I was set in an unblinking trance, somewhere between consciousness and unconsciousness. I felt like I had been leaning up against the tree for days, nights passing me by without so much as a breath escaping me.

The night had grown dark, with the stars emerging and fear ensuing. I was left with nothing but uncertainty to drive me to do anything next.

If my mind wasn't worried about what the night held, I think I would have stayed there forever.

If I still wasn't so scared... still, then I would have stayed there. But I still was. I was still so scared, and I don't think anyone could understand how you could be so frightened of not only what was around you, but yourself, and still kill someone.

I killed someone.

I just killed someone.

It was like I was waiting for it to cripple me. For the guilt and horror to hurt me so bad, I didn't want to live anymore. When it hurt so much you just wanted to never be yourself again.

But it hadn't hit me yet like I had turned something off because my mind was scarcely retreating from the blood that stained every inch of me.

It dried up my hair, tangled it, turned it a dull red - along with pinching my skin with a copper paint, one that sunk inside you like an infection.

I slowly moved my fingers in my lap, looking down with what little light the day had left to see the blood dried around my nails. It crusted and chipped slowly, lines, where my fingers bent, showed my skin colour.

It felt like a glass shell was encasing me, stopping me from moving comfortably.

I wiggled my toes in my boots, tilted my neck, bending my elbows, slowly getting my body to work again.

I groaned heavily as I got myself to stand again, with great difficulty.

It was like a rebirth of some sorts, my new body taking time to cooperate.

I looked around my space, only just making out the lines of the ground scattered with dried leaves and broken twigs.

I couldn't see much as I travelled in and around the trees, swerving left and right when my headache deemed so.

It was too hot despite my breath turning to mist in the dark air. My skin prickled and goosebumps rose, but my insides were like boiling fire. I was burning up from the inside. The pressure pulsating in my skull was deafening.

But I still had to get back.

Shane had told me to take and different route so we wouldn't be seen together. I didn't usually like taking orders from anyone but it seemed logical

But it was now nighttime. Shane had surely masqueraded the group around the woods, leading them around Randall's body and making it look like he ran away - when in reality, Shane was protecting me.

So I didn't take a longer or obscure route, I went straight to the farm with my hands held slightly upward, my eyes blinking rapidly as I tried not to trip on anything I couldn't see.

I tried my best to follow the feeling of going back, watching in front of me for the shore of the forest. It dipped up and down, throwing me off balance.

I breathed heavily, not praying because... I could never will myself to pray for anything.

I didn't realise it at first, but I had made it to the edge.

I looked on to the house, past the shed and the few scattered trees and cars.

After all this time, it still looked untouched. Preserved in its own little bubble of serenity. Slowly deflating, ready to burst and take us all aback.

Without thinking anything of it, and the state I was in, I started to briskly walk towards the house. My steps were rushed and clumsy, like something was behind me. The adenine still coursing through my veins and being the only thing that kept me going.

I tried my best not to feel anything. Anything at all.

It would hurt too much.

The steps were hard under my feet, my ankles straining to climb up onto the porch. I gripped the railing, hauling my body to the top.

It all seemed so normal and quiet. I could reach for that door and step in, like everything was fine - but it was always, far from fine.

It always had to be far from fine.

The idea of fine was so foreign to me, if I ever felt it, then something must be wrong.

I don't think I can ever be fine, and it's been that way for years.

The handle was rusty and golden, and reaching out to it I spotted my red hand. The skin slick, still, with Randall's blood.

I felt around my face and neck, feeling the slowly drying liquid. It was tightening my pores, making it hard to make even the smallest of movements. It made my clothes stick to my skin, I felt like an extra layer of fat.

I started from the bottom of my stomach and reached all the way up to my eyes, even coating my forehead and staining my hair. I could see it now, in the faint reflection of the window-paned door.

I was about to make a step into the house, but a hollow bone cracking sound jolted my body. It was loud and ambiguous. I turned on my heel to the small silver horizon, training my ears to try and figure out where the gunshot had come from.

It sent shock waves through my chest, turning my blood cold for a split second before I reverted back to being a human furnace.

Something just went wrong. Something was wrong.

I swallowed heavily, squinting my eyes to the landscape with the gunshot still echoing. It made me feel sick- or even sicker.

Hastily, I grabbed the door handle and gently opened up into the house, placing my feet carefully as to not make a sound.

I could hear the small talk coming from the living room, the clattering of items and pacing feet. My eyes stayed wide as I crept past the door, hiding away from people's eyes by the staircase. I placed my hand on the wall, leaning forward and trying to stay upright.

Sweat dripped down my nose, and I slid down to the floor in a heap of ache. Curling into myself, my whole body shivered. Leaning my forehead against the wall, knocking it gently.

With tired and heavy eyes, I simply looked to the red that had now stained the wall. It looked like a child had smeared paint there because it was so pigmented - and almost didn't feel real at all.

"What was that?" Someone said, their voice quiet. "Did someone open the door?"

T-Dog was the next to speak, his voice louder like he was calling out to me. "Is it them?"

"There's no one there."

"Probably the wind," Maggie added.

"What about her?" Beth's small voice sounded.

Lori was the one to answer. "Her?"

"Marley."

"She's just..." there was a pause as everyone's breath settled. "Gone."

There was another pause.

"I'm going after them," Andrea announced, and I heard her rise from her seat. But then Lori stopped her.

"Don't," she breathed. "They could be anywhere, and if Randall comes back we're gonna need you here."

I almost jumped up from my spot on the floor when the door swung open wildly, and my eyes darted to the two figures that entered the house and made a swift turn to the living room, not even giving a passing glance towards me.

I hugged my knees, propping my chin on top of them.

It was weird; I wasn't letting myself feel anything.

"Rick and Shane ain't back?" It was Daryl.

They must have sent him to track Randall in the forest. Shane said he would tell a story, so the group had to be shepherded around for some time before they concluded that Randall was just gone.

And apparently me too.

But what I was worried about was how good Daryl is at tracking. He was too good for me to hide from him.

"No," Lori answered him.

"B- We heard a shot," he continued. I had heard it too, and I didn't know what it was.

I just wanted to go in there and see Daryl again but I couldn't.

Not like this.

"Maybe they found Randall," Lori suggested quickly.

"We found him."

Oh no.

Maggie spoke up next. "Is he back in the shed."

"He's a walker."

There was a moment as I ran through the events in my head, and it didn't make sense. Walkers don't go hunt for dead people, they hunt for us - like running bait, for it to be breathing and willing to fight back.

I had left Randall more than dead, so he couldn't be a walker.

"Did you find the walker that bit him?" Hershel asked.

"Now," it was Glenn this time, who seemed to be the person who had accompanied Daryl out there. "The weird thing is, he wasn't bit."

"His neck was... cut."

"He got bit," Hershel tried to reason.

"It was done with a knife - straight line. It weren't no bite."

"You sure?"

He must have nodded because there was no reply.

As they talked some more, with all my strength, I slid back up the wall to stand. My knees shook despite what little I weighed.

"The thing is, Shane and Randall's tracks we're righ' on top of each other," he continued, and I listened closer to what he had to say. He never normally talked this much to the group. "And Shane ain't no tracker, so he didn't come up behind him."

"No they were together," it seemed he hadn't added me to the equation. He didn't see three tracks, he saw two; all considering that I didn't directly follow them both.

"Would you please get back out there and find Rick and Shane, and find out what on earth is going on?" Lori pleaded.

"You got it," he replied quickly, and then he returned back to the hallway and I saw him. Glenn and Andrea brushed past him because he had spotted me discreetly walking forwards.

"Marley?" he sounded so disbelieving that I was actually there like I had died and he was seeing my ghost.

I rushed forward and shushed him, coming so close that our chests brushed against each other. But I took a cautious half-step back.

And it was too late.

"Oh my god," Lori was the first to speak.

I pushed Daryl sideways so I was behind him, his body becoming a shield against the eyes of everyone who was now following Lori into the hallway.

I gripped Daryl's jacket, and he stood in place with a glance over his shoulder.

I peeked from behind him, eyes wide. I kept a tight grip on his upper arms, making it so that as I backed up slowly, he had no choice but to follow.

"Wha- are you hurt?" Lori continued, obviously spotting the state I was in.

"Where have you been?" Maggie asked.

There were more questions but I still only heard the first.

"It's not-" the words stuck in my throat. I choked on them, manic eyes and shaking grip. "It's not mine."

Silence struck them all, and their eyes softened at the sound of my voice.

"What's not?" Hershel said the important question.

"It's..." I breathed out heavily, wiping away as many of my emotions as I could. Creating a clean slate within me. It made me feel distant. Cold.

"It's not my blood."

"Guys!"

Glenn's voice interrupted it all, calling from outside.

The moment we heard his panicked call, every one of us turned towards it and started to filter out of the house.

I kept a hold of Daryl.

I didn't know why Glenn had called us all outside in such a desperate tone, but I soon figured out when I stepped away from my friend and took a closer look at the horizon.

The number was... daunting, to say the least - because it was way too many to count. This wasn't like the highway, this was more than that herd.

Hundreds upon thousands of walkers covered the field just in front of the farm. From this distance, it made me feel like a clock had struck its time. It's time to end.

It was time for the end.

"Patricia," Hershel spoke first. "Kill the lights."

A certain indifference to this was inside of me, but I still started to think about how to survive this.

No matter how much I've wanted to die all my life.

"I'll get the guns," Andrea said just as quiet.

I rubbed my hands together, trying to rid the slick feeling on them.

"Maybe they'll just pass like the herd on the highway. Should we just go inside?" Glenn asked.

I was too focused on the colony of dead slowly making its way towards us.

But I knew that hiding under a few cars wasn't going to help us now.

"Not unless there's a secret tunnel downstairs I don't know about," Daryl snapped. With his voice, I stopped looking at the colony and towards everyone else. "Herd that size'll rip the house down."

The blood coating me wasn't the main concern anymore, and I felt slightly more invisible.

Carol beside me had her hand covering her mouth in shock, and the display of clear emotion confused my mind for a second.

I should be panicking.

But I didn't feel a thing.

"Carl's gone," suddenly Lori came outside again.

"What?" Daryl questioned.

This was Carl. I was supposed to be panicking and care.

But I just... didn't.

"H-He was upstairs. I can't find him anymore."

"Maybe he's hiding," my voice sounded so monotone and dull, I questioned whether I had lost my soul for a moment.

She panted. "He's supposed to be upstairs. I'm not leaving without my boy," her words were quick and worried to no end.

"We're not," Carol assured. She took her friends arm, and I watched her usher the mother back into the house, speaking of looking some more.

Andrea knocked into my back as she rushed onto the porch. In her arms was the oversized bag of guns. She unzipped it to show off the sizable weapons within it.

Everyone started handing out weapons, not making eye contact with me for a second.

They were not going to give me a gun but I watched on as they shakingly prepared to fight against the colony.

"I got the number..." Daryl was at the edge of the porch, to my right. "It's no use."

"You can go if you want," Hershel told him.

"You're gonna take 'em all on?" Daryl sounded unconvinced.

"We have guns, we have cars," Hershel then readied his gun with a large click.

Andrea continued. "Kill as many as we can, then we use the cars to lead the rest of them off the farm." The way she said it was so nonchalant, like battling against a walker infested farm was an everyday escapade.

"You'll die," I warned.

Nobody replied.

"All righ'. It's a good a night as any," Daryl shrugged. He made his way past the people in our group towards me, where I was away from all of them just at the start of the stairs.

"Here," he said quietly. He opened up my hand and I looked down to see him put a box cutter in my palm. "You dropped this."

He knew.

I furrowed my brows and made eye contact with him and only him, the expression he gave spoke a confirmation that he knew.

He knew that it was me, and not Shane who had killed Randall. And he lied to everyone.

"Keep safe, Marls," he whispered in finality. Nodding at me, he slid over the wood railing to jump down and towards his bike.

My fingers closed over the small instrument.

There was talk of getting the cars driven around, and who would go where.

"Me and T will take the blue truck."

"Jimmy you take the RV, block the opening in the fence by the barn."

"Come on, Jimmy," I decided where I would go. "The RV's waiting."

I stepped heavily down the stairs, swinging my arms as I started to walk towards the RV.

"Marley, wait!"

"Marley!"

Despite the walkers coming closer, they didn't spare any volume as they kept screeching after me.

But I didn't care.

I heard Jimmy hurry after me, he was silent as I lead us towards to RV.

We hurried inside, Jimmy taking the wheel and myself in the passenger, to open the window and spy on the walkers coming closer.

Anything to try and distract myself from letting anything in. Any emotion that would surely leave me crippled.

Keep myself busy, and it won't hurt.

Daryl's motorbike came up in front of us, the bright lights coming to life on the RV and illuminating him.

Jimmy followed behind him, driving as fast as the old vehicle could. The engine groaned under the strain.

I saw Daryl shoot some walkers as we parked in the space between two fences, blocking off any more of them approaching the farm any further.

The fire caught my eye, and it was fire inside the barn. A blaze started to spread. It began to rise in the structure, burning any walker that came near. Smoke was flying high above everything, and it made the air smell of ash.

T-Dog and Andrea, Glenn and Maggie, started to collectively shoot at the walkers.

They weren't making a dent.

Jimmy leaned out his window and used his own gun to help, but it didn't make much of a difference.

I simply watched flame engulfed undead flail around, not in pain, because they couldn't feel it. Each one becoming a beacon of fire that walked.

"Must have been Rick n' Shane that started that fire, maybe they'll try to get out back," Daryl's voice came from Jimmy's open window, as the boy leaned further out to listen closer. "Circle round."

"Got it," Jimmy yelled back, and I was pushed back when he put his foot on the gas and started to approach the alight farm.

"What the hell are you doing?" I asked suddenly, looking at the bewildered and red-faced boy beside me.

"We're saving Rick and Shane," he answered.

"You'll die," I warned. "I'll die too."

"What?"

"That farm is on fire, take the hint, we'll burn to death."

He ignored my comments and kept driving towards it, quickly pulling up on the left of the burning structure.

"You'll die."

I gripped the arms of the seat as the road was bumpy, and made the RV sway wildly.

Walkers surrounded us, and I could hear Rick yelling at us along with the constant groans of walkers.

I could feel the heat creeping up my neck.

And it wasn't the heat that came with sickness.

Clatters came from the roof as Rick and Shane must have stepped on it.

But I was more concerned with the hands that started to grab at the windscreen.

I couldn't help but let it all in; the panic. I couldn't move. When I let an ounce of emotion in, all the rest came with it.

I felt like I couldn't breathe, I couldn't move, I couldn't do anything.

At the corner of my eye, Jimmy got up from the drivers seat.

Was I going to die?

All I kept seeing was Randall, and on top of that, Otis, then Sophia, the walkers at our wake.

Jimmy went for the door, but it burst open. Walkers grabbed at his flesh and started to tear. They ripped him bloody, as he started to scream.

And I screamed back, turning quickly in my seat and for a moment watching in horror as the young boy struggled, gurgled in pain.

They bit his legs first and made their way to his neck.

I screamed more and stepped over my seat.

I kicked the walker closest to me, grabbing desperately at the edge of the door whilst they were too busy eating Jimmy.

The blood pooled at my feet, along with flesh and screams.

I forcefully pulled on the handle, slamming it against the skull of one of them. It split like rotten fruit, bursting against the wall as I repeatedly slammed until it shut fully.

It was quieter then, the roaring of fire silenced and the groans of the undead muffling.

I turned and the female walker I had kicked made her way to my neck, but I pushed the box cutter Daryl had returned to me into its eye.

Dropping the thing, I stabbed the last walker casually chewing on Jimmy's stomach on the Base of its skull.

Jimmy writhed in his own fluids, sobbing heavily and weakly moving around in pain.

I didn't look at me.

The box cutter slipped from my fingers, onto the stained thin carpeted floor. I breathed heavily, as I took a moment to just look at Jimmy.

And in a moment, a split second decision, I leaned over to him to grasp the sides of his head and jerk it further than his neck would turn.

He wasn't sobbing anymore.

The sickness inside of me remembered and I threw up beside him. I wiped my lips with the back of my hand, coughing the sour taste from my throat.

"You'll die."

I couldn't think straight because my panic and manic thoughts were blurring my vision of surviving.

So I pushed them aside once again, leaning down and picking up the instrument again.

The fire from the barn started to heat up the glass, and I heard it crack.

The flames licked the clear surface, and within seconds of seeing the heat start to approach further, I covered my head with my arms and ducked down as the windows shattered loudly above me.

When the shards settled, I rushed towards the middle of the RV and reached to the square opening in the roof, unlatching the door and swinging it open. I used the counter to step up.

On top of the RV, along with the furnace inside of me, the one behind me burned my skin and felt like it grabbed tightly at my skin. Biting at me like those walkers had done to Jimmy.

Looking down, it was my only hope.

When an opening came I took it, leaping down towards the ground.

I heard my ankle snap, and I hissed in pain. More heat was on my body from the ache that spread up my leg. It was like tiny ants constantly stung me, thousands of bugs.

I bit my tongue, screaming in my mouth before forcing myself to get up.

A walker approached me, and I swung my weapon lazily, slicing its chin from its face.

as fast as I could go, with the injured ankle I had just been inflicted, the forest was my only choice.

The unknowingness was my only choice.

"You'll die." I kept repeating the same thing, not knowing who I was talking to.

It was most likely me.

+ 

everytime she said "you'll die" I imagined Ultron's voice saying it.

Lmao this chapter is shit, I've got like one chapter of season 2 left, and marley has killed 2 people within 2 chapters and she kinda turned her emotions off because she knows she can't handle it

KiLL mE

- sylar