𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐃 | the 100

01 | No Longer a Dream

"You're not funny, Murphy."

‧ ✩ ｡ ✭ ° ☆ ･ _______ ･ ☆ ° ✭ ｡ ✩ ‧

Earth is more beautiful than Amber could have ever dreamed. When the heavy metal doors open with a roar and reveal the world behind them, it's like walking through the golden gates of heaven. Bright light blinds her, then slowly the pain in her eyes fade and she sees it for the first time—a world of color and life and freedom. A soft breeze sways the luscious ferns gently and the sun warms her face through the mossy trees. It's dizzyingly green. When she takes a deep breath she's almost knocked back by the cold sharp air. She never knew she had been suffocating until now.

"We're back, bitches!"

The shout jars through her hypnotized trance, and like delirious dogs, the teens around her spring into action, pushing themselves past her violently. She grabs the dropship's wall to steady herself as she watches everyone crash into the forest with howls and roars. She couldn't care less about being knocked aside.

When she's finally the only one left, she lets herself soak in the view a moment longer. It's a view she could never get tired of, and an unexplainable laugh escapes her as she steps into it, feeling the soft dirt underneath the soles of her boots.

She takes off. Her heart and lungs are fueled by the shouts and laughter around her and she runs faster than she ever thought she could, the trees swoosh past her. She is invincible.

Until her foot hits a root and she crashes to the ground in a heap of laughter. She doesn't see any reason to stand up again, a stone gnaws in her back but she barely registers it, all she feels is the crisp air of freedom and the warm sunlight of happiness. Her breathing softens and she lets the euphoria warm her chest.

I'm on the Ground, lying in a green bed of grass and ferns. Repeating it over and over in her head still isn't enough for it to fully sink in. I'm on the Ground, lying in a green bed of grass and ferns. She closes her eyes. It's not a dream anymore.

Content, she stands up. The others are still running about, taking in the forest through throwing themselves around.

A mocking voice cracks her smile, as jarring as a discordant chord. "You, uh, got a little something in your hair."

John Murphy stands barely twenty feet away with his usual arrogant smirk plastered on his face and nonchalantly dead gaze. At seventeen, he's one of the older criminals, same as her, and his crime being arson, no one was expecting him to be pardoned and live past eighteen. Until now.

She can't think of a single time he's looked at her before. It makes her freeze.

Then the three guys behind him snicker. As fast as she can, she anxiously rips her fingers through her usually fine hair that's now in stubborn tangles. A heap of leaves and twigs fall to the ground.

"Yeah." Murphy nods and squints his eyes, pleased with himself for whatever hairstyle his unsolicited comment resulted in. "That's better."

He walks away and his little group follows. Amber looks at their backs in silence, wishing she was smart enough to yell something clever after them. But her mind is blank.

People usually leave her alone. She doesn't bother them and they don't bother her. They don't see her but she sees them. It's what helped her survive in the Skybox, she knew who to stay away from and they became so accustomed with her shadow that they eventually became blind to it.