Daisy | The Walking Dead

13. wildfire Ⅲ

Daisy held tightly to Sophia's hand, a wordless gesture of solidarity.

"Forgetting can be scarier than remembering," she whispered, her words tinged with a sense of foreboding.

It was as if she bore a burden that no one else could see.

Sophia and Carl exchanged worried glances, sensing the gravity of Daisy's words. "What do you mean?" Carl asked, his voice edged with concern.

"It's hard to explain," Daisy said finally, "Sometimes I see things, but they're not clear. Like...like when you try to remember a dream, but it's all fuzzy."

Carl's brows knitted together like intertwined vines, worry carved deep lines on his face. With a gentle tone, he asked, "What kind of things?"

"Just... I see images. People...and blood, and this broken window. And...and I think I hear screaming, but it's like it's far away?" she said, her voice quivering and her words tumbling out.

In this new world, Daisy was grateful for the moments of blissful ignorance spawned by Merlin and his ideologies, the gaps in her memory that shielded her from the horrors that surrounded them. But there were other times when she felt like a crucial piece of herself had been ripped away.

She wanted to tell Glenn and T, to seek comfort in their understanding, but fear held her back. What if they thought she was crazy, or weak?

"I don't want to see those things," she whispered, her words a feeble murmur amidst the clamor of the world. "But they keep coming back. And I can't stop them."

As she spoke, the other children around her shifted uncomfortably, unsure of how to respond to her words .But Daisy didn't need them to understand.

She just needed to speak the truth, to voice the thoughts that had been haunting her for so long

Carl closed his comic book, placing it beside him on the grass. "We'll figure this out together, Daisy," he said, his voice steady and reassuring. "We'll help you remember, if that's what you want."

Daisy's eyes flickered with a mix of hope and fear. She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could say anything, the sound of Glenn's voice broke through the fragile silence. His desperate pleas filled the air, drowning out any other sound.

"We don't burn them!"

His voice cracked with emotion, but his eyes flashed with a fierce determination. "We bury them!"

"Our people go in that row over there!" He demanded, pointing towards a row of freshly dug graves that were still waiting to be filled.

But Daryl was not convinced. His frustration and anger boiled just below the surface, like a coiled serpent waiting to strike.

"That's what y'all get!" he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "Left my brother for dead!"

The children huddled together, their faces pale and their expressions unsure at the sudden outburst. Fear and tension hung heavily in the air.

The silence that followed was heavy, oppressive, suffocating. It seemed as though the entire world was holding its breath, waiting to see what would happen next.

But it was short-lived.

"A walker bit Jim!" The panicked voice shattered the stillness, sending shockwaves through the group.

Daisy's bag fell from her chest, forgotten in the sudden rush of fear and anxiety as she sat up. Her material items could no longer comfort her.

Jim was bit?