Red ~ TWD (Daryl Dixon)

Disturbia

The mind was a tricky thing.  It didn't work the way I thought it did.  Nothing does. 

Life. 

Love. 

Sacrifice. 

Death. 

I never understood any of it. 

How do you measure a person's life, their worth?  Was it in the all times they fell short?  Or the few times they got it right? 

Maybe it was all the times in-between, the moments, small, seemingly insignificant details shinning brighter than all the rest.  Maybe that was all that really mattered.  I hoped so.  The thought was a comfort to me now.

Not that long ago I believed death was far easier than life, but then again, I used to think a lot of things.  Mainly, I used to think this was where the story ended, but now, I wasn't so sure. 

My time in captivity had crawled by excruciatingly slow, but afforded me a lot of time to think.  Hell, my days were pretty wide open.  I was either locked in my cell being psychologically tortured or surrounded by Savior's who continually tried to beat me into submission.  I preferred the cell all things considered. 

While my body was securely locked away my mind was free to wander.  The human body will go to extreme lengths to cope with suffering, and this was no exception.  For reasons beyond my comprehension I'd been focused on the concept of peace lately.  Pondering whether it was real or simply an illusion? 

I'd come to the conclusion that if it did exist I'd never experienced it.  I'd fought for it, bleeding so that others could enjoy its comfort, knowing deep down I'd never feel it myself.  My childhood was as far from peaceful as you could get.  It was as if fate was preparing me for a future no one saw coming.  As an adult my life looked much the same as it had in childhood.  I fought, but not for myself.  I battled in the name of the oppressed, or my country, but despite my seemingly righteous quest I still knew nothing of peace.  There was no peace for someone whose hands were stained with blood. 

Ironically, the closest I'd ever come to peace was the day the world ended.  I'd visited my sister with the promise of peace poised on my lips, but the streets of Atlanta descended to chaos before I got the chance.  Any possibility I had to feel the tranquility of it vanished the day the dead rose.

My grandfather used to say it was always darkest before the dawn.  It was a nice concept, but it was a fairytale meant for children.  The reality was no one understood darkness.  Assuming it was simply the absence of light was categorically incorrect.  No, true darkness was far more malevolent.  It was bone chilling, cold and grim.  It lacked a perception that left you hopeless to decipher the passage of time while simultaneously leaving you lonely, hopeless, and utterly vulnerable.  What my grandfather failed to pass on in my youth was the second half of the story...sometimes you didn't live long enough to see the dawn.   

"Sing the song with the dolphin."

The sound of her voice made me cringe.  It was one thing to know you were too far gone to come back.  It was entirely different to see it. 

I didn't look at her because acknowledging her presence felt like acknowledging my insanity.  However, despite not wanting to oblige the request I immediately heard the song in my head.  The words played on my lips, every syllable tangling with my teeth as I teetered on the edge of unconsciousness.  I was so tired, so utterly exhausted, I found it hard to do even the simplest of things, but rest, much like peace, eluded me. 

Not that it mattered.  Rest wouldn't come even if I did manage to sleep.  I gave up on that prospect days ago.  At least I think it was days.  Despite being on the verge of a coma, which was as close to rest as I was likely to come, I had no idea how long I'd been here.  Tears dripped from my eyes, some from pain, some desperation, most from sheer, raw grief.