arrow thing and the Christmas before his mom passed, she bought him his very first one. It was a junior sized one, nothing too big for him to get hurt with, but it was perfect and she was perfect but now she was gone. Times like this Daryl always asked God why it had to be his mom and not his dad? She was the one who loved him, the one he needed, always.

He wished he had his bow and arrows now that he was lost. Maybe he'd stay lost, his dad didn't want him and he beat him a lot, Merle was never around and after he ran out on him today, he didn't care if he ever saw him again either. He could take care of himself, hell, he practically did at home. But he was still scared, it's one thing being home alone with electricity and food, it's another being alone in the dark woods. He closed his eyes and tried to make his mind blank, he sure was tired.

Apparently no creature tried to come in the night before because the branches were still how Daryl left them. When he tried to sit up, his back ached and burned from all the lashes his dad gave him. He knew he had to get up so he forced himself to his knees then slowly to his feet. His stomach rumbled and moaned but most of all, his throat needed some water, his mouth was so dry he felt he could drink a river.

Morning time in the woods could be a beautiful thing if you weren't nine years old and lost. The birds were chirping and dew was falling off the branches, giving everything a clean, wet look and smell. Merle had taught Daryl the signs to look for when a person was looking for water. Looking up to see if he could see birds circling, any rivets in the earth traveling in a certain direction or green vegetation, all signs for Daryl that water is probably close by. It took him a couple of hours but Daryl finally found a small stream. He was luckier yet when he found an old soda can and an empty Gatorade bottle left on the side of the bank, probably brought downstream by the creeks current. His first drank from the creek seemed to go on forever then he washed out both the can and the bottle and filled both up with water to take back to his shelter, knowing he would find the way because he tied little pieces of his shirt to mark a trail. His shirt was all tore up anyway.