Little Mouse

Knife Lessons

A few days later, Merle and Daryl set up their own little tent, further away from us. They had an orange tent, by their truck. Merle talked to everyone, even though no one usually kept the conversation going. Daryl was the complete opposite. He kept to himself, and hadn't spoken since he had in the truck. He usually wasn't here. Most of the time hunting. The time he was here, he stayed in his tent, doing God knows what.

A few more people had joined our little group recently. One was a black haired Asian guy named Glenn. He came with an African American man named T-Dog and an African American woman named Jacqui. Jim, the man with the beard, had gotten fairly close to Jacqui.

Shane had basically declared himself as leader of the group. I found out that Lori wasn't his wife, although she acted like she was. I caught them kissing every now and then. Usually it was when no one was nearby. Or so they thought. I kept it to myself though. I didn't want to start drama with Lori.

One day, I was sitting in a tree. I liked to hang around in trees. I was holding my knife, inspecting the little lines in the handle.

38, 39, 40.

40 nazi soldiers killed. I sighed. I ran my fingers up the blade, watching it glint in the sunlight. Dale never really taught me how to use it. Luckily, I haven't had to use it since that incident in the woods with Daryl.

"The hell are ya doin'?" Someone demanded. I jumped, glancing down. Daryl was squinting up at me, his crossbow strung across his back. He was a few feet below me.

"Nothing." I mumbled. "Just thinking."

"Do you even know how to use tha'?" He asked, shielding his eyes against the sun with his hand. After a couple moments, I shook my head. He sighed. "Git down here." He ordered.

I hopped down. He took out his own hunting knife, and I felt fearful. "Wh-What're you doing with that knife?" I asked, my voice shaking.

"Showin' ya how to use a knife. I don' wanna keep savin' yer ass." He explained.

"Oh." I mumbled.

"A'right. First, ya don' hold it with two hands. It's a knife, not a sword." He stated, holding his knife in one hand. I held mine in my right hand. "Tilt it to the side." Daryl ordered. I nodded, tilting it to the side. "Don' slice. Stab." He added. I nodded, and jabbed at the air.

"Ok." I said, feeling better.

"A'right. I'll be right back." Daryl stated, heading back to the camp. I stayed where I was, practicing jabbing. After a few minutes, he came back. He was holding a tire.

"Why do we need that?" I asked.

"Ya need to stab somethin'." He stated, setting the tire down. "Don' worry. Just a spare." He said. Then he stepped back, motioning towards the tire.

I took a couple hesitant steps forward, before Daryl whistled. Confused, I glanced at him.

"Yer dead." He declared. "Ya gotta be confident. Otherwise, yer gonna git eaten."

I nodded, then walked forward. When I stood in front of the tire, I brought my knife back. I judged where it should go, until Daryl whistled again.

"Dead. Ya gotta be fast." He claimed.

"Isn't precision more important?" I asked.

Daryl shook his head. "It's instinctive. Jus' aim fer anywhere on the head." He stated. I nodded, and lunged forward, jabbing at the tire. I stepped away, gazing down at my work.

"A'right. Gettin' better." He said. "But one thing: don' hesitate." He added.

"Ok." I said, trying to take the knife out of the tire. But failed. Daryl watched me struggle, until he sighed.