In a kinder world, one with more morphine…
"C'n you—Rick can you, you gotta go get those things."
"What things?"
"Those little, fuck, those card things. Wear 'em on your shirts. Like, like people smells but words. 'Cause I can't, I can't smell shit and there's, oh God."
"Daryl? You alright?"
"There's just so many of 'em."
Muffled laughter. "So many of what?"
"Blondes, Rick. Where th' hell do they keep comin' from?"
"Hershel, how much of this stuff are you giving him?"
five years ago i didn't do this prompt justice, so i'm back now with a vengeance, remixing my own work because i'm the tackiest bitch in existence. i deleted the original text, and maybe someday i'll stop cringing enough to put it back up, but today's not that day. i'm over here if you ever want to talk about werewolves.
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