A real reality

By: Chantel Murphy

This story is dedicated to Norman Reedus and all his awesomeness.

Youll have to read to find out what its about.

Constructive criticism is accepted, but not just: Oh, your righting sucks. Haha youre a bitch. No. Tell me if there are any errors or any words that I should have used.

Enjoy!

-Chantel

Chapter 1
Dakota

I hung my favorite pair of jet black sun glasses on a branch high up in a maple tree. My complex camera, hanging loosely around my neck, started to call for me. I adjusted my position on the long branch I was heavily leaning on and with the gingerly placed the camera at the end. I turn it ever so slightly and lightly flick my figure on the shutter button, the camera telling the shutter to catch the image. I review the picture, and smile, satisfied.

Perfect. I whisper to myself. I switch it off and slip on the protective cap and climb steadily down. My bare feet land firmly on the thick, wavy grass. Scott! I call out, my voice almost getting lost in the summer breeze. The giant Irish wolfhound pup comes hurdling towards me from out of nowhere. I yank off my precious camera and toss it into the fluffy green carpet. He leaps with his massive hind legs, tackling me to the ground, slobbering up my face.

Hey buddy! I smile between slobbery licks. I rub his curly coat all over and give him a big hug. He was abandoned as a pup; I found him hiding in a trash can down by Eighth. I just couldnt give it up, no matter what my idiotic parents said. You wont be able to feed him. They said. Hes just a stupid dog. They said. But of course, being me, I ignored them completely. I secretly keep him in a little bin inside of my closet. I cant fit any clothes in there, but its totally worth it.

I clip on his leash, scoop up my camera and slip it on, marching off towards my home. I put air quotes around home because its not really a home, more like a place that I keep my very, very few belongings, or stuff I stole. Whatever you wanna call it, I really dont care.

By the time Ive reached Purple Peanut, its about 12:00 pm by my watch. I pass Sunset Beach, it isnt even a beach, just a dock, and turn from Machuis cutoff and up the steady in

climb onto Maridian place. Before I start up the steep hill towards home, I drop off the envelope with the picture my camera automatically printed out into the mailbox and fling the flag up. Scott tilts his scruffy little head at me, looking adorable as always.

Im entering a contest, bud. AMCs hosting one for the Walking Dead to find the best photographer in the country. The winner gets to go to Georgia to meet the cast! I tell him, my voice now a shrill with excitement. He smiles, or tries to anyway, and wags his tail. We cant tell anybody though. My voice dropping to a low whisper. Like youll tell anybody. I grin. He just continues to swish his tail and look utterly confused. Stupid dog. I roll my eyes sarcastically.

I saunter down the gravel driveway, drinking in the summer air. I sneak in through the back window, scooping Scott up in my arms and heaving him into my bedroom. My feet slip, and I end up face first into the shaggy carpet. I shove him off me and roll over, chuckling quietly.

Just as I start getting up, I hear massive footsteps storming down the hall. I shove Scott into his bin and slam the closet door closed just as a booming voice is banging my bedroom door open. Where the hell where you? My father lumbers in, extremely drunk as always. Downtown. Why should you care anyway? I hiss. What did you just say to me? He exclaims. He raises the half empty beer bottle above my head and slams it down on my skull, thousands of shards of glass exploding everywhere. I duct, somewhat protecting my head from the projectiles. A noise that sounds like a demonic growl comes from deep inside my old pops throat.

Dont ever talk to me like that again. He spits. I slump to the floor in a massive heap of a blood and shards of glass as he stomps out of the room. I gag, then cough, and a mixture of saliva and blood comes up. Bloody hell. I grunt to myself. Im surprised I didnt get knocked out.

I carefully lay my hand on the back of my head and it, of course, comes back bloody. I should be used to it by now, so no tears come. No emotions show. I just dont feel anything. Accept

pain, of course. It is just so typical to get smacked and to feel pain that my face doesnt need to portray anything anymore. The fact terrifies me.

It takes me only five seconds to realize that Im flat on my face, passed out.

Chapter 2
Norman

Its just two weeks after the contest ended. Im sitting in a room full of people that have become like family over the last few years. Chandler, Bob, Steven, Michael, David, Andrew, and Jon all sit around a large, wooden table, laughing and smiling like they dont have a care in the world. I am to, of course. Today, we pick the winner. I hope its not some weirdo like last time.

Ive had my eye on this girl for a while now. I forgot her name, but when I find her amongst the humongous snowy mountain of mail, she gets my vote for the win. I literally have to go swimming through the pile of paper in order to find the wrinkled letter that contains the person I have somewhat gotten to know.

Hey-. I start to say, but I cant get it out. Im not the, oh what should I call it, the most demanding person on the planet. So, as an alternative, I stick the now open letter with the beautifully take picture up on the projector and wait for the group to notice. It takes a while, because half of them are about to pass out from all the shots theyve been taking, but finally they all take notice and start to read the past of this poor girl.

Dear Robert Kirkman, I believe I should be that one to visit you and the rest of the walking dead community because Well, I dont really know why. Im a big fan, of course, Im a die-heart one, but Im not one of thoughts creepy fangirls or attention whores. All I really want is to meet my hero, Norman. Man, hes awesome. Hes not one of thoughts snooty actors that thinks about nothing but himself. He cares for others more than himself most of the time actually. Once, after he got hit by a truck in Berlin and was just getting out of the hospital after getting stitches, he saw a guy on the side of the road also get hit by a truck.

So, as Norman would do, he ran straight over to the guy and started his heart back up. Then he carried the man over to the hospital and saved his life. And that, my friend, is how kind Norman Reedus it. He thinks about everyone but himself.

She kind of wanders off after that. But I thought that was really sweet. Even this struck me as strange, but in a good way.

I dont want any sympathy for what I have just told you. I just want you to think about your life, and appreciate it, and give someone else a chance to have a good one. To fulfill their life goal.

Thanks for reading. Hope you all have a great day and that its better than mine. -Dakota

I look around the room. Their bodies are calm, except for Chandlers, whos shifting around in his chair nervously. I glance down at his face and it turns as red as a tomato. My eyes scan across their faces, each noticing them and nodding in approval. A small smile spreads across my face.

Why so red, Chandler? Steven teases and Chandler punches him in the arm. Nothing! He snaps. Uh-Huh. Andrew rolls his eyes and turns around, snickering quietly along with Jon and Robert. I let myself chuckle a little. What? He asks. Oh nothing, its just-. David begins to say but is interrupted by a doors cranky hinges and the sound of boot steps. A familiar smile shines beautifully, brightening the dull grey canvas walls surrounding us. His muscular build and brown eyes can only identify him as Sean Patrick Flannery, also known as Connor from our movies the Boondock Saints. He strolls right up and kisses me. That gets everybody laughing; even Chandler, who was pouting just moments ago. He turns around and wipes off his mouth and licks part of his fingers, grinning happily.

Hey everybody! Sorry Im late. Had some troubles with the limo getting here. He gives me a wink basically saying he was at the pub getting drunk. So, who do we have so far? He asks in a cheery voice. A few. We have a boy from Utah, a women from Kansas, and a girl from Washington. Those are really the only ones that come to mind. Andrew answers flatly. Chandler and Norman vote for the girl from Washington. I really dont care; you guys pick the winner. Im gonna go get a beer. Michael gets up and walks out of the room. Should we tell him we dont have any? I grin and everybody bursts out laughing. They have had way too much Champaign.

Sean snatches Dakotas letter from my hand and scans it over. His facial expression darkens for a moment, the returns to his normal spunky self towards the end. I think shes a winner! He announces. He tosses the paper over his shoulders. He quickly examines the others, which he yawns with boredom at. I vote for the girl named after some states! He yells at the top of his lungs. Most of the others nod in approval, accept for a few I shall not name because youll freak out and hate on them. I think theyre scared of her because she mentions shes really good with weapons and stuff. I think shes cool, though.

Lets round her up, then! Sean commands. He snatches up the phone and begins to dial the number she said to contact her by, but I dive across the table and yank it out of his hand. Youre not in the Walking Dead, now, are you? I ask, raising an eyebrow. No He hangs his head. I dont want you to verbally rape her over the telephone like last time. Shes thirteen, bro. She probably knows more about sex then you do! He mocks. Youve only got laid once and guess what happened? He points towards a picture of Mingus I have in my wallet. Everybody woots and cheers, even the incredibly still red-faced Chandler. Hes grabbed the letter again, reading it over with a small smile.

I re-dial the phone a few minutes later, having a middle-aged man coughing and wheezing on the other end. What? He grumbles. Hi, this is Norman Reedus. I was wondering if Dakota was available. I rub my neck nervously. Shes at the hospital. Go bother them. He hangs up after that. Wonder why. I mumble.

After about a half an hour searching all the hospitals in Washington, I finally found her. Shes in surgery right now. Ill have her call you when shes better. A nurse intervenes once more with the communication of our contest winner. Why dont we go out to lunch why we wait? I suggest after I explain the unfortunate situation. We go out, but I dont have a lot of fun. I stay mostly quiet, twiddling my thumbs and fidgeting. Im just too worried about Dakota. Dunno why. I just have a sense of protection. Like Im supposed to be her dad, or something. The man I talked to was probably her dad, though. Doesnt seem very nice. I end up in a frustrated heap on the table with my head in my arms. The others notice quickly.

Whats wrong, Murph? Sean asks in his sympathetic Irish accent. Just thinking about Dakota. I manage to get out. He yanks my head up by the hair. Thats why your face is so red. He grins. I stare at him. You have a thing for little girls now? I just snicker.

We finally manage to reach her about a week later. I dial her up on the telephone. Another nurse picks up and after a few minutes of elevator music, I get a scraggy hello. Hi. Is thi s Dakota? I ask calmly. Yea. If its Ralph, I have the money, I swear! She says urgently. No, its not that. I reassure her with a slight chuckle. Its Norman Reedus. Youve won the photography contest! I say. um Is the only reply I get. Hold on a sec. She puts down the phone and I hear a muffled high pitched scream. Keep holding on. After a few minutes, she finally responds. Sorry, the doctors got concerned because I screamed so loud. She replies.

No problem. So, how was your surgery? I ask, concern trying to make its way into my voice. Oh, its not what you think. I tripped and fell on some glass and I guess some of the shards got stuck in my hands and they had to undergo surgery to get them out without damaging anything. Its gonna leave scars, though. I couldnt pick up anything for a while cause it hurt so bad. She explains. That sucks. Ive had worse ones. She replies grimly.

Grr. They wont let me out of the hospital because I have a stupid concussion. She pouts. Well why dont we come visit? I suggest, trying to brighten up the conversation. Hold on once again. Sorry for the inconvenience but I must scream again. She puts th e phone and once again, screaming at the top of her lungs. The blocking of the phone does something close to nothing to muffle the ear-splitting screech. Followed a few seconds later by: Go away! Im talking to Norman Reedus! Go! Shoo! After some loud scuffling and grunting noises, we get her back online.

Are we announcing the winner on tv? She asks excitingly. Yep. Defiantly. I believe the camera crew will be down there tomorrow or Saturday, not sure. But yea, itll be on tv. So, when do you plan to come down? She asks urgently. Oh youll see. I smile sheepishly behind the speaker.

We chit-chat for a little while longer, and finally the gang convinces me to stop talking to the winner and hang up, promising to visit her by Sunday to watch the season finally with her.

I gotta admit, we got a little drunk after Chandler left because it was so late. Ok, more than a little. I ended up waking up at about 4:00 am finding a girl next to me in bed. And its not my bed. Im surprised I have pants on. I grab my shirt and shoes and quietly slip out of the apartment, scooping up a bottle of whiskey along the way, just for the hell of it. I throw up a couple of times in the hallway and down the stairs, but I end up crashing at Andrews place for a little bit until I feel better.

What happened last night? I ask groggily after a nice clearing of my stomach. Not sure. All I remember is that you disappeared into some girls apartment claiming you knew her and didnt come out until now. He snickers. Hey at least you got laid! He bursts out laughing and falls backwards out of his chair. That makes me at least let out a little snicker. Hes either drunk or hung-over, its hard to tell with Andrews bubbly personality.

Suddenly, Robert comes bursting through the front door, his face red and reeking of beer and sweat. Where the hell were you two?! Our taxis is on its way! He snaps at us. Shit! We scramble to get all our possessions, stuffing them in our suitcases, not forgetting the whiskey, and leaping into the taxi with Steven, who is shouting at us to hurry up. I dive head first into the back and end up face planting into the other side door. I let out a small moan and clip my seat belt on. Before I knew it, Im on a plane to Washington to meet the beautiful girl that I am, somehow, supposed to protect.

Chapter 3
Dakota

I open my tired, aching eyes to see the entire Walking Dead cast in the room. I find Scott on my chest, panting, wide eyed and wagging his tail. I manage to shove him off, then take in all the smiling faces. Every single one of them is here. Even Robert, the original creator of the comics. Im at a loss of words. I think you guys have the wrong room. I tell them sarcastically. Its so great to meet you guys! Its our pleasure. Andrew answers coolly. His arctic blue eyes are full of calm happiness. But arent you guys supposed to come here tomorrow? I ask, tilting my head to the side like a confused puppy. That got them smiling inside. No, No rman said hed be there tomorrow. We said wed be here today. Didnt you tell her, Norman? Robert shoots him a glare. He must have. I say quickly. I must have forgotten. My memory has withered slowly away ever since the surgery. I explain. I point to the bandage wrapped around my forehead. A couple of the actresses gasp. No, its ok. I reassure them. Its not fatal. I just fell backwards on my head. Its really ok. I lie. If I told them the truth, they might pity me. And if theres anything I hate more than Justin Bieber, its pity.

Well, we gotta get going. Says Steven. Aww, so soon? Norman asks childishly. Well, youre not allowed to leave until you give me a hug at least! I tease. So, one by one, they line up to give me a tight hug or a kiss on the cheek, like Norman and Chandler did. I had to try so very hard not to blush. While everybody else left, waving their goodbyes and promising to watch the premier with me, Norman stayed for a minute or two to tell me something. What is it? I ask curiously. He leans in and whispers in my ear, his voice almost inaudible. Until tonight, my love. He smirks slightly and kisses my cheek, and like the wind, hes disappeared from my sight. Im sitting there, in utter shock. I cant believe my eyes. My bodys gone numb, my backs sweaty, my heart pounding in my chest.

And then he comes back in. Im not sure why. But then his eyes go wide and his jaw unhitches, and I hear the steady tone of my heart stopping on the monitor.

Im stuck in blackness. Thats all I see, for the time being anyway. Im not sure what it is. Am I in hell? Then I see light. After that, I start hearing voices. Muffled at first, but then they form into words as if done by magic. I cant remember whos they are. I try to pry my eyes open with no success. Fear is threatening to creep up inside me, tightening up my chest, making it hard to breathe. I hear by breath shorten, turning it light gasps. Im not in heaven, I know that. I wouldnt be able to feel the strong hands wrapping around my shoulders and shaking me softly if I was.

I finally manage to open my eyes. Sunlight immediately floods them, and Im blinded for a moment. My eyes adjust, and I realize that Im in a dark room. Someones holding my hand. I turn my head and manage to ask whos there. Its me. A whisper calls out. A handsome man with scruffy, blond hair and a mole on his upper left part of his lip appears out of the shadows. Hey. I give him a small smile. Where am I? I ask, fear rising in my voice. His expression darkens, and his grip tightens. Somethings happened. He lifts himself off of the bed and scoops me up in his arms. Im really, really trying so very hard not to fangirl out at this point. Ladies, you know what I mean.

He carries me out into what looks like an apartment and sits me down on one of the couches. It kind of reminds me of one of his old penthouses, accept less fancy. Andrew and Steven are the only ones there besides Norman. Theres been an infection. Andrew mumble s. Some kind of mutation of the Rabies virus. Were not sure what happened. All we know is that were fucked. Steven says impatiently. How long was I out? About three months. You were in a deep coma. I guess the bottle did more damage than they thou ght. Norman sighs. Its a shame how parents can be so cruel to their own children. Hey, Im not the helpless, pathetic little bitch yall think I am. I stand up, my eyes cold as ice. Suddenly, Im lightheaded and fall back onto the couch, clutching Normans arm for support. I look up at his face and his eyes are full of concern. I give Norman one last scowl until I turn away to look out the back window.

Dead bodies litter the ground. Flies infest on each and every one of them. Corpses walk around, dragging their feet and arms behind them, just like on the show. They seem to be, aimless. Nothing stirs them, not even when I scream at the top of my lungs. Andrew pounces on me like a jungle cat and covers my mouth with his palm. Im suddenly on the ground, adrenalin pulsing through my veins. I finger around for his pistol while hes distracted and cautiously take

it out of its holder. I grab his hand, twist it in a way of almost snapping his wrist, pinning his arm against his back while shoving him to his feet, and rest the barrel on his skull. I will not hesitate to shoot. I dont care if every zombie in the city hears it. I growl.

Finally, the activity is too much for me, and I slump to my knees, and get knocked out once more.

This time, I can actually see who is touching me, thanks to the afternoon light. Im still on the couch, but my head is resting on something, and it isnt the arm rest. Its Normans thigh, and hes stroking my hair gently. I pretend to still be knocked out, and enjoy the moment. Im crying with happiness on the inside, though. Finally, I decide enough is enough, that Normans being creepy, and sit up, rubbing my eyes. He pretends that hes been sitting there the whole time doing nothing by putting his hands behind his head and closing his eyes. Typical Norman, trying so hard not to make the situation awkward. By doing this, hes made it even more weird between us.

Look whos finally awake. You done attacking us, sweetheart? Andrew spits. I shoot him a glare and look at Steven. So, this isnt a dream? I ask grimly. Nope. Its cold hard, reality. He replies flatly. Well, what are we gonna do? I ask. They just stare off out the window. We cant just stay here! I cry. They just stare at me like I just killed their mom. Come on you two! You are two of the most badass zombie killing machines! Your just gonna sit here until one of them comes and eats you alive? I shout. My mouth is hanging open with shock.

They come to their senses, and Andrew takes charge. Dakota, grab all the food you can and stuff it in whatever you can. I give him a curt nod and set off.

Theres nothing much here, anyway. I grab a backpack and stuff the rest of the goodies in it. I walk into the room I originally woke up a few hours ago. Its a small room, with only a bed in the corner and a dresser against the other wall. It almost looks like a prison cell, with the circular window supported by iron bars and the dark, grey paint. I fumble around in the dresser a little bit, but find nothing very valuable besides clothes, which I take some of. I then proceed to search the bed, finding something very interesting underneath it. The Colt Python .357

Magnum. The exact one Rick uses, or used, in the show. Wonder how they got this. I mumble under my breath. I stick it in the back part of my belt and cover my t-shirt over it. We dont want anybody to see that now do we?

I sling the backpack over my shoulder and lumber down the hall and into the living room. Something important has been hanging out at the back of my mind for a while now. It then proceeds to pop into my head. Wheres Scott? They turn and stare at me. Well? I gr owl. After a few moments of awkward silence, Norman finally mumbles something. What? I killed him! He shouts angrily. Im taken aback by his rage. And the fact that he killed my dog. Why? I hiss, and like a snake, slither up to him and stare right into his eyes. Hes only two inches taller than me, so its easy to get right up in his face. He puts the mask he usually wears while hes pissed off as Daryl Dixon, accept this is real anger.

Why? I snap. Whyd you kill him? He just stares sadly at his feet. I shouldnt be really pissed off about it, but that dog was like my best friend. He was my only friend This is the way I grief, I guess. Anger. Blame. Stuff like that.

Im clenching my fists so hard my nails have made my stitches open off and theyve started to bleed all over the place. My hearts racing and I think I might pass out again. But I hold my ground until I get a muffle of an answer. I almost have to have him repeat it, but I suddenly register the words. We had to kill him to survive. I turn my head and stare at Andrew, demanding an explanation. We had to eat him. We had no food left and we were starving to death. We didnt have a choice.. He tries desperately to calm me down, but the monster is starting to come out. I just saw some food in the cabinets a few minutes ago! I exclaim.

Thats wasnt there a month ago! We went out to get that! Steven yells. Im thinking of stabbing them. Yeah take all the weapons and go. What were we supposed to do? Youre supposed to go out and find food dumbass! You dont just kill my fucking dog and eat him! Whats wrong with you people? You dont know how to survive! You cant even help yourselves from killing a girls dog! I spit at Norman, poking him in the chest. Im out of here! You guys are all fucked. I spin around on my heals and storm down the hall and fling open the front door, it smashing on the inside wall, the glass window shattering into a million tiny pieces.

Im just about to start me decent down the stairs when a small cry catches my ear. Dakota wait.. Norman calls out to me from down the hall. What do you want? I almost shout, but I suddenly remember out situation. I whip around to see him loaming over me, a sad puppy dog expression on his face. Please, be rational about your decision. We had to do it. If we didnt do it, you and I would be dead. I dont even need an explanation for the last part. I hang my head like a dog waiting to be punished. Im sorry Norman. I just didnt think this would ac tually happen. And check this. I went up to him, wrapped my arms around his waist and hugged him tight. He then proceeded to hug me back. Im just so scared I mumble into the crook of his neck. He rests his chin on my head and we just sit there for a minute, enjoying the moment.

If you two love birds are done snuggling, we gotta get a move on. Dakota, are you coming or what? Andrews inpatient but powerful voice comes up behind us. I quickly let go and step away, rubbing my neck and chuckling quietly. Well, that wasnt awkward. My face reddens and I try to keep calm while they all make fun of me for it. I dont like him! I finally snap at them. Whoa, calm down there, missy. Steven says.

We end up traveling in a western direction until we hit a smoke shop and decide to settle down there for the night. Norman attempts to hand me a cigarette, but I respond with: Fuck no! What, are you trying to fucking kill me? Douche bag. He mumbles. I reply by punching him in the arm.

I find a comfy corner at the very back of the store and prop myself up against the wall. Norman somehow finds me and leans against the wall next to me. What are you doing here? I say angrily. Sitting. Why? Because I can. He retorts. I shift uncomfortably.

I guess I finally knock off after about an hour of staring at a bag of expired chips, reading the back repeatedly.

I have horrible nightmares every night, but these are different. Its difficult to describe them here; they are vivid in my mind, but to painful to write down. And if I try, all that happens after an hour of thinking Im writing is a blank piece of paper staring back at me. Anyway, back to present time, or what you think is present time.

Im bolted upright as soon as I hear the first shots been fired. I instinctively grab the handle of the gun I snatched from the apartment and rip it out of its holder, holding it up and pointing the barrel at anything that moved. Norman is nowhere to be found; neither are the others.

I search around the aisles for a few moments, but then I feel strong arms wrap around my waste, and I cant help but letting out a squeak. I whip around, holding up a fist, ready to pummel the shit out of the guy, but it ends up just being Norman. I let out a sigh of relief.

He spins me around like were ballroom dancing and puts his hands on my shoulders. Dakota, you have to get out of here, now! He says in a loud whisper. But why? I ask a little too loudly. Because the next thing I know, Im being ripped out of his arms and screaming for him. A large man with muscular arms and shoulders has got me by the hair. He puts one arm around me and the other over my mouth.

As I struggle to pry myself free the large man is dragging me towards the door. I tear off the arm that is cutting of the air to my lungs and scream Normans name. But its no use. In a matter of seconds, Im out the door, tied and duck taped, and chucked into the back of a pick up truck. They stupidly forgot to duck tape my mouth closed, so I scream at the top of my lungs until my throat is raw and sore. I end up, like last time, face first on the metal pane, unconscious once again.