The 99

Chapter Three: Clarke

Clarke couldn't escape the abyss. The hole of darkness that had been punched through her chest, occupying the space where her heart should have been. Some days, she could pretend it wasn't there. Sometimes, she became too absorbed in her drawings to feel it, but ever since Soren had crushed her only piece of solace, the abyss had opened up, wider until she was sure she'd split down the center.

It whispered things to her; it drowned her in images and memories of her father. The things they'd done. The person he was. The finger toying the air above the release button that would open the chamber to space. The finger pressing it down.

That moment would haunt her for the rest of her life, and her father with it. It was true her best friend had been the one to turn them in, but she'd had to tell him first in order for him to do so. If Wells had kept his silence, her father may still be alive. If she had kept her's, he definitely would be.

Though the guilt never released its hold on her, the anger in Clarke was beginning to lessen, replaced by a veracious desire just to know.

Know how much air the Ark had left.

Know the details of her father's conviction.

And above all, to do something for her people like he'd tried to do, rather than be packed in a steel can and shipped thousands of miles away, until it hit the Earth's atmosphere. And when Soren finally arrived a few days later to escort her to it, Clarke felt the abyss open more, until she was clutching the edge, and dangling over it.

He led her from the cell with a smirk on his face she ignored, out the door and into the something that was reminiscent of freedom but was much smaller; just a grain of hope like that pencil nub, destined to be crushed.

It had been months since she'd walked this corridor. Months since she was back beneath the circadian lights that gave a spectral, ghostly tinge over her skin. Months since she'd glanced at the people walking by her, so close their shoulders brushed.

Days had elapsed since Soren had given her the news of returning to the ground and yet, Clarke still hadn't been given a clear insight as to why Jaha was sending one hundred individuals down three years early. Concern for them flooded in like water-radiation poisoning, toxicity, the necessary survival skills these kids undoubtedly lacked.

But sending down criminals made it convenient. Not only did it reduce the use of oxygen and water and food consumption, but it also provided them with a clean slate. They couldn't float a hundred people in a single day. No, the Council would just send them to the ground, and let the Earth do their bidding for them.

Meanwhile, Clarke was just left in the darkness, still not knowing the extent of it. No one bothered to shed much light for the purpose of easing her fears. Because she was a criminal. Her life didn't matter.

Clarke's heart slammed against her ribs, climbing up until it had taken residency in her throat. Blood knocked against her skull and her vision blurred the farther she was led from her cell, still adorned in images of an Earth she'd soon see. If she lived long enough, that was. Who knew; perhaps the world was just a barren place now, hollow and dead like a corpse.

Then again, Clarke had never really seen a corpse, either. Not passed the point of putrefaction, at least. The last thing the dead were ever surrounded by was shadows, illuminated by eclectic bits of constellations that cocooned them like body bags.

She swallowed and didn't realize her steps had slowed, until Soren pushed her forward.

"Move it, Griffin," he barked out behind her, voice ricocheting down the corridor. A part of her considered slowing down more, if it meant grating on his nerves, but the anxiety that clung to her refused to do anything that didn't focus on survival. But that was an empty hope in itself; there were only two fates offered to her: Die touching the ground, or die grazing the stars.