twenty nine. porchlight vigil

twenty nine⋇⋆✦⋆⋇↳ porchlight vigil ↲

─── ❝ 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐥 ❞ ───

I COULD NO LONGER RECALL a time in which I hadn't been running. My Mom once told me that my first steps were closer to a sprint than anything. It seemed that ever since that defining moment, I hadn't been able to stop.

How could I not? I had grown up in a world where it was the only way to survive. Though, through the process, I had become filled with fears I was unable to admit to. Ones that lay beneath my skin, aching into bones. They hid in the quiet moments I mistook as peace, slyly revealing themselves in the painful ache between my chest when things got quiet.

I had come to a census that the only way to escape it all, was to keep going. I'd been out there too long. The world had ruined me. If I let myself stop, the past would catch up to me, and they would haunt me. The lost ones. Amy, Jim, Jacqui, Sophia, Shane, T-Dog, Mom, Andrea, Patrick, Hershel, Mika, Lizzie, Bob, Beth, Tyreese. Their faces never left me. Every passing stranger in Alexandria mimicked one or the other.

Though, there was one person in what was left of this world, who momentarily allowed me to forget the pain. There was enough in her, maybe even more than the amount that resided in me, that made my suffering feel sane.

We kissed a few nights ago, but it the second we pulled away, it had already slipped her mind. I started wondering if I meant something to her, the same way she did to me. Earlier, she'd told me to forget about it. It seemed like she was telling me that I had just been a distraction from the pain in her own chest, and none of it was real.

I wanted it to be real.

A question surfaced. When will I stop running? Not now—that I can say with certainty. My boots struck against the asphalt, my breath uneven and short as I made way through the neighborhood. I couldn't stop now. I needed to be somewhere.

I'd been handing off Judith to the Miller's when the gates rolled open, and the van came through with its horn blaring. Whoever was driving had to have had the pedal pressed to the floor. The vehicle swerved, screeching against the road as it came to a sudden stop in front of the infirmary. Then Glenn was rushing out of the van, begging for help. There was so much blood on him, I thought he must have been torn into. That was what I believed, until I heard him whimper out something about her.

When I arrived at the van, there was a gathering of people. I slithered my way through the small crowd, pushing past carelessly. My people were there at the foot, their backs shielding the inside as Daryl leaned over and picked someone up into his arms.

"Who is that?" I shouted, holding my hat sturdily on my head as I tried to make my way past. My dad turned, his arm extended at me to come no further while people rushed in and out the infirmary, Daryl following closely behind towards the doors now.

I got a glimpse of who he held against him, then. Her skin was ghastly. It reminded me of porcelain. Impossibly pale, like she was reflecting off beams of moon. I waited for her eyes to open and look back at me, but they didn't. Her lips were shaded blue and purple, so unlike the soft pink ones I had placed mine upon. Her body was entirely limp, head unsupported and tilted back. When Daryl took a step, her arms swayed with him.

I saw her from the side, now. Her white shirt was stained in dark red. Spatters of her own blood on her face, arms, and neck. Someone's flannel was pressed up against her side, covering whatever wound lay below it.

I couldn't help but picture a world in which the green eyes of hers would never stare back at me again. Instead, enriched lunar orbs would corrode the color, leaving nothing but a lifeless stare in place. It was what happened to the dead. All of them.

Curse the cosmos, I thought. Curse them for turning you into a reflection of the celestial remnants of space. Something pale and peculiar, glazed over by the void.

An awful sound came from my throat, and I attempted to follow Daryl. My dad was suddenly beside him, side-stepping to hold me back. Beads of sweat were forming on his temple. His eyes were distant and made him appear uncommonly frightened.

"Son," He spoke lowly, his hands gripping my shoulders. "Don't go in there, you hear me?"

"Is she dead?" I choked out, afraid to speak the words into existence. I twisted my head to try and get another look, but the doors had already closed.

I knew it. I had called it—said that she was running out of free returns home, unscathed. I knew that it was only a matter of time until she didn't return at all.

"I don't know, Carl. We—we don't know yet." He said, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, son."

My shoulders sank. The air felt too hot in my lungs. I voiced my concern about her going on runs so many times. Why hadn't I at least tried today? Maybe, if I did, she would've finally listened. It wouldn't have mattered if it made her upset. She might not have been pleased with me, but she'd be fine. Alive.

Dying. She was dying. There were so many things I had left to say to her. So much I wanted to tell her, and ask her. I'd left too many stones unturned, thinking that there'd be more time. I was wrong. Time was such a precious thing. There was never an endless supply of it, no matter how naive I became. It always ran out. God, it hurt. My heart hurt. My head pounded.

"I need to see her." My voice faltered. "Please, Dad."

Life was so terribly cruel and unfair. Anything I ever cared for seemed to become infested with disease. It was me who did this to her. If she died, it would be my fault. I've only ever been a black-hole, sucking the life out of all things pure in the world. A bad omen. That was what I amounted to.

"I can't. Forgive me, boy." His hand moved from my shoulder, dropping to his belt. "I have to protect you from this."

I back-stepped, looking at the closed door ahead. There were only twenty feet and a wall between her and I, but I had never felt so distanced from the girl. My father was betraying me. I was grown enough to witness the efforts to save her life. I didn't want her fading away in that place, all alone. I had to be there. I needed to hold her hand and tell her that was was going to make it, even if I didn't believe it myself. We would keep each-other strong.

"If she doesn't make it," I took a shaky breath, "I will never forgive you."

Dad only nodded solemnly, like he understood my words completely. It made me all the more angry. When he turned to make his way into the building, I followed further behind, finding a seat on the steps as the entrance was sealed off from me.

The voices coming from inside dulled as I clasped my sweaty hands together, and tilted my head down. I used to believe in God. My mom would drag us to church each Sunday. She made us say grace at the table every meal. She prayed with me at the foot of my bed before I went to sleep. Sometimes, I could hear her pray at night, when things lay quiet, and she thought me to be asleep. She talked about Dad. She begged God to fix what was broken. She asked him to keep me safe.

I think she eventually figured he wasn't listening, because she stopped. After I healed from the gunshot at Hershel's farm, I never heard another prayer leave her tongue. But, I still prayed for the both of us. I could tell it made her feel better—knowing her son believed in something even she couldn't.

When she died, my religion well ran dry. I never felt any reason to continue, so I didn't. I hadn't given God a single thought since the prison. Though, here I sat, my hands balled up and eyes squeezed shut, looking like I was hosting some kind of porchlight vigil. I was willing to believe again. I needed to. If he was out there, I was calling out to him with a sense of desperation I'd never possessed before.

Lord, please hear my prayer. Forgive me for being a sinner. I'm admitting to all of the evil I've committed. You don't have to forgive it, but please, hold me accountable. God, don't put it on her. Don't hurt her, because of the things I've done. Punish me. Do it in whatever way you see fit. Leave her out of it. Do not cause another being to suffer for my wrongdoings. Please—just know I'm so sorry. I'll serve you forever if you keep Cyn breathing.

Keep her alive.

Amen.

▬ ▬ ▬

Forty minutes had passed. Maybe many more. My head was rested against the building's porch column, my body heavy with the lull of sleep. The inside of the infirmary had been quiet for a long while now. If there was a quiet conversation taking place, I couldn't it hear over the sound of the wind dancing across my face.

It dried the tears I hadn't even noticed I'd shed.

When the door finally swung open, I jolted. My body straighted as I glanced behind me, watching Daryl exit. He held a damp rag to his face, wiping it across his jaw. Then, his stained hands. As he put it in his pocket, he took a seat on the same step I was occupying.

I turned my head back to the front, releasing the breath I'd been holding so dearly onto. There was a question surfacing my mind. A question I may not want the answer to, yet. I wanted to reside in this moment of oblivion, for a while. Time could  stop, and everything would stay as it is. This simple second — forever. No death, no pain. Though, the reality was that time was a simple act. Even though it was never promised, we always thought there was more left for us. But eventually, the last grain of sand would slither its way through the hourglass. Then, it would end. Just like that.

It seemed all of the inevitable forces which the eye could not quite see kept deciding our fates for us.

I placed my hat on the stair below me. Questions. They wouldn't leave me be. Was she alive, in there? Dead? I didn't want to know. God, I didn't want to know, but I needed to.

"Barely a pulse, but alive. She's fighting for it." Daryl told me softly.

My hands held the step harsher. Of course she was fighting. She always was. With life, with the dead, and with me, when she saw fit. It was no surprise she was stubborn in death's attempt to take her.

"Can I see her now?" I asked, a small wine surfacing from my throat.

With shaky fingers, he pulled out a Morley cigarette from the pack in his pocket, the red lighter flicking twice before he was able to light it. It had been a while since I'd seen Daryl smoke. I heard Carol talking about how Cyn was trying to get the two of them to quit. Apparently, it was an activity the girl recently found disgusting.

After breathing out a single grey cloud, he pushed the blunt end of the cigarette into the floor. It sizzled, smushing a circle of ash into the porch.

"You don't need to see her like this," He brushed his fingers against the stubble on his chin, "Wish I hadn't."

I'd never once seen the man in this kind of distress. Not even after the passing of his own brother. This was different. He was trying to remain composed, but I noticed the quiet faltering. Whatever he'd been witness to in there, had changed him. I couldn't imagine what it would do to me. I was trying to ready myself, but I knew no preparation would ever be enough.

I squinted at the sun. It was slowly lowering into my field of vision. "What happened out there? How bad is it?"

All I knew, was that she couldn't be bitten. She wouldn't have been carried to the infirmary for a bite near her abdomen. They would have refused to take her as a patient, and she would have died out here, in the grass, just beyond the porch.

A soft grumble came from him, like he didn't want to answer me at all. "A grenade. It went off, forced her into a metal rod."

Jesus Christ. My stomach dropped at the thought of it. I couldn't begin to imagine. The mere concept of it all caused my eyes to burn with sorrow. My throat was swelling, and I knew I would have a hard time getting a word past, without it crackling like a dying fire.

"How is she going to survive that?" I asked, my voice just as rough as I knew it was going to sound.

"Blonde guy is a surgeon." Daryl explained, and I instantly understood him to be talking about Pete. "And he said it went through her spleen."

Daryl appeared too apprehensive about it all, for that fact to comfort me. What good was a doctor plucked from the hospital, stripped of all his tools, no operating room in sight? There was no possibility that he could accurately treat her without those factors. And, even if he managed to close her up, she could be taken out by infection within hours. We didn't have the type of technology to fix her properly. If she made it, it wouldn't be because of Ron's father. It would be from God's hand himself.

Right now, there was absolutely nothing I could do to save her.

"They handcuffed her. Y'know—in case. . ." He looked away, pausing for a moment. "Piece of advice: If you've got a choice between seein' it or not, just don't."

I shook my head, looking to my hands. Near the top of my index finger, a splinter split through the top layer of my flesh. "I'll see her in any state, if it means being there for her."

Just before I could stand and go against Daryl's advising, the doors were flung open. I didn't even have a chance to get a glimpse in before Pete was making his way outside, Denise timidly trailing behind him. The both of us were now on our feet, facing the medical team of two.

Pete then stepped forward. "Bad news."

Daryl quickly hung his crossbow around his arm, "What kind?"

His hands dropped to his sides, his fists opening and closing a few times before he finally began to speak. "We have things like grape flavored Tylenol and cough syrup — things that won't help her. She needs way stronger Opioids. Stuff we don't have here."

Daryl seemed to steady himself. "Where can we find 'em?"

Denise stepped out from behind Pete. "Nothing close. I can give you a map, show you some possible places, but there's no way for us to know if anything useful will still be there."

Finally, there was something to be done. Something apart from waiting with my head in my hands.

Daryl grunted. "Okay, what the hell are you waiting for? Get me the damn map, woman."

The two quickly retreated back inside. Before the door closed, I took note of the room divider that had been placed to conceal what I assumed was the bed they'd placed Cyn on. Around it, used supplied littered the floor. Soiled gloves, empty ripped-open packages, and sheets saturated in blood.

I now turned to Daryl . "I'm coming with you."

He took a long look at me, before finally nodding. "Get a gun."

After that, I was hurrying down the steps, rushing through the streets towards the armory. And in that moment, I got the answer to the question that had been looming over my head earlier.

When would I stop running?: Never.

Not if it was for the girl.

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • · 2,640 words • 2:17am

before u crash out ☺️, people do survive impalements. they don't have the same resources in this case, but they are extremely fortunate to have a surgeon, otherwise cyn would 100% die. spleens aren't as vital as the heart, lungs, or kidneys, so she has a shot at recovery.

okay so also, MayGarner made cyn a mood board and i thought I'd share bc it's vvvvvv cute and I absolutely adore it :)

sincerely yours,𝓜 ᥫ᭡.