𝒑𝒆𝒕𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒉𝒐𝒓 ᖭི༏ᖫྀ 𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚊𝚖𝚜

chapter ten : everywhere

[X]

ELLIE WILLIAMS was nineteen years old. She had grown up alone, in the quarantine zone of Boston. Attending a military prep school had allowed her to gain combat knowledge, and experience. But not enough, apparently, to save her or her friend, Riley, from being bitten. It was then, she found out she was immune.

And that, of course, attracted some attention. A group called the Fireflies thought they could make a cure based on surgical information regarding Ellie's brain.

And who better to deliver her to the Fireflies, than good old Joel Miller?

Joel, who, with his brother Tommy, had been hardened by war and grief and abuse. Joel who would, in no aspect, care if Ellie had to be killed in order to save the entirety of the remaining human race.

Except, he did.

Killing the last hope for a cure, Joel murdered the brain surgeon and took off with Ellie. The Fireflies disbanded. And Ellie spent the next five years wondering why she was still alive, though part of her knew. Part of her knew that, her very existence past that surgical room had doomed the rest of humanity. And this little girl had to carry that on her shoulders.

But she loved Joel. She loved Joel like he was her dad. And he was the closest thing she would ever get to one. Joel told Ellie about space, which she grew to love, and RoboCop, which she also likes, though maybe not as much as he did. Joel taught her how to survive, brought her to safety, and she spent the remainder of her teenage years with him.

"Joel, um..." she started, and she fought back the urge to cry, her voice cracking. "Joel was..."

I knew what she was trying to say, and I allowed her to know I understood, so she didn't have to say it. My chest sank as I clutched her arm with tenderness and said,
"I am so, so sorry Ellie."

She sniffed, and coughed, and changed the subject in her aloof way, reaching behind a tree to grab something.

"How the fuck did I never see you with that?" I asked, ogling the large guitar Ellie had pulled from behind her. She chuckled slightly, thumbing the beautiful woodwork lovingly. She explained that it never really left the large trench sack that sat on Shimmer's back, because it had hurt for so long.

"Joel gave me this," she said, eyeing the guitar like it was everything to her. Her long fingers glided down to the neck of the guitar, and my gaze caught on a strange symbol, some sort of...bug, or something? The design was so intricate, so striking, that I could have sworn I had seen it somewhere before.

"Do you mind if I sketch the little bug on your guitar?" I asked, pulling a flip notepad I had found in an old suitcase a few days ago. I didn't want to overstep the mark, if the symbol was personal to her or Joel.

"It's a moth," Ellie corrected. "But knock yourself out."

Maybe it wasn't the symbol I had seen before. But it was just so beautiful that I had to sketch it out.

"I didn't know you drew," she said, quizzically eyeing me as I sketched the moth with a piece of charcoal from last night's fire. Because of my injured leg, even with Ellie's splint, a lot of our days were spent sat, or at least, mine were. Ellie wouldn't leave for too long; she refused to go on supply runs without me, which was more for my sake than hers, and would only leave me for a good half hour or so, to catch fish, or collect firewood. I felt a little needy like this, but until I could walk long distances for prolonged periods of time again, I was strictly on 'sitting jobs' duty. This usually meant making snares for Ellie, making up and tending to fires, and anything else I could do. But sometimes, when there was nothing I could do sat down, and Ellie was tired of doing double the walking work, we would spend some time together. And it was nice.