He could feel it. Fatigue, pulling at his limbs, growing that much more
unrelenting with each passing second while it made it’s attempt to claw
through his very being. To rip him apart. To make it to the surface. If only
to then drag all of his pieces one by one and drop them off next to the
others huddled together in the far corner of the boxcar —- who, for the
most part looked pretty damn snug considering -— so he could finally
join in and manage to get some semblance of sleep.
It was kind of funny. More than kind of funny, actually.
The amount of effort his body was putting into the whole ordeal when such
a thing was the very definition of impossible? Place it right up there to that
' falling on the ground gasping for air ’ level of laughable. Which, he might
have indulged and let out a chuckle, if his annoyance didn’t otherwise go
and take the endeavor straight towards the ’ cut it out or I’ll kick your ass ’
direction, that is.
With his hands pressed firmly against the hard metal of the containers door,
Daryl made his way down to a crouching position; fingers leisurely traveling
alongside its edge as he went, eyes moving just as slowly, carefully using
what little light there was provided, even if he already knew what he’d find.
No wide crevices. No breakable hinges. Nothing. Information he had been
aware of since his first inspection of the door, though, six times in, and there
was still no way in Hell he was going to stop from searching for a weakness,
There had to be a way out.
vaporwave
blakekathryn
2087
dailybridgerton
stormborns
