Writer of Stories.

Writer of Stories.

Tuesday, September 15, 2015

Random Bethyl Feels


I'm on a Walking Dead high/low. 
The countdown for season 6 is getting so close, and I've decided to make the time go by re-watching the entire show from the beginning. Doing such, I came across my love for Daryl and Beth, again. It's been a while since I've had an OTP this severe, and I was devastated when she died. So, my way of coping was to write. Duh. I'm a creative thinker. My coping mechanism with anything is to write it all down. Yes. Instead of working on my own books, I took the time to do this. Sorry not sorry.

I loved it so much, I wanted to share it.
Here is a small scene from Daryl's POV after Beth dies.
I wanted to dig deeper into how he was feeling.

The worst thing he could possibly feel was creeping along his skin like spiders on a web. The loss ate at his bones, licking them like fire. It was unlike anything he’d ever experienced. One second, she was there. And now, she was just gone.
What had he done to bring this upon himself? He’d never wanted to feel in the first place. Keeping people at a distance was his forte, but she’d broken his barrier. She’d torn down the walls that surrounded his heart and his mind, burrowing deep and latching on with innocence and a sense of security unlike anything he’d ever known. Was it possible to take it all back? Could he blink and somehow wake up, realizing it was all a dream?
A terrible nightmare.
A horrific thought.
Not real or true.
This pain was real. He knew that. It didn’t make sense that losing someone could physically hurt. His muscles seized at his core. They sent shudders of heartbreak up and down his spine. Over and over again. He was losing his breath. He was blind from the tears. Silently, he prayed that the salt in his eyes would wash over his entire body, sweeping him away from the earth and on to her. Wherever she was.
It did happen, he reminded himself. Everything that happened, it was real.
I was falling in love with her.
He hadn't understood it at first, but he'd felt the pull toward her--that ache inside that told him to open up. To let her in.
I love her, he thought.
With tremendous effort, he lifted himself off the ground. He’d placed her body among the flowers. They were the color of her hair, bright and golden yellow. Tiny rays of sun illuminated her face. Her features remained quiet and still. Eerily still. Why had it taken him so long to realize she was beautiful? Something so fragile didn’t belong in this world. It was a cruel joke to believe that it was all for a reason. She’d believed it, but could he? Now that she couldn’t remind him to be good, would he be able to live as that person? She saw it in him, even when he didn’t. She’d become everything he didn’t think he could be, and now he was nothing. He couldn’t be anything without her.
Flashes of the moments they’d shared came to him in giant waves. They crashed again him, slowly corroding what remained of the hope he'd found. If he closed his eyes long enough, he could still see her smile. He could still feel the nerves of awkwardness and sparks that shot between them. Something had been happening. Something had been building, but now it was broken. She was the light at the end of the tunnel, but someone came along and blew it out. He’d never forget it, and he most certainly would never forgive.
The others were beginning to scatter. He could still hear the cries of her sister in the distance. It was a mournful sob that didn’t sound human. It was guttural and crushing. It wasn’t that he couldn’t understand their pain. After all, they’d lost her too. But it was different for him. They’d lost someone. For him, he’d lost everything. Know one but her would ever know how close he’d come to feeling alive. Could he ever find that again? Would he ever want to?
Each step back to the group felt like bricks weighing him down to the earth. One wrong move and he would fall through the sinking ground. Down, down, down. He was already being swallowed by grief, what would a little dirt do to him now? He’d be with her. They’d share a grave together. Something inside him was already dead, so what would it matter if he actually was? It was just a technicality. One shot through the skull, just like her. That’s all it would take. They’d truly be able to feel each other’s pain.

But he couldn’t do that. She wouldn’t want him to. And he was too much of a coward to try.