Weight of Living // Bellamy Blake

Savages

Blood for blood. One of the simple rules we lived by. Our whole way of living revolved around this idea of justice. Mercy was not an option for us; it shows weakness. There is no place for weakness.
Gorra would not allow me, her second, to show any weakness. She would be laughable. But then, she would never have chosen me if I was weak; she must see something in me.

I keep a tight grip on my bow as I head through the forest, making my way towards my village. There were stories of this place and how we inhabited the ground before the disaster. The grounders before us would call this place 'DC', and something about 'washing'. Many of the old structures still stood. A large man sits on an object and overlooks our village. I imagine that man would've been important to the people before us. To us, it just marked the Danra village.

Crack.

Something felt strange. I could feel myself being watched. There was definitely something wrong, something off. I could practically smell it. Whatever it was. I grab an arrow, drawing my bow.

Movement.

 I feel a panic coming over me, I'd never had to fight on my own. I'd always felt fine walking back to my village alone. The reapers never ventured out this far. 

Sky people. My heart races. These beings had fallen from the sky and wielded strange metal contraptions. I've never seen anything like it before. It's practically barbaric. Our warriors could not survive an attack from the metal balls fired from their weapons. The fight was not just.

Crack. Crack. Crack.

I hold my breath, refusing to show the slightest bit of weakness. I am not weak. My feet carry me slowly away from my village, I would not lead these barbarians there. They were innocent people, not fighters. Definitely not warriors.

 I was now certain I was being followed, but I could not know by how many. The only thing I could do was run, I did not know how many sky people there were and I'm not aware of how many I could take on alone. I duck under a fallen tree, and hide behind the next. Watching. Waiting. I could hear movement following mine. My dagger now ready in hand. I would not go down without a fight. Within the trees, I could see the figure or a dark haired girl. I am not weak.

"I don't want to fight." A male voice cracks behind me, "I just want to talk."

I turn slowly to face him. Standing still, refusing to move any closer to him. I had no idea how to handle this situation, now aware that I was surrounded. He edges towards me, too close for my comfort, and stops less than a metre away from me. Slowly, he places his weapon on the floor. I nod, crouching down, carefully placing my bow on the ground.

"So the savages can be civilised." One of them scoffs from behind the tall male.

Savages? How dare these barbarians joke about my people.

I strike the tall male's leg, causing him to lose his balance, and swiftly twist him into my possession. My dagger lightly gracing his throat. His people ready their weapons, moving out of the trees. Five sky people. Less than I would've thought. Three male, two female. I press the dagger down slightly, threatening to take this mans life. 

"Don't." The man orders his people, coughing slightly.

"Why are you here?" I whisper to the man, loosening my grip on the dagger. 

"Peace." He coughs again, "We want peace between your people and mine." 

I loosen my grip on him, allowing him to become free. He stumbles away from me slightly, but still remains at a close distance. I study his face, his plea for peace seeming genuine enough, I hold my dagger out to him. Offering him my time. He smiles faintly, carefully taking the knife from me as I watch him.

I look to his face, his smile falters.

 "Murphy!" Everything goes back as a hard blow contacts my head.

*

"Peace?" I scoff. My head banging and bleeding from my earlier encounter. "What peace is this?" I pull at the chains wrapped around my wrists. 

"Civilised? " I sneer. "Savages." The hold they occupy looks strange. Every last item made of metal. Sky people must've been fond of this material. No. My eyes fall on a item of bloody clothing bundled up in the corner.

Lincoln. He can't be gone. There's no way he would've fallen at the hand of these savages. I would not allow myself to believe this. Tears threaten to fall.

No, I am not weak. Deep breaths, you'll be fine.

The trap door opens slightly, a yellow haired girl stares straight at me. She seems confused. Maybe it's my calmness, maybe it's something else. She looks down to what I assume are her peers, then back up at me.

"Bellamy?" She shouts, disappearing into the under. Leaving me once again alone with my thoughts. There's was no way I could escape this situation. Unarmed and chained, escaping would be pointless. The door opens again, the tall male from before climbs through. The yellow haired girl following. He walks towards me, stopping short of a foot away.

Does this man show no fear?

"You talk of peace, yet I am here against my will in chains," I scoff, "You know nothing of peace."

He narrows his eyes at me, as if studying me. The girl stands restless behind him. 

"Bellamy," she speaks up at last, "This is pointless. She's bleeding and may be concussed."

The male - Bellamy - nods. Allowing the girl to make her way over to me. She drops down next to me, lifting a damp cloth towards my head. I flinch as it almost makes contact. 

"This may sting." She sighs. Forcing the solution soaked cloth onto the wound, causing me to wince in pain. "Who is your leader?" She speaks softly.

"The commander will never see you." I state, still wincing at the pain, "She is much too proud, much too stubborn." 

"We want peace across our people." She pours more solution on to the cloth.

"Your people killed 300 of mine." I spit, bitterly. I had lost many friends in that massacre. I'm lucky that Gorra held me back that day. 

"Your 300 came to kill mine." She counters. Causing me to become very quiet. The village was in mourning for days after the massacre. 

"You killed him?" I nod towards the bloodstained clothing occupying the corner. 

"What?" She jumps. 

"You killed him." I shake my head. "He was merciful. He showed weakness and you killed him." 

I can feel the tears once again. "You will not have your peace." I could never make peace with these savages. Lincoln was a gentle soul. He showed mercy to others, great forgiveness. He was weak, not in strength but in soul. Either way, he was family.

"Clarke," another male calls, "She's not going to cooperate with us." 

Clarke turns away from me, leaving me to face the one they call Bellamy again. I refuse to look at him as he strides over, his heavy boots echoing on the metal floor. 

"Where is your commander?" I can tell his patience is running out. He's starting to become angry, yet I still refuse to look at him. "Tell me," he forces my chin up, making me stare him in the eyes, "Where is your commander?"

"Like I told the girl before," I snap, "She will not see you."

"Then maybe we should send her a message." The one they call Murphy makes his way towards me, evil in his eyes and weapon in hand.