WHIPLASH. ( DARYL DIXON )

one.

written in the perspective of Elena Marie Grimes (first person)

I remember screaming.

I remember the burning. I remember the pain, the deaths, and I remember it taking fucking forever.

It all started with a scream though. It started from my toes and slowly worked it's way up to my throat with an animalistic rage. After that it was a blur surrounded by questions of what happened, who I was, and more importantly; who I killed.

"They can't hurt you now," they whispered from beside me in the old truck. "I've got you."

But who's going to save me from the guilt crawling up my throat even after I realize how truly horrific the thing that I just assassinated was. 

A shaking, soft hand took hold of my elbow, snapping me out of the trance I was in, bringing me back to the reality where I had blood coating my nimble hands, blood of the undead.

I swallowed thickly, my sharp blue eyes darting to the freckled boy in the back seat of the truck who had touched my arm in an attempt to soothe my worry. My nephew gave me a half-hearted toothy grin, which came out more as a grimace, but my stoic expression never changed. If I was in my right mind I would have laughed, ruffled his hair and spouted out a corny joke. But I wasn't in my right mind. None of this was right. Everything is absolutely fucked.

Not bothering a glance at my sister-in-law in the back, I faced the front of the car, sitting stiff in my seat, my clenched jaw threatening to break my own teeth. 

"That person wasn't alive, Elena, you know that." The gruff man in the seat next to me muttered, reaching over to pin a piece of hair back behind my ear. 

My breath came out in shaky bursts, as if my body couldn't decide whether breathing was even a priority right now. I looked to my left, my eyebrows creased in thought. I let his statement sit in the air, my gaze wandering to the bodies that now littered the sidewalks of Atlanta. 

I reached down, my shaking fingers finding their way into his rough hands. Letting out a deep breath, I whimpered, "Shane, I'm scared."

I never broke down. Not in front of anyone who wasn't Rick Grimes. I was always the tough one, my brother was the big softie. I  had always called Rick my teddy bear because that was just how our relationship worked; I was the tough but secretly super sensitive baby sister, and he was the really over protective older brother who doubled as a giant teddy bear. He nearly flipped his shit over every boyfriend I ever got, you can imagine his rage when he found out Shane and I were together. 

But he's gone now, lying somewhere on a hospital bed deep in the city of Atlanta, Georgia. Or perhaps he's wandering these very streets, roaming about, looking for his next victim.

Shane never responded, though. Instead giving me reassurance by bringing our intertwined hands up to his lips. As much as he tried to hide it, I knew he was scared, too.

It wasn't long until we found other people, alive people. People who seemed almost as lost and confused as we were. 

While Lori and Shane quickly integrated themselves into the group, I stuck around a select few, specifically Glenn Rhee and Amy.

We had almost nothing in common besides the small fact that we had no one else to talk to, so within a few days we knew almost everything about each other. 

Amy was incredibly outgoing and genuinely nice, which was almost intimidating because as soon as I stepped into camp she grabbed my hand and drug me around, introducing me to everyone within the small group. We became close almost instantly.