The 100 • Grethan

The Boat

Ethan's POV:

I shivered as the spray of the cold, salty water hit my arm. Looking out across the waves to the horizon, I watched the sunset. The sky was a brilliant combination of orange, pink, yellow, and red. Oh, what my dad would do to see this.

"Ethan! What are you doing out here, it's freezing!" Marcus asked me. He was right, it was freezing. Goosebumps had already crept their way across my arms and legs. The white t-shirt and black pants that covered my body weren't enough to keep the wind away.

"Watching the sunset," I replied. I heard him walk up beside me.

"It sure is pretty lookin'," he said. "Never get views like this in the Technology District."

Right, that's where he was from. I'd been trying to remember. The Districts were where people lived and worked. I lived in the Arts District. Filled with bright colors, loud music, and beautiful words. The best District, in my opinion.

He was from the Technology District. I had a hard time imagining him there. Marcus, tall with chocolate-colored skin, shaved head, and godly muscles walking amongst short, wiry old men with glasses. It wasn't his choice though, it was where he was born.

But he would get to choose when he made it back. People who return from the Island were deemed strong and capable, and allowed to choose what District they would live in. I already knew I'd choose the Arts District. It was comfortable, it was safe, it was home.

"I'm gonna paint this if I get back," I whispered.

"Hey, don't say that. We're all gonna get back, all 100 of us," he said, lightly nudging me.

He was probably right. There hasn't been a year where someone doesn't come back for generations. 158 years, my parents told me. I'm hopefully going to be part of year 159.

Still, the Island scared me. All 18-year-olds had to do it, but it still made me anxious. My grandparents told me stories of horrible wind and rain that lasted a week. Monsters they called leopards that lurked in the treetops. Spiders and snakes that would bite you if you got too close.

People before had built huts and cabins, and they'd been used by those after. They still stood, according to my parents.

"What did you bring?" Marcus asked, snapping me out of my thoughts.

"A machete, a fire starter, and a pot," I said.

"Good choices. I also got a machete, but I have a water purifier and a first aid kit," he replied, motioning to his bag. "We'll have all the basic supplies we need."

We. That word was very important when it came to the Island. If you had less than 4 people together, you wouldn't survive. Usually, people in groups of about 25 eventually formed and lived like a small village. Still, 3 months was a long time. A lot of things could go wrong.

But it wouldn't. This year would be just like all the others. Everyone works together, everyone splits up food and water, everyone is caring. Everyone is strong.

"What are you boys still doing out here? It's time to go to bed, we'll need our energy for tomorrow," a girl, Alice I think her name was, called to Marcus and I.

We went into the bedroom we shared and I climbed into my bed, slowly drifting to sleep.