𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍, bellamy blake ¹

21; who i am

"You're a storyteller. Dream up something wild and improbable," she pleaded. "Something beautiful and full of monsters."

"Beautiful and full of monsters?"

"All the best stories are."

― Laini Taylor, Strange the Dreamer

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IT WAS ONE OF HER FIRST—A MIDDLE-AGED MAN WITH A FRECKLED FACE AND LONG, DARK HAIR THAT WAS HELD IN A LOW PONYTAIL. Adrian, was his name. She didn't know him.

She cried when she stepped into the maintenance room, swinging the door closed behind her. But the door slammed and he turned as Naomi pulled the gun from her waist. It was a sleek pistol: beautiful and cruel. Shumway's present for her first kill.

"Hey, hey, kid." He raised his hands. Her eyes and nose were red. She looked younger than fourteen. Naomi didn't miss the gun against his waist. She pulled her face into stone, wrists shaking.

The man moved quickly, and she realised her mistake. She pulled her hands on the trigger. There was a gunshot and pain bloomed through Naomi's stomach. She let out a cry and another fired. She fell backwards into the floor. Another body collapsed in front of her.

Noe clutched at her stomach, wailing. She curled herself up, peering around her straining knees to see her victim. The shot had landed perfectly, between his eyes. Streams of blood trickled from the wound. His eyes were looking at her.

She began to cry again, scrambling so she was on her front. When she glanced down at the pain she saw blood. It stained her grey work shirt in a ring, near the base of her torso. She curled her fingers against the wound once before wiping her bloodied fingers over her chest. She lugged the body towards her, covering her own pool of blood and locked the man's own gun into his hand. She whimpered as she did so, crying out against the pain. She was only a child.

Slowly she rose, tucking her own gun into the waistband of her pants. Sirens were blaring now: the Ark was on lockdown, as it always was when a gunshot was fired. Guards would be coming—and she was bleeding. She shuffled towards the back cupboards at an agonisingly slow pace, making sure to avoid dripping more blood around.

At the back of the room, she clambered onto a crate, wailing softly with each movement. She scrambled onto the top storage shelf, long and high, where they kept the empty boxes. With a whine she pulled herself up, falling against the crates. She wedged herself between them, crying beneath her breath. She didn't want to die. It was ironic, really.

She clutched at her gunshot wound, tears pouring down her pale face, and waited.

She held her breath as the door was knocked down. The guards dropped their guns as they saw the scene.

"Ah, Adrian," someone swore.

The other moved forward. "Shit."

"Suicide. Another."

Naomi stayed in the rack as they dragged his body away, trembling as blood leaked from her stomach. With one hand she clutched her wound and with the other, she held a blood-stained hand to her mouth.

When they left she waited. He would come for her if she didn't return to him in time. So she waited.

Sleep tugged at her but she refused the need, keeping her eyes in level with the door. Surely if she fell asleep she would not wake up. Her hands were bathed in her own blood now. She wasn't sure how long she could wait.