Daisy | The Walking Dead

1. Neighbors

The fear of fully reentering reality gripped her, its talons digging deep into her psyche. It was a terror born from the sporadic moments of clarity that pierced the shroud of dissociation.

In those instances, the world rushed back to her senses: the metallic tang of copper scenting the air, every sound echoing in her ears, even the vibrations of turmoil coursing through her hands. And then, just as swiftly, she was plunged back into the void, the tether to reality slipping from her grasp once more.

The fear, the uncertainty, held her captive, and she clung to that fragile nothingness, even as the world trembled at the edges of her consciousness.

In the midst of her inner maelstrom, an abrupt, jarring knock on the door shattered her tiny semblance of composure, yanking her senses back to the present moment.

She pressed her small hands harder against her ears, her nails digging into flesh, a visceral attempt to shield herself from all the external stimuli she was terrified to confront.

Soft whimpers escaped her lips as she clung desperately to the corner of the room, seeking refuge in the tight, limited space it offered.

"Not real," she whispered, trying to find comfort in the familiarity of her own voice, "not real. not real. not real." Her mantra, a lifeline amidst the terror, echoed like a distant plea, a prayer whispered to the universe that begged of blissful denial.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ--ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

Outside; a young Asian man, his features partially obscured by a baseball cap, stood with a small book bag slung over one of his shoulders.

A plain kitchen knife, its blade dulled by countless tasks, was strapped unceremoniously to his belt.

The simple instrument bore no proclamation of aggression; rather, it stood as a symbol of the harsh realities that had irrevocably reshaped the small neighborhood in a matter of mere hours.

With a resolve that almost bordered on stubbornness, his knuckles rapped against the door in front of him again and again, each tap carrying a plea, an entreaty for a response that would pierce the veil of unsettling silence.

And with each unanswered knock, and each little sound that echoed behind him, his growing anxiety seemed to coil tighter around him, a tenacious grip that failed to extinguish his determination.

Slowly, he grasped the brass doorknob a little too tightly and he twisted it open - the door yielding with a high creak.

In a time where every soul scoured the landscape for fragments of meaning and pockets of safety, the air was fraught with the unknown.

But it was not enough for him to merely remain stagnant, to take refuge in the shadows, to succumb to that fear. No, his heart was gripped by the imperative to act, to venture forth into the tempest rather than succumb to the primal urge to flee and save only himself.

The weight of terror clung to him like a second skin, but the decision to stake his own life for the safety of his little neighbors was not one borne of hesitation.

He had woven a poignant routine of companionship with the young siblings. Whenever their father's harsh actions left them locked out, isolated and vulnerable, or when his presence inspired fear that drove them to seek refuge anywhere but within their own home, he was there.

And as the weeks danced on, it was no surprise that he grew closer to them, protective almost.

The sight of their hidden bruises and concealed injuries was a constant weight upon his heart, a relentless gnawing that ignited an inferno of anger deep within his chest. Each mark they tried to hide from his gaze was a painful testament to the torment they endured behind closed doors. But, despite the raging tempest of emotions that threatened to consume him, he held his tongue.