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Pen Your Pride

Chapter 57

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AN:  Here we go, another little chapter here.

 

Heavy stuff, but we’ve got more light coming up. 

 

I hope you enjoy!  Let me know what you think! 

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Daryl could say that it was particularly difficult because they’d gone a while with a lull in activity.  Or he could say that it was easier, even, because they’d been given time to breathe between losses and they’d been granted a good deal of “rest” along the way, but anything he might have said really wouldn’t have been true.

The real truth of the matter was that it never got easier.  It never got easier to stand in the damp darkness and dig a hole in silence with other people.  It never got easier to decide who would be the one to crawl down into the hole, knowing full well that one day it would be one for them, to make sure it was the right size for everything to be handled respectfully.  It never got easier to carry out, or to see someone carry out, the shell of someone that you knew…someone that you cared about…someone whose face you could still see animated and smiling behind your eyes and whose voice you could still hear if you put enough effort into it. 

And it never got easier to be the one to fill in the hole and cover that person up, hiding them away from the world once and for all. 

The shit just never got easier. 

It got harder, of course.  It got harder depending on the person that you were going through the motions for.  It got harder when the hole that the person would leave in your life grew exponentially with the position that they’d held for you.  It could get harder, but it never got easier. 

Like morbid fireflies, those that took part in the burial had hovered around with lamps and lanterns in an attempt to light up the area enough so that the grave could be dug and the funeral, small and really nothing more than a solemn “goodbye” could be handled.  Other than a few quick words spoken by Mark, under the thought that someone should speak, there was nothing but silence between them all as they parted from the area. 

In that same silence, Michonne and Lisette had built a small fire, just enough to knock the frigid cold off more water that Tyreese brought up in buckets from the creek, and then they’d taken the water with them to wash off the grave dirt that superstition and simple discomfort wouldn’t let them take to bed with them.

And now Daryl was lying in his bed, unable to sleep, with Michonne curled beside him and into him, her face against his chest. 

“You alright?”  He asked quietly, into the darkness, not even sure if she was awake to hear the question. 

She hummed but didn’t respond.  She changed her position slightly and rubbed her face against his chest, dampening it a little with the tears that she was managing to keep silent. 

He rubbed her back.

“You ain’t sleeping neither,” he commented, looking more for something to break the screaming silence than something truly profound to offer to the universe. 

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