Walking dead story

Walking dead fanfic...AGAIN. I'm in love w/ da walking dead. Romance/ action. I really don't know what else to say;)

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3. Chapter 3:

"Can you shoot with a crossbow?", Daryl asked. Daryl was going to teach both Shelby an I to shoot a target with a crossbow, gun, even a knife. He had been so sweet to us lately. Well, in many ways. "Nah. But it's about time." He nodded. "You better be careful." We walked with no emotion through the dense forest. I suddenly remembered what he said last night. Thinking of taking us to the prison. I let Shelby walk with Daryl as I was stuck in my thoughts. Prison? What prison? Prison where his group was? Maybe. I ran my hand through my long hazel hair and looked at my surroundings. Tall, skinny trees and plants with drops of water from previous rain storms. I breathed cool air in through my nose. It was partly cloudy and a perfect weather for hitting targets. I watched as Daryl pecked Shelby's cheek with his lips. A small pang of jealousy hit me and I frowned a bit. Daryl turned to face me. "We're here. Come on. Take a knife." I picked one of his knives up with not a word. I brushed past him and grabbed the hilt of the knife with a deep breath. "Ok. When do we start?" Daryl showed me to a target. "I'm gonna show Shelby first. Show her how to aim. Then I'll come to you. Okay?" I nodded and was going to try to throw the knife. I turned my head to Shelby and Daryl. She was obviously doing it wrong so Daryl had to take her hands and aim them in the right direction. But she dropped the knife and when they both went to pick it up, their heads bumped and their lips met. I had enough. I threw the knife as hard as I could and it hit smack in the middle. I turned around and ran off into the woods ignoring Daryl calling my name. No tears came. Just frustration. I ran as far as I could and sank down at the bottom
Of a tree and started carving images into the tree. I now know not to like someone anymore. I learned my lesson not to trust someone. Something caught my eye, though. I turned to see the white flower with small specks. A Cherokee rose. The story was very sad. About the Indian trail of tears when someone was crying because a loved one died, every spot where a tear landed a Cherokee rose bloomed. I stared at it because it meant hope. What could it mean?
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