Among The Wildflowers [The 100]

chapter 1 :: prisoner 297

I've loved a great deal of unattainable things in my life, but above all, is earth. Before he was floated, my father would tell me stories about it. I don't remember most of them, but I do remember that it was a long time before I realized he'd never been, no one has in almost a century. Still, it's easier now to pretend those stories are real.

More often than not, I find myself alone with the moon and earth, and between us, I am allowed to dream of all the unlovable, unattainable things I have been given in my lifetime. A lifetime that will soon be coming to an end.

Sleepless nights happen more frequently now that my birthday is fast approaching and so, with my back against the cold concrete, I watch the stars that I have drawn on my ceiling and tell myself a story in my otherwise silent chamber. Even though there is no visible change, I can feel when morning comes and the tell-tale chorus of boot steps down the corridor follows soon after. As per routine, I expect the doors to open as the hundred or so inmates line up to get breakfast.

But my door stays locked.

There are shouts from the hall and I scramble to my feet as my breathing goes short. From my small window, I can see dozens of other kids being pulled from their tiny cells by guards holding shock batons above their heads. Most of us still have months left in lockup, but it was only a matter of time before that no longer took precedence.

An unfamiliar face blocks the view of the window and I stumble backward in surprise as my door opens.

"Prisoner 297, hands up and against the wall," the man says, his baton already in his hand. Another guard follows him in, with a box in his arms, containing a singular circlet no bigger than my wrist.

I drag in slow, painful breaths as I turn around, forcing my face to remain stoic as I splay my hands on the wall opposite me in order to still them. The second guard walks into my peripheral, pulling the circlet out of its box as the former leans his baton into my back. My wrist is tugged away from the wall as the guard inspects it, pulling up my shirt and wiping down the exposed skin with an alcohol cloth. Before I can register much else, a cry of surprise escapes me as the circlet clamps around my wrist, piercing the skin beneath it in the process.

The guard behind me grabs me by the back of my shirt, forcing me back around to the open door.

"Out, now."

Numbly, I comply, shuffling out of my containment cell as the guard pushes me forward. As far down as I can see, other prisoners of the skybox are being ejected from their cells, all dazed and all wearing the same wristband.

Though shaky and low, I manage to find my voice. "What are you doing to us?"

The guards ignore me, pushing me towards a staircase off to the left of my cell.

"No," I say, my heart beating more erratically with each prisoner they funnel down to the lower levels. Defiantly, I dig my heels into the ground. My voice comes out quicker now, "No. No, where are you taking us?" 

"Keep it moving," One of the guards says, pushing me more aggressively now.

I turn on him, ready to make a run for it when he brandishes his weapon and sobered thoughts reclaim me. Even if I could get away now, where would I go?

He raises an eyebrow as if daring me to go for it, and I back away into the wall behind me as another guard closes in. The one that held his weapon up at me pulls me forward with his grip on my arm and a small whine shudders through me. The guard presses his unused shock baton to my spine as I'm forced into the throng of teenagers. 

Twenty minutes pass before I make it to the bottom of the skybox, at which time I notice the long line leading out. Each teenager in the procession is handed a lightweight-insulated jacket. A new guard passes me a black one with a patch on the left arm and orders me to put it on, which I do without a struggle.

"This is bullshit!" Someone shouts from in front of me in line. 

There is a chorus of agreement in which the once orderly line is reduced to a tangle of limbs. The man beside me releases my arm and lurches into the struggle. There is one boy I don't recognize that has nearly escaped and in a moment of clarity, I can see every contour of his face so perfectly. There is a second between that moment and the next in which his eyes roll to the back of his head and his mouth goes slack. 

He begins to fall and the inmates around him go quiet as they watch him. The boy groans as he hits the ground, his arms having barely gone up with enough time to guard his face. A small green vial empties into his back and it is the only reason I know he is not dead.

As if anticipating that I would be the next to try, a new guard grips my arm, forcing me to follow the line that has begun to move again. I try to widen my steps to keep pace but nearly trip over my own feet in the process. If it hadn't been for the guard I would have fallen.

"Keep up," is all he says but lessens his pace so I can follow.

It's only a few more minutes before two sets of large doors come into view. Inside looks to be a contained area, one I don't have the words for. Around the walls are inmates, all strapped down by red belts that buckle at their chest. They look about as terrified as I feel.

I don't notice I've stopped walking until the guard nudges me forward and into the room. He pulls me over to a wall in the corner, with one space between me and the next girl. Bringing the straps around me, he leans in to harness me properly, his warm breath fanning down my neck. 

A small tear slips from my eye and down my cheek and I force my eyes shut as I try to remain calm.

"Look at me."

My eyes open more out of surprise rather than obedience. The guard is looking down at me, his gaze gentler than I expected. There is something else there that I cannot place but I'm too caught off guard to recognize it.

"You don't want these people to see you cry," he says and wipes the tear from my cheek. "Stay strong just a little longer."

A million questions race through my mind at once. What do I even say to that? My voice catches in my throat so instead, I nod and he gives me an approving one back.

"Are we clear?" A voice calls from outside the open doors. 

Another guard, who I recognize as the commander looks over in my direction and seems to lock eyes with the guard in front of me. They share a brief look before the commander turns back to the open door.

"We're clear." The commander walks out and after a second, the doors begin to hiss shut. The remaining guard begins to strap himself into the seat beside me.

I glance around me at the other people strapped into place. Dozens upon dozens of criminals and they had only bothered with one guard.

I am made suddenly aware of the way his hands shake ever so slightly as he reaches for the belts around him and the beads of sweat dripping down the back of his neck, though his hands had been cold when they touched me. Fear. Fear had been what I'd seen in his eyes when he'd looked at me.

"You're not a guard, are you?" I ask in just above a whisper, once he's finished locking himself into place.

He quirks an eyebrow and glances at me through his peripheral. "You sound like you know the answer already." Whatever gentleness he had before evaporated as stoic fear replaces it. He's good at hiding it though, I'll give him that.

"What are they doing to us?" My voice is still shaky but his words from before ring in the back of my mind. I can't be weak, not now.

He gives me a once over and opens his mouth to say something but is interrupted by the shudder of the walls around us, followed soon after by the outcry of people around us. It is only now that I realized I actually do have the words for this place: a dropship.

The man returns to me with a look that already gives me my answer, but he says it anyway, "They're sending us to earth."