Find what you love and let it kill you. For all the things will kill you, both slowly and fastly, but it's much better to be killed by a lover.
Life is filled with various struggles and hardships that can slowly or rapidly wear one down, it might be more fulfilling to face those challenges for the sake of something deeply cherished. The idea is that allowing oneself to be consumed or deeply affected by what one loves, even if it brings eventual pain or difficulty, is a more profound and worthwhile way to live than living without passion or commitment.
Ultimately, it speaks to the complexity of life and the acknowledgment that pursuing what we love might bring both immense joy and profound challenges, but it's often seen as a more enriching path than living a life devoid of passion or depth.
In the eerie stillness, Madeleine takes a moment to gather herself, the solitude of her surroundings amplifying the raw ache within her. The wound throbs persistently despite her attempts to staunch the bleeding, a constant reminder of the perilous situation she finds herself in.
Surveying the desolate landscape, she ensures there are no lurking threats, her senses tuned to every rustle in the silence, every faint shuffling in the distance that might signify the approach of the undead. A single tear escapes her eye, tracing a path down her dirt-streaked cheek, a silent testament to the overwhelming despair and isolation weighing heavily on her.
With a heavy heart, she rises, her movements slightly faltering from the pain coursing through her body. The inventory of her possessions reveals a stark reality—only a gun with a dwindling supply of bullets and her loyal sword. The irony of her meager resources in the face of imminent danger amplifies the frustration that clenches at her core.
"Great," she murmurs bitterly, a mixture of resignation and anger lacing her tone, as she secures the gun back in her waistband. Emotions well up within her, a storm of fear, despair, and determination, as she braces herself to navigate the unforgiving world that lies ahead, armed only with her dwindling supplies and the decreasing will to survive.
Gritting her teeth against the persistent pain, Madeleine tears a piece of clothing to fashion a makeshift bandage, tightly winding it around her injured hand. With a grim determination, she retrieves her sword, a loyal companion in these dire times, and sets forth cautiously.
Her senses on high alert, she moves through the desolate landscape, scanning the ground for any trace of human footprints or signs of recent activity. The weight of her solitude bears down on her as she traverses the barren terrain, the absence of familiar faces or any sign of her former group adding to the weight of uncertainty.
Every rustle in the underbrush, every whisper of the wind, prompts her to pause, her grip tightening on the sword, ready for any potential threat. With each cautious step, she searches desperately for any tracks or indications of human presence, clinging to a sliver of hope that she might find remnants of her companions from the prison, a glimmer of familiarity in this desolate and hostile world.
Rick, his movements hindered by the injury, calls out to Carl, his voice strained with urgency. The two have been walking for hours, their path fraught with uncertainty. Rick struggles to keep up, his wound a constant reminder of their vulnerability. But Carl, consumed by fury and grief, marches ahead without acknowledging his father's plea for them to slow down and stay together.
"Carl, stop!" Rick's voice echoes through the desolate landscape, causing Carl to halt abruptly. "We need to stay together. We have to find a place, food, supplies. Hey, we're gonna be-."
Before Rick can finish, Carl cuts him off, his resentment palpable as Rick catches up, reaching out and placing a hand on his son's shoulder. The boy's eyes lock onto his father's, filled with a mixture of anger, pain, and desolation.
"Fine? Are we going to be fine?" Carl's scoff carries the weight of his emotional turmoil. He turns away, resuming his solitary march, Rick limping after him in an attempt to keep up.
Tears have left streaks down Carl's reddened eyes, the loss of both Judith and Madeleine taking an immense toll on his young soul. The uncertainty of this harsh world weighs heavily on him, leaving him grappling with the unbearable thought of navigating life without Madeleine.
Alone and exhausted, Madeleine presses on through the woods, her trek marked by frustration and despair. Despite her relentless search, the only tracks she encounters belong to the relentless walkers that haunt the region. The scarce fortune of finding an apple tree offers a brief respite, allowing her to gather a few fruits for sustenance in this barren landscape.
Hours pass with no sign of any human presence, and the realization weighs heavily upon her that she's truly alone. Fatigue claws at her bones, and the lack of sleep only adds to her weariness. Knowing the perilous nature of this world, she understands the risk of sleeping unprotected, vulnerable to the lurking threat of walkers.
Her injured hand, wrapped haphazardly with makeshift bandages, hampers her movements and prevents her from gripping anything, a hindrance that adds to her desolation. With nothing and no one by her side, the burden of survival becomes an increasingly daunting prospect.
The daunting reality sinks in deeper with every step—no tracks, no signs of life beyond the relentless undead. It's a cruel reminder of the harshness of her situation. Her spirit wanes, each weary stride taking a toll on her resolve. Despite her efforts, the desolate nature of her surroundings leaves her feeling isolated, lost, and with dwindling hope of finding any of her group alive.
The notice of walker's footprints cause for her to veer away from the tracks, even as her spirit falters and the darkness of despair threatens to consume her.
Amidst the tense silence, Madeleine's senses snap to attention as she detects snarling noises nearby. Whirling around, she swiftly dispatches the approaching walker, her movements swift and precise. However, her breath catches in her throat as she realizes she's surrounded, walkers closing in on her from all directions.
"Three bullets and my sword. I can do this."
Stealing a moment to steady herself, she knows what needs to be done. Taking a deep breath, she lunges into action, wielding her sword with practiced skill and fierce determination.
In a whirlwind of calculated strikes, she dispatches several walkers, her movements swift and decisive. Each bullet finds its mark, each swing of her sword a testament to her resilience and survival instinct. As the chaos unfolds around her, she fights fiercely, her adrenaline fueling her through the dire situation.
Her heart races as she faces a relentless onslaught, using every ounce of strength and agility to fend off the encroaching threats. Sensing movement nearby, she dodges just in time, narrowly escaping the walker's teeth.
With every ounce of strength left in her, she begins to limp away as fast as she can, pushing herself beyond her limits to evade the dangers closing in on her. She runs, her breaths ragged and her injured leg protesting with each step, yet she refuses to yield. The night falls, but she persists, driven by an unyielding will to survive, pushing through the darkness, her only goal to put as much distance as possible between herself and the relentless walkers, running until exhaustion threatens to overtake her.
As the night wears on, fatigue grips Madeleine, her mind and body pushed to their limits by the relentless pursuit of survival. In the midst of her exhaustion and isolation, a hauntingly familiar voice echoes through the darkness, piercing her consciousness.
Startled and disoriented, she whirls around at the sound, her senses momentarily deceived by the ghostly familiarity of the voice. A surge of emotions floods her as she's confronted with the presence of someone she knows—or rather, someone her mind conjures in the midst of her exhaustion.
"Oh, Maddy, this is sad to see even for you," the voice reverberates through the night, the echoes playing tricks on her weary mind.
Caught in the grip of fatigue and emotional turmoil, Madeleine finds herself confronting the illusion of her past ghost. Her exhausted state blurs the lines between reality and hallucination, evoking memories and emotions from a time long past. The phantom presence adds to her disorientation, leaving her in a state of vulnerability and emotional upheaval in the desolate darkness of the night.
"Did you miss me?" The haunting words linger in the air, a haunting echo from a past that still lingers within her thoughts. "Hey, baby. You seem like you've just seen a ghost." Elijah's voice haunts her.
"You're not here," she murmurs to herself, her voice trembling with a mix of disbelief and resignation. Shaking her head in a desperate attempt to dispel the illusion, she fights against the disorienting impact of her exhaustion.
As she opens her eyes, reality returns, and the fleeting image of Elijah fades away, leaving her once again alone in the desolate night. The ghostly presence vanishes, but the echoes of his voice continue to reverberate in her weary mind, a haunting reminder of her past and the relentless solitude of her current reality.
Under the canopy of night, Beth and Daryl sit side by side, their presence engulfed in the crackling firelight. The sounds of the forest keep them on edge, yet a profound silence lingers between them.
Daryl remains wordless, his gaze fixed on the ground, burdened by the ache of losing the prison and their shattered group, his heart heavy with the absence of Madeleine.
Beside him, Beth observes, feeling the weight of his grief. She hesitates to reach out, unsure of how to comfort someone so guarded.
In the quiet of the night, Beth curls her knees up to her chest, her gaze fixed on Daryl. "We should do something. We should do something," she repeats, urgency tinging her voice. Daryl meets her gaze, his expression guarded.
"We aren't the only survivors. We can't be," she insists, her eyes pleading. "Rick, Michonne—they could be out here. Maggie and Glenn might've made it out of A block. And Mads... She could've made it out alive. She's strong!"
"Shut up," Daryl grumbles, his eyes returning to the ground.
"You're a tracker," Beth presses on, rising to her feet. "You can track. Come on. The sun will be up soon. If we head out now, we can—" Her words halt abruptly as she notices Daryl's unmoving form, grabbing the machete from the ground in frustration. "Fine. If you won't track, I will."
After a contemplative pause, Daryl slowly rises from the ground and begins to follow Beth, their silhouettes swallowed by the darkness as they set off into the unknown.
It takes ten times as long to put yourself back together as it does to fall apart.
While the process of falling apart may feel swift and overwhelming, the journey of self-restoration and rebuilding is a slow, deliberate, and intricate process. It involves piecing together the fragments of our lives, learning from experiences, and gradually crafting a stronger and more resilient version of ourselves, a journey that often takes far more time and effort than the initial unraveling.
In the quietude of the woods, Beth and Daryl tread silently, their footsteps muffled by the undergrowth. As the sun filters through the trees, Daryl's keen eyes catch sight of a few scattered footprints.
"Could be Luke's. Or Molly's. Whoever they are, it means they're alive," Beth says, a glimmer of hope in her voice.
Daryl grimaces, his tone heavy with the weight of realization. "No. This means they were alive four or five hours ago."
"They're alive," Beth insists, darting away from him in hopeful determination.
Daryl sighs, his posture straightening as he hastens to catch up with Beth. Both continue their journey through the woods in profound silence. The glint of hope fades from Daryl's eyes as he remarks, "They picked up the pace right here. Got out in a hurry. Things went bad."
Beth tries to inject optimism, "Wouldn't kill you to have a little faith."
"Yeah, faith. Faith ain't done shit for us. Sure as hell didn't do nothing for your father," Daryl retorts sharply, his words cutting through the stillness. Beth spins around to face him, their eyes locking. Though regret flickers in Daryl's gaze, he remains silent, the weight of his words hanging between them, unspoken but keenly felt.
Beth crouches amidst the foliage, delicately plucking ripe berries. Daryl offers Madeleine's bandana, a solemn relic, to Beth. As she arranges the freshly gathered berries on the fabric, Daryl's attention fixates on the imprints etched in the ground.
"What?" Beth's concerned voice reaches him, prompting her to quickly join him as she traces the scattered walker bodies littering the forest floor.
"That ain't walker blood," Daryl asserts, his tone grim, causing Beth to hasten closer, her eyes following the trail.
"The trail continues. They fought them off," Beth asserts, a determined set to her jaw.
Daryl's demeanor remains serious. "No. Got walker tracks all around here. At least a dozen of 'em." His assessment is cut short by the ominous snap of a twig, signaling another imminent threat.
Without hesitation, a walker lunges toward Beth, intent on attacking her. Reacting swiftly, Daryl intercepts the assault, protecting Beth by tackling the walker to the ground who turns to attack Daryl. Together, they dispatch the immediate threat with synchronicity of shared survival.
As the skirmish concludes, a silent understanding passes between them, a testament to their unwavering unity in the face of adversity. The weight of the recent encounter lingers in the air, palpable in their heavy breaths. With a determined exhale, Daryl rises to his feet, reclaiming his crossbow. Striding forward, he signals an unspoken commitment to pressing on despite the challenges ahead, and Beth follows in his wake, ready to face whatever comes their way.
Madeleine awakens, groans escape her lips, a testament to the discomfort and disorientation she feels. Struggling to recall when she succumbed to sleep, she surveys her surroundings, noticing the crimson stain seeping through the makeshift bandage on her wounded leg. Realizing the severity of the bleeding, she hurriedly tears another piece of her shirt to staunch the flow, wrapping it tightly around the wound with grim determination.
Gritting her teeth against the pain, she pushes herself up from the ground, every movement a reminder of her frailty. Limping, she forces herself forward, using her sword for support, its tip tracing lines on the forest floor as she maneuvers through the dense undergrowth.
Each step is a test of endurance, confusion clouding her mind as she wheezes in agony, her breaths labored. The disorientation adds to her distress, and with each passing moment, the pain becomes an increasingly heavy burden. Yet, despite the anguish and disarray, she pushes forward through the tangled wilderness, driven by an unwavering determination to navigate through the haze of pain and confusion, seeking a way to endure the darkness enveloping her.
The weight of grief, frustration, and resentment bear down on Carl as he stands in the abandoned house, pouring out his heart to his unconscious father, Rick. His words are laden with anguish and accusation, a torrent of emotions bursting forth from the depths of his despair.
"I killed 3 walkers," Carl begins, his voice thick with emotion, as he removes his jacket, addressing his father, who remains unresponsive. "They were at the door... they were gonna get in. But I lured them away. I killed them. I saved you. I saved you." His words echo in the quiet room, filled with a mix of pride and anguish.
His emotions become increasingly turbulent as he confronts the painful realities of their past experiences. The bitterness in his voice cuts through the air as he voices his pent-up frustration, blaming Rick for their losses and his perceived failings. "I don't need you anymore. I don't need you to protect me anymore," he declares, the hurt and anger evident in his words. "You couldn't protect Judith. You couldn't protect Mads."
He pauses, the weight of his grief evident as he struggles to reconcile his emotions. "Hershel or Glenn or Maggie. Michonne, Daryl or mom. You wanted to plant vegetables. You just wanted to hide. Mads protected me! She always protected me and you and everyone. Now, she's dead because we didn't protect her," he continues, his voice filled with a mixture of regret and sorrow, the pain of losing someone so dear to him almost unbearable.
With each accusation, Carl's emotions spill over, his voice wavering as he addresses the absence of those they lost, each name uttered with a profound ache. The anguish and disillusionment culminate in a piercing cry, followed by uncontrollable sobs as he crumbles to the floor, his heartache and sorrow consuming him in the stark silence of the empty house.
The overwhelming sense of solitude and distress weighs heavily on Madeleine as she relentlessly stabs her sword into the ground, each piercing motion mirroring the tumultuous thoughts swirling in her mind. The absence of any trace or sign of her companions intensifies her growing anxiety and despair.
"I can't do this alone," she whispers, her voice filled with a mixture of anguish and desperation. The weight of isolation and the stark reality of her solitude press down on her, the daunting prospect of navigating this harsh world by herself almost too much to bear.
Alone in the desolate woods, her heart aches with the absence of her companions, her thoughts consumed by the memories of their collective struggle for survival. The realization that she's stranded without anyone to rely on amplifies her sense of vulnerability, compelling her to confront the harsh truth—she's facing this harsh world alone.
The haunting silence of the woods surrounds her, each heartbeat echoing the intensity of her isolation. Amidst the overwhelming solitude, the unspoken plea for companionship lingers in the air, a plea that reverberates through the desolate wilderness, yearning for the comfort and support of her lost companions.
"Oh, Maddy, always so weak." She turns her head, watching the figure laugh as she slowly blinks. "Come on, you used to at least to put a fight. It was always useless, but... look at you." His words echo in the empty spaces of her thoughts, chipping away at her resilience, leaving her feeling vulnerable and exposed. "You're still the same. Weak, frail, futile, useless. Only good for one thing."
"Why are you here?" she pleads, a tremor in her voice, seeking answers from this apparition that seems to torment her with echoes of her past.
"'Cause you're thinking of me, Maddy. You're always thinking of me..." he trails off, stomping closer to her but she grips her sword and slowly raises from the ground. "What are you going to do, Maddy?"
In a moment of desperate determination, Madeleine thrusts her sword forward, piercing the stomach of the figure in front of her, believing it to be the haunting apparition of Elijah. The imagined image coughs up blood and begins to laugh, intensifying the surreal and disorienting nature of the situation.
However, as she blinks away the haze of her hallucination, she comes to a stark realization—she has just struck down a walker, not the figment of her tormented mind. The grim truth of the undead creature before her replaces the illusory form of her imagined foe.
Her heart races, and a mix of dread and urgency floods her senses as she comprehends the very real danger she faces.
"I'm still here." His voice announces, the women limps toward him she swings her sword, seemingly decapitating the imagined figure, only to realize it was another walker. "Hellooo, did your aim get that back before or after you joined the army? I thought joining was to get strong, hide from me, learn how to fight back. But, look at you." The spectral voice of her hallucination continues to mock and torment her, its words echoing hauntingly in the eerie silence of the woods.
Madeleine whirls around to face the figment of her imagination, her eyes narrowed in a mix of confusion and defiance. "How'd you know?"
"I don't, I'm just a figment of your mind."
With a chilling reminder that this tormentor exists only within her own mind, Madeleine grapples with the debilitating weight of her inner turmoil, battling against her hallucinations as well as the very real threats lurking in the unforgiving wilderness.
Madeleine leans wearily against the tree, her senses dulled by thirst and hunger. Sweat beads trickle down her forehead under the unrelenting sun, adding to the discomfort of her parched throat. Her weakened state becomes evident as she struggles with the lack of water for two days and sustenance for a day.
Whispers escape her parched lips as she braces herself against the tree, her grip tightening on her swords, an attempt to summon the last vestiges of her strength. The distant sound of approaching footsteps breaks the eerie silence, heralding the arrival of danger in the form of five approaching walkers.
In a display of hardened determination, Madeleine dispatches the five walkers with practiced efficiency, her cold gaze betraying a mix of exhaustion and relentless resolve. However, her vigilance wanes momentarily when a rustling noise diverts her attention. The distraction proves costly as she stumbles and plummets down a nearby ditch, the descent feeling endless.
The descent seems to stretch on forever before she finally comes to a jarring halt. Gasping in pain, Madeleine grimaces as she assesses the damage, her gaze fixed upon her injured leg now bleeding profusely. The sharp hiss of pain escapes her lips, echoing through the desolate surroundings as she grapples with the agonizing ordeal of a worsening injury in the harsh, unforgiving wilderness.
"Are you okay?"
As a stranger's voice breaks through the haze surrounding her, Madeleine's senses blur, the world around her becoming a distorted and darkened tableau. In her weakened state, she questions the reality of the voice, the contours of her consciousness slipping into a murky uncertainty.
"Mom?" Her voice quivers with a whisper, a desperate plea borne of a fading consciousness, as she relinquishes herself to the encroaching darkness, hoping for respite in the embrace of death's impending arrival.
The turmoil of her circumstances and the weight of her injuries converge, and she drifts further away from the fragile threads of consciousness, seeking solace in the unknown abyss.
As the morning light filtered through the curtains, Rick stirred from his restless sleep, his senses immediately drawn to the soft sounds of stifled sobs. Groggily, he blinked away the remnants of sleep and found himself face to face with his son, Carl, tears streaming down his cheeks.
"You shouldn't have risked it, going out like that... it's dangerous," Rick points out, his voice hoarse as he recovers from his wounds.
"I was careful," Carl replies softly.
Rick nods slowly. "It's good that you found more food."
"I found even more, but I ate it," Carl admits.
Rick manages a gentle smile. "What was it?"
"112 ounces of pudding," Carl responds, drawing a chuckle from Rick.
"I know we'll never get things back to the way they used to be," Rick begins, his tone reflective. "I clung to that hope for you, for Judith, for Mads... She protected us, but I still tried to protect her too. I promised her I'd be a better father for all of you. Now, they're gone, but you're here. And I'll honor her by being a better father to you. But you're a man, Carl." Rick places his hand on his son's shoulder, his expression filled with empathy. "You're a man. I'm sorry."
Carl nods slowly, wiping away his tears. "You don't need to be."
A sudden knock interrupts the quietude, prompting Rick to reach for his gun as he cautiously approaches the door. Peering through the peephole, a smile breaks across his face, directed at his son.
"What?" Carl asks, his brow furrowed.
"It's for you," Rick replies, a smile playing on his lips.
Puzzlement clouds Carl's expression until he turns the doorknob. Expecting to see his sister, his smile falters momentarily, but Michonne's radiant grin immediately dispels any disappointment, prompting Carl to envelop her in a tight, emotional hug.
In that fleeting moment, amidst the bleakness of their world, Michonne's unexpected arrival brings a glimmer of hope and a sense of reunion, stirring emotions that transcend the harsh reality encircling them.
Loneliness has followed your whole life, everywhere.
There's no escape.
☠︎☠︎☠︎☠︎☠︎☠︎☠︎☠︎☠︎☠︎☠︎
This is probably one of my favourite chapters to write 'cause of how different it turned out than the rest. The lack of dialogue with Madeleine was needed to illustrate the loneliness she's feeling, and the hallucinations from her wounds (maybe even PTSD) really show how she's still affected by what Elijah did to her.
It seems there was another revelation of Madeleine's past... 😉 I can't wait to explore a little bit of that in the future and the next few chapters coming, a few plot twists are to come, that's all I can say 👀 I'm just so excited to publish the chapters coming.
I really hope you've been enjoying reading this book as much as I've been enjoying writing it. I can't believe we're halfway through season 4 already, I think this book will reach season 5 before the end of the year.
From January 2024, the chapter's might be reduce to 2 times a week (Wednesday & Saturday), but I will let you know for sure as the times comes. I'm on my last year of university, and I don't know how I'm managing to balance it all rn haha, that's why the publishing schedule might change.
Thank you for reading ❤️