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Even though the world had gone to hell, after you and your family found Alexandria, there were days that made it seem like it hadn’t. Just like that night, when you and your family members -- Michonne included -- sat at the dinner table, eating. Rick, your father, sat on one side of you and your brother Carl sat on the other. Michonne sat across from Rick and Judith sat obediently in Carl’s lap. All of you were talking about nonsense - moments of the past that you would never be able to get back because of the plagued world.
As you took a bite out of your food, your father spoke up, starting a new string of conversation. “(Y/N) used to write poetry.” Rick brought up, pointing to you with the fork in his hand.
“Dad,” You groaned, your face and ears turning pink.
“What?” Rick asked. “You poems were amazing.” Rick turned back to look at Michonne. “She used to write these...these…” Rick sighed. “Poem slams?”
“Slam poems.” You corrected him quietly.
“That’s it.”
“What are Slam Poems?” Michonne asked, looking at you.
“Well,” You put your hands in your lap and cleared your throat. “Slam Poetry was a competition before the world went to hell where poets would memorize their pieces and perform them in front of judges without using music, props, or whatever. Then afterwards, judges rate the poem from 0 to 10. Ten being the best and zero being a poem that should have never been written.”
“That seems interesting.” Michonne said as she bit into her food. “Do you still write poems?”
You gave a small, barely visible nod. “Yeah, when I have time. What I liked was that, there was this competition in Chicago called Louder Than A Bomb which was where schools from all over Chicago go and compete with these Slam poems and I’ve always wanted to compete in some sort of competition like Louder Than A Bomb but…” You stopped yourself and looked as everyone’s eyes were glued onto you. “I apologize. It seems like I was rambling.”
“That’s alright.” Michonne said with a large toothy grin.
“I really do miss your poems (Y/N).” Carl said as he fed Judith. “You taught me how to curse.”
You sigh. “Carl…” You couldn’t think of anything to say. “Why?” A smile formed on your face.
“You taught Carl how to curse?” Rick and Michonne asked in unison.
“Dad, why do you think I hesitated or said ‘dang’ 50 percent of the time when I told you guys the poems?”
Michonne giggled, followed by Carl. Your father only shook his head as he continued to eat.
“You should recite one.” Rick nudged you in the side.
“It’s been ages since I’ve memorized one and I barely remember anything that I wrote.” You told him. “But I can put one together. It may take some time, but I can do it.”
“That could be nice.” Michonne told you. “You could tell it to the whole group.”
“The whole…” Your voice trailed off. After thinking for a moment, you nodded. “Alright. Yeah, I’ll get to work.”
What have I gotten myself into? You questioned yourself as you went over the poem that you had created over and over in your head. That night, everyone - and I mean everyone - was gathered in your house, talking, drinking, enjoying the life outside of hell. You figured that it was then that you would perform your poem in front of everyone. You licked your lips as you paced around your room, rubbing your hands together and mumbling the words incoherently under your breath.
Five, ten, fifteen times you repeated the poem to yourself, making sure that you said it perfectly. Once or twice, you practiced your stage presence and hand motions that you were going to use when you performed. After your final trial, you took a deep breath, keeping your hands at your side and closing your eyes until every last bit of breath had left your lungs.
Laughter ran from downstairs and through the hallway all the way to your room. You looked towards the door before running your hands through your hair. You left your room, closing the door behind you and poem still fresh in your mind in order to join the crowd downstairs. You had found your brother talking to Enid while your father was in the kitchen, flirting with Michonne like he normally did - you rolled your eyes constantly at the two of them. Rick was holding your baby sister.
When you placed your hand on Rick’s shoulder, he turned away from Michonne and looked at you, a smile appearing on his face once he saw who you were. “Hey (Y/N).” Rick said.
“Hey Dad.” You said, rubbing your hands against your jean-covered thighs. “I’m ready to perform the poem whenever.”
A light sparkled in Rick’s eyes as he smiled. “Great.” He said. “I told everyone about it.”
“You did?” You asked, groaning ever so slightly.
“I did. They’re excited to hear you.”
You scrunched your nose. “Yay.” You cheered sarcastically.
Rick rolled his eyes and huffed. “Come on, let’s go.” Rick placed one of his hands on your back while the other one made sure that Judith was held firmly against his body.
You followed your father and Michonne into the living room of the house and you saw the rest of the survivors - your family - chit-chatting amongst themselves all over the room. You went to a certain part of the room while your father was getting everybody’s attention. They listened to him and their eyes landed on you once he told them you were going to be reciting your poem.
For a second, you looked at the floor then turned your eyes back to the crowd in front of you. Some people were sitting in seats and others were standing. Carol was next to Daryl, Glenn, and Maggie. Michonne next to your father and sister. Carl next to Enid. Everyone else was in order. You licked your lips.
“I’ve decided to title this poem; Blood.” You said as you shifted from one foot to another. For a second, you took a deep breath, held it, then let it out before your words began to soar.
“Scars riddling our bodies, painting them like an artist would a canvas and, just like that canvas, these scars can be broken. Ripped open and bleeding. When they do open, the memories flow out of them, like the blood would, only the memories are thicker and stick around longer like an unwanted houseguest.
“What are these memories? There are too many to count, so I’ll look them over as they fall out. I pick them up and examine them and cringe at the horrid nightmare that once came true. There are so many, where do I start?
“One; bullet wounds. A father worked well just to fall down three feet under, then be thrusted back up. Never waking from the endless sleep while someone he called a friend brought vases of flowers and ‘we wish you wells’ from the coworkers that saw him every day before the accident and while wife walked in with children, while tears stained their cheeks from seeing his state, to give kisses that, now, don’t mean a thing to any of them.
“Two; denial. Barn full of unwelcomed groans. Death trapped inside like a bug, wanting to get out and destroy the rest of the world. Insanity breaks the barricade, it slashes through the fourth wall. Ready. Aim. Fire! Like a firing squad, their only objective was to shoot and watch them drop like flies, whether they liked it or not. And when everything stands silent, they stop. Walking out, very slow, heart broken on the floor, arms holding tight, move no more. One more bullet through the head, it’s the past we have to dread.
“Three; behind bars. We’re caged, no more, one child, still sore. Half gone, then one-third. The brain was filled to the brink with insanity. Lost love ones found, it seems their attitude hasn’t changed. Naw man, you better shut your mouth, that’s my family you're talking about. Blood doesn’t matter in the world of hell all that matters is the bond that we have in our heart. You’re no brother of mine. Shattered heart.
“Four; Fire. Everywhere. We can’t see. Death here. Death there. Grim Reaper’s got a full job today. Run away. Separated. You’re never gonna see them again. Just face it, your family’s dead. We watched them die back there as we ran for our lives. We did nothing about it because we just had to survive. But get those negative thoughts out of your mind, you’re my family too, don’t leave that behind.
“Five; Sanctuary. False advertisement, it was a trap. A trick. We couldn’t avoid it. Out of options. In a rail car, dark as the night. On our knees, knife in sight. Cloth tied on our wrists, our ankles and our mouth, muffling words that wish to come out. Big boom, rumbling earth, untied hands, everyone running. Get out while you still can, we gotta get together in the end.
“Six; Cure. Washington’s the place to go. I’m the one with a cure and the information you need. Our group tried to split up. Half of us tried to flee. But lies brought us back together as we tried to rethink our decisions. The death of our friends were our only collisions.
“Seven; Home. Skeptics. Paradise for all. Homes situated like they had before but abandoned by their owners, just waiting for more. We will fill the rooms to the brink, staying together to keep an eye out to make sure we’re all safe.
“What am I kidding? Nowhere is safe. No place can protect us from the evil that surrounds us, like smoke that decided to billow up from the deepest crack of hell that opened up and when we inhaled it, we were infected by the darkness that rose from the pit and transformed our soul.
“When will we be able to escape it though? The pain? The death? The suffering? No one knows and no one will. All we can do is hang onto the only family we have remaining. Keep a watchful eye on them. Protect them. Our family isn’t blood and it doesn’t have to end there.”
When your final word had been spoken, you stopped, breath flowing out of your lungs. Everyone stared at you for several uninterrupted seconds before they started clapping. You could tell that your face had turned the darkest red it ever had. You placed your face in your hands and looked down before walking over to your father, who was doing his best to clap while Judith was still in his arms.
“That was good (Y/N).” Rick complimented you.
“Thanks Dad. I hate you...you know that, right?” You told him with a quirked brow.
“No you don’t.” Rick said as he wrapped one arm around your shoulders, hugging you.
“I know.”
Carl walked up to you, seeming a little disappointed. “I really liked the poem (Y/N).” He told you. “But you didn’t cuss like I thought you would.”
You shrugged. “I actually think I only cussed...once? Maybe?”
“That’s my point. Why didn’t you cuss more?”
“Because I didn’t have a fucking reason to.” You laughed, so did Carl.
“Hey.” Rick scolded as he tapped you on your shoulder.
“Sorry.” You said before you flipped the bird to your brother. He rolled his eyes before walking away.
You smirked as you pulled away from your father and began walking around the party - more like a gathering - talking to the people that you saw. Some of them complimented you about the poem and others talked to you about it, trying to get a deeper meaning behind it. You didn’t really go into much detail, but just gave them a brief synopsis.
At some point, you walked outside, where Daryl was. You knew he wasn’t the sociable type and just would rather keep to himself. He meant well though and, even though he wouldn’t like to admit it, he looked after you a lot, making sure you were safe - the same for Carl and Judith - just like you were family, which you found to be incredibly sweet. You sat next to him on the porch step.
“Hey.” You greeted.
“Hey,” He responded as he took a cigarette out of a packet, placed it between his lips, and lit it.
“You know those things are gonna kill you...right?” You commented, but Daryl stayed silent. You watched as the cig just dangled from his lips while his hands were placed between his legs. Daryl took a puff from the piece, blowing the smoke out of his nose. Before he could even reach up to take the addictive substance out from in between his lips, you reached up and grabbed it, crushing the head against the wooden steps. Daryl looked down at you with disbelief.
“What was that for?” He asked in his deep, gruff voice.
“I said that they were going to kill you. I don’t wanna lose you before you’re actually supposed to leave. No one wants you to.” You told him.
“Why do you care?” Daryl asked.
“I can name a million reasons. Were you not listening to my poem? For one, you are the most badass person I have ever met. But the main reason is because you’re family. My dad said you were like a brother to him. That means you’re my uncle. I’ve never been close to one of my uncles before. You’re the only uncle I’ve ever known well and I’d like to keep you around for some time. I don’t want you dying on me that quickly.”
Daryl looked at you, a small smirk playing on his face before it vanished. He looked away from you and stared off into the distance. “You know, you’re a good kid.” Daryl told you. “Your poem was really nice. I was listening.”
“You really thought so?” You asked.
“Yeah. I thought so.” Daryl said.
You smiled lightly as you wrapped your arms around Daryl, giving him a small hug. Daryl was extremely hesitant for a couple of seconds before he took his right arm and wrapped it around your shoulders. When you pulled away, you stared into his eyes and he stared into yours. “Everyone here is a part of one big family, and that’s not going to change anytime soon.” You told him with a smile on your face and, for once, he smiled back.