Built For This World

CHAPTER 2

I've always been a good girl.
A good daughter.
A good friend.
A diligent student.
I got good grades at school.
I had a lot of friends.
I always helped my mother with the housework.
I didn't messing around with my peers.
On Saturdays, instead of lazing in bed, I helped dad with his beloved garden.
Every Saturday morning him, me and my mother all had breakfast together.
We spent more than an hour sitting at the table eating mom's pancakes.
We always made fun of her because she always came out with some mess.
Her pancakes were always too raw or too burnt or she used salt instead of sugar.
And we stood there, laughing together.
Happy.
We told each other about our week and what we wanted to do.
Dad never missed the opportunity to kiss her temple or her cheek and I watched them enraptured.
Almost jealous that I too have not yet found a love so great, so all-encompassing.
Mom, oh yeah she knew me well!
She always knew exactly what was going on in my mind.
“Don't worry, darling, one day you too will find the man of your dreams” she said to me one morning after my father steals another kiss from her, earning my embarrassed look and a loud snort from the man sitting next to her.
“Don't be ridiculous, honey.Summer is still too young” he replied almost angrily, getting up from the table and starting to collect the now empty plates.
Mom and I giggled in unison.
His jealousy towards his only adored daughter was well known in the house and we often teased him about it.
I straightened my back and crossed my arms over my chest.
“Mom was much younger than me when you met” I replied piqued with a sly and mischievous smile.
“It was different” he muttered, his back to us as he stood at the kitchen sink.
More giggles followed his words.
Now in the oblivion of the death I can remember many small details that I didn't even notice at the time.
For example, mom's slightly pale complexion.
She thought it was a little seasonal flu.
“I'm fine, I'm fine” she had repeated several times that week.
“It's just that the other evening I took out the trash without putting on my jacket and the air was cold”
And instead it was the disease that was slowly and inexorably taking over her body.
The light that morning reflected on the marble top of the kitchen counter, making her large eyes shine, hypnotizing me with their beauty.
Sun that was blindingly reflected even in her long golden hair.
They remind me the ripe wheat in summer.
That morning she was still wearing her pajamas with a photo of our family on the shirt, an old Christmas present from me.
Dad, for his part, was wearing an old sweatpants and his old, tattered Star Wars sweatshirt, a sweatshirt that mom hated so much that she even tried to make it disappear but in the end she had given in to the irresistible pout of her beloved husband.
So they had reached a compromise, as they always did.
They almost never argued, they always worked hard to find a meeting point.
So in the end they came to the conclusion that if my father didn't want to see his beloved sweatshirt in the garbage he can could only wear it during his gardening sessions.
My father turned slowly, keeping his large eyes, the same color and intensity of soft, hot chocolate, fixed on me.
“You're still a kid, I don't see the point in discussing it now, right?” he repeated but this time looking at my mother.
Her, with a shrug and a sly smile, got up from her chair to reach his side.
Her small and delicate hands found my father's face and after caressing his cheeks with the tips of her fingertips, she placed a quick kiss on his lips.
“I'm sorry but this time I'm with her” she whispered to him and then turned her back on us and headed towards the stairs.
“Have fun in the garden” she greeted us with a quick wave of her hand, leaving me in the throes of laughter and his husband with the signs of betrayal on his face.
I knew that she was secretly happy that I loved spending my Saturday morning among his flowers because, before I was old enough to help him, my father forced my mother to do it and she hated it but she loved him more and she indulged him.
Now, however, she had Saturday morning all to herself and she spent it locked in the bathroom, immersed in a tub of hot water with the foam gently lapping her body and a good book to keep her company.
“Come on, I'll help you” I huffed, getting up from my seat and joining my father near the sink.
“The sooner we finish washing the dishes and the sooner we can go in the garden”
My father's eyes moved from the stairs, from where his other half had disappeared, to rest them on me again with a look I had never seen on him before.
A sad look but also infinitely proud and full of love.
As if he was really realizing that he no longer had that five-year-old girl next to him who asked him to carry her to bed because her little legs were tired after spending the afternoon in the park.
No, in front of him, he now saw a beautiful and capable young woman, ready to make many men lose their minds.
Men who wouldn't have been him.
He just wanted to be the only man in her life because he would never make her suffer.
Never.
Even if at the ends of the world it had happened...
He broke her heart.
We washed the dishes in silence and then always in silence we went to the back garden of our beautiful little house.
Washington was a really nice place to live.
In that area, in this quiet and peaceful suburb, him and my mother had purchased this small house, and decided at the time to fill it with love and children.
Love had never been lacking but alas the children had not arrived.
After years of painful miscarriages they had decided to give up and when they were thinking about adoption I arrived.
The story of the discovery of my existence has always brought tears in my eye because I was finally able to understand how much I was loved without any reservations from the very first moment, since I was just a small mass of cells measuring a few millimetres.
“It was a hot morning, summer was upon us” my mother's words resonate clear and strong in this darkness that death is.
“For a few mornings I had been feeling strangely dizzy and your father kept telling me he wanted to take me to Doctor Monroe.But I didn't want to go and I knew why.I was afraid.Afraid that the doctor would give me yet another bad news.I knew my period was late but I didn't want to give myself any false hope.I knew that soon the blood loss would confirm to me that my body was not capable of caring for my child”
Her big green eyes were a reflection of my own.
Shiny with tears and unconditional love.
“So that morning, after your father left for work, I went to the pharmacy to buy some pregnancy tests.Your father found me sitting on the bathroom floor, four pregnancy tests all positive placed in front of me.I was crying so much that I couldn't even find the strength to say a single word”
“God, when I saw her like that, on that floor, my heart stopped for a moment”
At the sound of his raspy voice we both turned our heads, looking behind us.
Dad was leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes full of love.
He was wearing a blue sweater from which the collar of a white shirt protruded and his legs were wrapped in a pair of dark jeans.
The graying hair at his temples was elegantly combed.
Looking at him like that, with the light from the fireplace reflecting elegant shadows on his face, I could perfectly understand why my mother had fallen for him so hard to the point of deciding to get married at the age of eighteen.
We were so enraptured by our confidences that we didn't realize that it was already 5pm and that my father had returned from work.
With a small push he move away from the door and joined us on the sofa.
He kissed my mother on the head and then did the same to me and sat next to me, his strong arm around my shoulders and his scent filling my lungs and heart.
“I sat next to her and I started crying too” he admitted with a hint of shame coloring his cheeks.
“I should have been a man and consoled her, told her that everything would be fine…but instead I was stunned and scared.Full of hope and fear.I didn't want to go through that hell again and above all I didn't want her to go through it again"
While he spoke he never took his eyes off the woman he had promised to love and protect for his whole life.
My mother spoke up again.
“We decided to take it slow.We waited three weeks to go for an ultrasound.It was June 20th.The first day of summer we discovered of your existence" my mother whispered with the sweetest look I had ever seen on her face.
“That's why we decided to call you Summer” she added immediately after stroking my arm.
It was the first time I heard the true origin of my name.
I was ecstatic and euphoric.
I loved the idea that my name had such a deep meaning, full of a story of revenge on life.
“It's a wonderful name.I'm sorry I despised it when I was younger” I giggled sheepishly, wiping away the tears that had unconsciously begun to spill from my eyes, making them both laugh out loud.
Yeah, because I hated it when I was a child.
I hated my name because some kids at school teased me by calling me Winter or Spring.
“Don't worry my love, just thank me for not letting your father choose the name” mom giggled, wiping away my tears with the tip of her thumb and earning an indignant look from my father.
“Hey!Leia is a beautiful name” my father replied piqued pointing a finger at her.
"Seriously?Did you really want to name me after a Star Wars character?” I squeaked, my voice an octave higher, turning completely towards him and meeting his playful gaze.
He ruffled the hair on the top of my head and stood up.
"Women!You don't understand anything about good films” he muttered, leaving us alone.
Laughing, I hugged my mother eagerly, burying my face in her warm and welcoming chest.
Her skin smelled like home, security and love to me.
Her delicate hands caressed my back with slow, gentle movements.
“Thank you for sharing this story with me” I smiled at her thanking her and then got up to go find my father and continue to tease him a little about the origins of my name.
My mind quickly returns to my old memory of that distant autumn morning in the garden.
The silence continued to linger between us as we continued to dig small furrows on the ground with our hands wrapped in sturdy garden gloves.
I knew my father was very jealous of me and I was afraid I had overdone the jokes that morning so I was mustering up the courage to apologize for going too far with the joke but before I could open my mouth he did.
“I know you're a woman now.I'm not stupid.You're 24 years old and you've been living alone for over a year now...it's just that...that you'll always be my little girl for me, you know?”
His words filled my eyes with tears.
His eyes instead were fixed on his dirty and worn gloves.
He dropped, sitting on the cold, hard ground.
His legs raised and his arms resting on his knees.
I felt paralyzed, kneeling in front of him.
In front of that man who, despite the endless hard blows that life has reserved for him, did nothing but give me unconditional love.
After a few moments of silence his eyes found mine.
“The most selfish part of me just wants to keep you safe but I know it's right for you to have your own life, for you to find a man who truly loves you.Someone who can take care of you when I can no longer do so”
The mere idea that one day he would no longer be with me shattered my heart and made me tremble.
I shook my head to chase away that horrible possibility.
“Dad” I whispered with a low voice, avoiding his gaze so as not to show him my pain.
His reference to the fact that he might one day die had shaken me to the core.
I knew that, in many many years, it could happen but I always avoided thinking about it.
“No Summer, listen”
His hand, strong but at the same time capable of disarming kindness, squeezed my arm.
My eyes goes immediately on him.
We were both filled with such immense love that it was impossible to explain in words.
"I'm not angry.Really.I just want you to make the right choice.May you choose someone who treats you well, who listens to you and who loves you as you deserve to be loved”
We were both on the verge of tears.
I understood how much that small admission cost him and so, trying to lighten the moment, I hugged him quickly, risking making both of us fall.
I sank forcefully into his arms, always so warm and welcoming, basking in all his love.
“Big shoes to fit for the man that come” I whispered against his chest hoping he would understand that I would never settle for someone who wasn't at least a shred of what he was.
“You will always be my first true love, daddy” I added, enjoying that moment of pure love.
The memory dissipates from my mind as if it had been a pile of leaves blown away by a gust of wind, leaving me alone again in the darkness of death.
It's weird that death chose this memory to bring back to my mind.
A sweet but deeply painful memory.
And maybe that's exactly the point.
Pain.
The pain both physical and mental that continues to follow me even after death.
Why?
Why does it have to hurt so much?
Wasn't it enough that my death had been painful?
Why do I have to continue to suffer even now?
The pain is all around me so intense and immense that I don't understand where it comes from.
I don't feel the contours of my body, just a pain that I can't place.
A costant pain, almost annoying.
Why does it still hurt?
Why is there only darkness and pain?
Pain and darkness.
Where is the heaven?
Where are my fucking wings and my white clouds to rest cradled by the hand of God?
Where is my mom?
I thought that once I died I had a chance to be again with her.
To live my eternal rest in her loving arms, lulled by the sound of her angelic lullabies.
So there is nothing after death except darkness and pain?
No choirs of angels or white lights?
Fuck.
Nice swindle.
After a few moments or an infinity of centuries, I have no sense of time in this dark and desolate place, another wave of pain arrives but this time there is something different...
I can feel my fingers.
Slowly and with immense effort it seems that my body is regaining its contours.
Its shape.
First I contract the tips of my fingers, I hear the slight crunch of the dry leaves beneath them, then I move on to those of my feet.
They are there and they seem to work.
After moments or hours I feel my head.
I barely move it with absolute caution, I moving it only a few inches but the movement causes a stinging pain at the base of my neck.
Then that pain again and this time a gasp escapes my lips.
“Please stop”
My voice sounds unknown to my ears, hoarse and croaking.
And finally I find my eyes which, with an inhuman effort, reopen.
But there is no light in front of me, there is no sky...there is only a huge dark shadow.
I squeeze my eyelids tight.
Now a new feeling pervades me.
Fear.
That shadow is here for me.
It came to get me.
It is the death that, wrapped in its dark cloak, has decided to come and claim its new victim.
That pain again.
And now I know where it comes from.
From my side, at rib level.
But this time the pain is followed by a voice.
So does death have a voice?
I try to concentrate on opening my eyes again and very slowly I succeed, my eyelids flicker slightly in the process but after a few moments my vision adjusts.
The blurred edges of the death take on a sharp and decisive profile.
There is a man in front of me.
My weak heart jumps into my throat giving me a rush of adrenaline that gives me the strength to bring my right hand to my thigh in search of my knife but my hand finds nothing along its path.
Where's my knife?
And my machete?
“If you're looking for your weapons, I have them”
And even if the words come distorted in my brain I understand what he's telling me.
Damn.
The man speaks again but no sound reaches my ears.
I try to concentrate all my attention on his lips, which are still moving, to understand the meaning of the words that come out but without great results.
So I go back to focusing on his eyes.
Are they… clear?
They appear light blue, his eyebrows furrowed.
The hair, short on the sides and longer on the top, frames a face with a square and firm jaw, covered with a light layer of beard.
Some dark blonde locks fall lazily over his eyes making his gaze even more menacing and scary.
On his upper lip, on the left, a small mole stands out.
His lips move again and this time I catch the last words of the sentence.
“…name?”
I look at him confused, trying to answer in turn.
Of course I look like shit right now.
Sprawled on the ground, in this remote forest of Georgia, with filthy clothes and the look of a psychopath.
“What…” I clear my throat.
Wrong move.
It burn, everything burn.
But I have to speak before this stranger decides it's easier to kill me.
"What did you say?" I gasp painfully.
“Ya got a name?” the man repeats slowly this time, pronouncing the words as if he were talking to a stupid person.
A strong southern accent colors his words.
His tone is threatening, as if I really could be a threat to him right now.
Is he really serious?
Is this the way to talk to another human being with one foot already in the grave?
And if before I was scared now I only see red.
Just anger.
“Yeah, I have a name.You no?Didn't your mother give you one?”
For a moment his look seems surprised but it lasts a fraction of a second, such a short period of time that for a moment I think I imagined it.
His arms rise in front of him.
His large muscles flex sinuously beneath his sunburned skin.
A look of pure hatred dances in his eyes like the flames of hell.
And if I used to have to worry about an angry redneck now I have to worry about an angry redneck with a huge crossbow, crossbow aimed right at my face.
My father was right, my damn sarcasm would get me in trouble one day.
Shit.
I close my eyes trying to calm my nerves.
There is nothing I can do at the moment, I only have two paths I can take.
Either I bite my tongue and try to be civil to this stranger or I end up with an arrow between my eyes.
And the man's subsequent words confirm this to me.
“Yer name” says the man firmly, adding immediately after “Before I lose my patience and put an arrow between yer pretty eyes”
Inhaling deeply I try to lift my head but to no avail so I just reopen my eyes and point them into the eyes of the archer who towers menacingly over me.
“Summer.That's my name”
I maintain eye contact as he studies me intently, trying to figure out if he can trust me.
Which is saying a lot.
What on earth could I do to him if I can't even lift my head without feeling nauseous?
During his silence I take the opportunity to study him in turn.
He has broad shoulders, defined muscles that adhere almost indecently to the sleeveless t-shirt he is wearing.
His chest is so massive it makes me shiver.
The muscles in his arms are tense as they hold that weapon, a weapon so simple but so scary at the same time.
My gaze travels down his legs, the massive muscles of his thighs barely squeezed into a pair of filthy jeans.
I see him take a step forward and I reflexively tense up, stopping his advance.
Maybe he doesn't want to hurt me.
Maybe if I behave, this harsh stranger could mean the difference between life and death.
The difference between my life and my death.
“Why are you lying there?”
What the fuck?
What the fuck is that question?
What on earth can a person do stand still on a forest floor during an apocalypse?
What does he think I'm doing?
That I'm getting a tan?
But gathering every ounce of self-control I opt for a polite response, something that can explain the current pitiful state in which I find myself.
“I haven't eaten or drunk for days.I think I lost consciousness..." I whispered defeatedly, looking at the sky in search of the sun.
It's lower in the sky than I remember.
How long have I been lying here?
“I lost consciousness maybe an hour, maximum two hours ago.I'm waiting to die...so... if you want to finish the job that this fucking apocalypse has started...please be my guest”
I say the last words with a placid resignation.
Maybe continuing to live is the wrong choice.
Maybe there is nothing in Atlanta and even if there was something, what would I have to survive for?
I've lost everything.
I lost everyone.
After endless moments his voice breaks the silence around us again.
“Where are ya from?”
“Washington”
“Where were ya headed?”
Why lie now.
“Atlanta.I was looking for salvation”
“Are ya alone?”
“Yes”
And this hurts more than death.
Yes, I'm alone.
Completely and hopelessly alone.
Our little conversation, more like a little interrogation I dare say, ends here.
I close my eyes again placing my fate in the dirty strong hands of this man with eyes like the sky.
Eyes that seem to hide a kaleidoscope of emotions behind a wall of aggression.
I try to regulate my breathing.
I don't want to show my weakness because I'm not.
I am strong.
I walked for days, trying to survive with all my strength.
I hear the leaves crunching under his huge boots, the sound seems to be right next to my ears now.
“Take it”
His voice sounds less angry than it did a few minutes ago so I risk a glance towards his feet.
I open my eyes and take a few seconds to make sense of what I'm seeing.
The archer is bent on his knees, the enormous crossbow is tied to his back by a strap that crosses his chest.
His hand is stretched out towards me and in it there is a bottle of water.
Trying to channel all my strength into my arms, I use them to leverage myself and try to sit up and magically I succeed.
At least I can do it without throw up.
Great.
I bring my hand closer to the bottle and I notice that a slight tremor runs through my fingers, I don't know if it is due to my close experience with death or due to my proximity to this mysterious man.
The stern frown on his face doesn't disappear even when I grab the bottle and thank him with a slight nod.
I try to unscrew the cap several times but the plastic cap continually slips from my weak grip.
The man snorts, arrogantly taking the bottle out of my hands, being careful not to touch my fingers and with a quick and decisive movement unscrews the cap.
When I think that he is about to give me the bottle back I am petrified by his next move.
He leans towards me slightly bringing the bottle directly to my lips.
I think he realized that I don't have the strength to do it.
Docilely I bring my lips to the bottle, welcoming the first drops with trepidation.
When the water touches my tongue I feel my eyes fill with tears.
I drink slowly, closing my eyes, one sip at a time.
Part of me would like to swallow all the water in a single gulp but I am aware that I would only risk to throw up and feeling worse so, when I think I have drunk enough for the moment, I move my lips away.
The archer closes the bottle and drops it on my lap.
I think in his jargon of rude gestures and grunts this means take it.
I watch him as he stands up grabbing his backpack lying near my feet.
And now?
What happen?
Will he go?
Will he leaves me here alone to die?
As grateful as I am for his kind gesture, a bottle of water certainly won't save my life.
And the night is getting closer.
I have to find a safe place and quickly too.
“Can ya walk?”
His hoarse voice pierces my ears and reaches my brain.
Confused by his question, I look at his shoulders, his crossbow...and I can't understand if I can trust this man.
I try to get up, my legs are shaking but they seem to hold me up.
"I can try.Why?"
But a sudden swish catches our attention.
In the distance I hear growls.
Biters.
Shit.
I'll die.
I'm a burden right now and I'm more than sure that a person would never risk his life for a stranger.
But for the umpteenth time he surprised me.
He raises his hand in my direction, beckoning me with his fingers.
“Move” he orders me, leaving me perplexed.
In his eyes there is no agitation, there is no fear.
This man knows what he's doing.
He doesn't fear these fucking monsters.
He approaches me threateningly and I take a step back.
"M'not gonna hurt ya.But if ya don't move your ass I'll leave ya here.Ya understand, sunshine?”
It's the longest sentence I've ever heard him say.
His tone is authoritative, his voice confident with that sweet southern lilt that makes his words sticky and sweet as honey.
I am sure that he will do what he says as I am sure that he doesn't want to hurt me.
He had all the time available to do it and yet he decided to help me and he intends to do it again by taking me away with him.
When I'm about to answer him the growls get louder.
I only have time to register a movement behind me and as soon as I turn around what I see is a biter with an arrow stuck between his eyes.
My gaze returns to him, he has already lowered his crossbow and with one last step he approaches me leaving only a few steps of distance between our bodies.
I can feel the heat emanating from his large and tensed body.
Then without any warning he takes another step and grabs my wrist dragging me away with him.
Dazed and scared, I try to keep up with his pace even though I'm sure he's the one adapting to mine.
How do I know?
As a first clue I would say that his long and strong legs could pump harder than this and secondly his constant hangry scowl accompanied by little snorts every time my tired feet get caught in the vegetation.
But despite all this, the grip around my wrist doesn't loosen.
"Where do we go?" I pant, trying to concentrate all my mental and physical abilities in this fucking run.
As the archer runs he seems to have no hesitations about where his next destination is.
He stomps his feet on the ground with determination.
I risk a look behind me and I realize that at least a dozen of those horrible beings are following us.
If he had been alone he would have eliminated them without hesitation but now his goal is to get to a safe place to save us.
He knows that I am unable to defend myself and this mortifies me.
If he dies today it will only be my fault.
With this thought I try to pump my thighs as much as I can, increasing the pace of my step making it more confident and decisive.
In the air of this late afternoon at the end of summer the only sound present is the frantic panting of two human beings trying to survive.
Our boots pound hard on the dry, sun-baked ground.
And after what seems like an eternity we emerge from the woods.
I look around curiously.
We are at the top of a hill and in the distance there is a beautiful farm that seems to have remained untouched since the end of the world.
It almost seems like a place out of time.
A bit as if it were a painting, those beautiful paintings on canvas that my mom loved so much to paint.
The man tugs on my arm, silently inviting me with a look to run faster because here we are.
Finally here we are.
That farm is our salvation.
My eyes are focused on those white wooden walls.
For the first time I feel a small spark of hope inside me.
Maybe I won't die, not today at least.
My feet live a life of their own and accelerate thanks to the adrenaline that now flows through my veins.
Too caught up in my own euphoria I don't notice that the archer has stopped so my run is interrupted so abruptly that my neck is jerked violently.
I stop panting, looking at him as if he suddenly had two heads.
"We are almost there.Let's go” I pant impatiently.
But he's not even listening to me.
His back is to me and without releasing his grip on my wrist he uses his free hand to pull a gun from the back pocket of his jeans and uses it to fire a shot at the biters.
“Duck” he orders me, letting me go and turning his head slightly in my direction.
Instinctively I obey and bend down on my knees, holding my arms over my head.
I don't even have time to catch my breath before a hail of bullets starts behind me that lasts just in a couple of minutes.
Or at least so I think.
When I raise my head and move my arms I hear other footsteps coming behind us.
I turn my head over my left shoulder and see three men advancing towards us.
One of them is very tall, he is wearing a short-sleeved shirt where the top buttons are open revealing a muscular chest to my eyes and his legs are wrapped in a baggy trousers.
He has a shaved head and a hard, menacing look.
A shiver runs down my spine.
This man is dangerous.
Everything in him screams stay the fuck away if you want to live.
His attitude reminds me too much of that of his men.
I shift my attention to the man in the center.
He is a boy, he seems to be my age and has sweet asian features.
He could be chinese or korean.
He is wearing a simple t-shirt with a pair of jeans and a baseball cap on his head.
He looks scared and uncertain but when his eyes rest on me I only see concern.
I don't know if it's worry for himself or for me.
The last man wears a police uniform, his curly hair touches the back of his neck and a light veil of beard covers his face.
His gaze is attentive, he is definitely a cop, but there is something else in him.
His eyes seem haunted by something very painful.
He seems tired, as if a burden is weighing on him and slowly crushing him but despite this he must continue to defend the people he loves.
I watch them come towards us, all three armed, without ever taking their eyes off my figure crouched on the ground.
Maybe I should get up.
I have to make them understand that I have no bad intentions.
That I'm not a threat and I don't even want to become one.
But as soon as I try to move a threatening voice behind me stops my gesture.
“Kneel” the archer whispers in my ear making me shiver for an infinite number of reasons that I can't even understand.
The cold barrel of a gun presses against the back of my neck.
Really?
Did he take me out of that hell, save me from certain death just so he could kill me in a public execution?
I try to ignore the cold in my heart and the sweat that burns my eyes, I would like to rub them with the back of my hand but I avoid any movement to avoid finding a bullet stuck in my brain.
I kneel but I don't look down.
Hell no!
If they want to kill me, if he wants to kill me, they will have to do it by looking me in the eyes.
If I have to die I will do it with dignity.
"M'sorry.But I have to protect ma people” the archer murmurs as he moves, sliding to my side without ever taking the gun away from my head.
I risk a glance in his direction and strangely I find him staring at me.
His blue eyes seem to look beyond my kneeling figure, seem to spy directly on my thoughts.
Our gazes are chained.
I certainly won't be the first to lower my gaze.
I won't give him the satisfaction of seeing me intimidated and trembling.
Before his three friends reach us, the man who keeps his gun pointed at my temple, turns his gaze in front of him and then speaks.
“Daryl.That's ma name"

Please comment, share and rate ❤️