Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
IVY GROANED AS HE LEFT, KNOWING THAT SHE HAD UPSET HIM. Clarke had wandered off somewhere, leaving her alone. She saw a ledge of wood behind her, and she moved to sit on it to rest. Once she landed on the seat, however, she was shocked when she bounced slightly.
She looked down to see that she was sitting on a white bed. She looked around in confusion and realized that she was in a room. It looked familiar, and it took her a moment before she realized that it was her room on the Ark, the one she and her father lived in before she was arrested. A deep voice startled her, and she jumped to her feet. "Ivory! Where is my lunch?"
"Coming, Father," said a voice, and Ivy whipped around to see a much younger version of herself, around 12 or 13 years old, carrying a tray toward her father's chair, where he sat, reading a book. She placed the tray onto the table in front of him. The Bishop girl remembered that moment. It was about two months after her mother died.
"What is this?" the man spat out once he took a bite of the food. He seemed like he was struggling to swallow it. Before the young girl could ask what he meant, he stood up and faced her, his face turning red with anger. "What the hell is this? You do realize we only get so many rations a week, right? And you waste it on this awful food, you ungrateful little bitch."
Young Ivy looked absolutely terrified. He backed up slightly as her head fell to her chest, not wanting to meet his eye. "I'm sorry, Father."
"Look at me when I'm talking to you!" he snapped, and his hand collided with her face, causing a loud smack to echo throughout the room. The small, redheaded girl looked up at her father in utter terror. He had never hit her before. He had yelled, grunted, and banged on the table, but he had yet to lay a hand on her. Until then.
The older version of the girl felt tears forming in her eyes, remembering the fear that coursed through her veins that had slowly turned into anger throughout the years of enduring his abuse. Her hands curled into fists, wanting to defend her younger self, wanting to hold her and tell her that it was all going to be okay.
The sound of a gunshot ringing made Ivy whip around again. Somewhere, in the blur of movement, the scene changed again. She was back in the depot, and she was standing up. She heard some yelling coming from above her, and she quickly made her way up the stairs and back to the surface.
