Post by Bellamy Blake on Apr 14, 2016 1:22:47 GMT
Tag: whatever
THE HELL WE WANT
Night was always the worst. Especially when Bellamy didn't have a shift. When he was forced to rest, as instructed by the Chancellor. Rest. What a foreign concept. There was no rest. When he lay down, he saw them. The ghosts of those he had killed. Men. Women. Children. He had so much blood on his hands, the lives of over 600 people. Left alone to face the consequences of his actions. Clarke spoke of how she couldn't see their faces every day, the constant reminder of what she did. What they did. Perhaps her failure to recognize that was what made her leave. He had always thought that during nights like these . . . they would help each other.
Be there for each other. How horribly wrong he had been. So he was forced to set his feelings aside . . . for the betterment of the camp. Or Arkadia, as it was now called. After all, it was so much easier to focus on the others rather than on himself. But at night, at his late hour . . . it was difficult to find distractions. Sleep felt like a curse, as Bellamy was too afraid to close his eyes; fearful of what would await him. Instead, he made his way over to one of the smaller recreational rooms.
With all the spcae that the fallen Ark had to offer, they had ample space and utlized it to its full potential. Inclusive of individual rooms for everyone -- unless those preferred to share. Bellamy stepped inside, unsure if he felt relieved or disappointed that it was abandoned. He casually made his way in, looking around. Absentmindedly he reached for one of the books, staring at the title but not really reading it. Just something . . . anything for a distraction. He made his way on the small couch, slowly opening the book and found himself lost in thought . . . staring blankly at the title page. A pitiful distraction . . . a failure of one.
Be there for each other. How horribly wrong he had been. So he was forced to set his feelings aside . . . for the betterment of the camp. Or Arkadia, as it was now called. After all, it was so much easier to focus on the others rather than on himself. But at night, at his late hour . . . it was difficult to find distractions. Sleep felt like a curse, as Bellamy was too afraid to close his eyes; fearful of what would await him. Instead, he made his way over to one of the smaller recreational rooms.
With all the spcae that the fallen Ark had to offer, they had ample space and utlized it to its full potential. Inclusive of individual rooms for everyone -- unless those preferred to share. Bellamy stepped inside, unsure if he felt relieved or disappointed that it was abandoned. He casually made his way in, looking around. Absentmindedly he reached for one of the books, staring at the title but not really reading it. Just something . . . anything for a distraction. He made his way on the small couch, slowly opening the book and found himself lost in thought . . . staring blankly at the title page. A pitiful distraction . . . a failure of one.
