Post by Deleted on Dec 26, 2016 10:53:23 GMT
The trees looked like something out of a tapestry. The way they moved in one direction with the wind. It must be nice to feel so free. To be able to chose your own direction in life. Then the thought struck him more plaintively. The trees were part of this earth. This old-world philosophy of kill or be killed. Nobody and nothing was ever truly free. He watched the tops of the dark trees sway diligently. It was so calming. There was something so forceful - meaningful - beautiful, soft and mesmerizing. It was hard to imagine that beneath those tree tops there was so much death and misery beneath the canopy. He found himself trapped in a notion that there must be something better up there. Like how safe it was on The Ark. He could get away with practically anything. Now he woke up screaming in the middle of the night. Gripped by night terrors in cold sweats. There was a danger lurking behind every corner. Dreams came to him in the long nights that followed the day. They were filled with demons and monsters unlike anything known to man. There was one recurring dream that always cast him into a state of unilateral desperation. It was like the moments and experiences that followed the present could not be left alone. They were always there. Always... haunting. It had to be some form of spectral form up there. Causing the trees to say like that. It had to be. Gentle.
He somehow wished the sky would just descend on him and embrace him. It couldn't have been any worse than reality. To be hunted by so many beings. An insatiable need to... he missed The Ark. The days of old. A time where he could get away with just about anything. A miscreant that nobody cared about. He was fine with that. He was used to that. This... this world full of unimaginable terrors. This wasn't what he wanted. He could feel the rifle in his hands. Heavy as it bore down on a group of Grounders. Was he dreaming? Or was he looking through the eyes of someone else? It was so hard to tell the difference these days. A shadow moved in his peripheral from left to right. For now he had no care what would happen to him. He was tired, so tired. He had been on the run. It was time to lay down. Time to roll over. Admit that it was over. He wanted nothing more than to go back to Camp Jaha. Tell the others that he was sorry for his mistakes. But the question was if they even accepted him back. Either that or be shot down like a dog. A lost, miserable dog that he was. It was time to dig his own grave. It was already dug. Now he just needed to fall inside it. There was no coming back from the choices he had made. A path that was dark.
A road that was long. Twisted. And wicked. He had abandoned his friends. He had... done terrible things. The fear that overcame him in that village. Murphy. It was all coming back to him in slow episodic crawls. All his friends had seen the change. Clarke had seen it. Raven had seen it. Murphy was a witness to his own self-disdain. Their screams echoed in his mind like a static. A noise that wouldn't subside. Then there she was. Standing between the trees. Was it fear that was etched on her face? Fear of him? He grimaced as he reached out to touch the darkness. The cold, unrelenting darkness. It wasn't supposed to be this way. It wasn't... it wasn't. And at once Finn opened his eyes. It was light outside. The long night had fallen behind the horizon and gave way to a new day. Another day in this circus. Finn was the main attraction that people fled to see. The main freak show. He rolled to his stomach, propped himself up on a knee. He hung his head in the perpetual shame that clung to him. He lay his walking stick over his thigh. Both hands clutched opposite ends as he closed his eyes. There was still a long way to go. His morning routine these days of imagining the end. Sometimes it was good, most of the time though, it was bad. There was no way out for him. Everyone was hunting him. Friends, enemies.
Even his own demons. He planned to go as far as the coast. Maybe if he saw the big waters at the end of the world; then he would die happy. He slung his pack over his shoulder planting an end into the ground. He propped himself up, swinging the stick end over end and finally tucking it in the crux of his arm. He planned to walk as far as he legs could take him. Until he outwalked himself and died, the demons that lay just beneath the skin, or until... until... the end was nigh. He walked for a bit. The first thing he noticed was a flock of birds feeding on the corpse of a four legged animal. It was fresh decayed and chewed on. . Despite the obvious Finn waved his stick side to side in an attempt to scare away the birds. No animal should have to be eaten so badly that it was unrecognizable. He shouted HEY, HEY BE GONE. The birds took off as one and took to the sky. Finn watched them fly towards the sun. He looked down at the carcass, holding the stick in the middle, feeling the weight in his palm. His teacher on the ark had taught him all about change. The current, the river that swept people and obstacles to a distant place. The river of time. Either go with the current or fight it. Either way...
Change. He had called it a science. It was a science of survival. He then noticed the claw marks then sunk deep to the bone. A bear had done this. Survival. Become a predator. Finn felt himself sink a little deeper. He didn't know how to be a predator. It wasn't who he was. He hung his head as he knelt down on both knees. The stick lay over his lap. He closed his eyes and tried to tap into the peaceful side. A side where there was no war or pain. But he only found emptiness.
He continued walking.
Kat Roux
He somehow wished the sky would just descend on him and embrace him. It couldn't have been any worse than reality. To be hunted by so many beings. An insatiable need to... he missed The Ark. The days of old. A time where he could get away with just about anything. A miscreant that nobody cared about. He was fine with that. He was used to that. This... this world full of unimaginable terrors. This wasn't what he wanted. He could feel the rifle in his hands. Heavy as it bore down on a group of Grounders. Was he dreaming? Or was he looking through the eyes of someone else? It was so hard to tell the difference these days. A shadow moved in his peripheral from left to right. For now he had no care what would happen to him. He was tired, so tired. He had been on the run. It was time to lay down. Time to roll over. Admit that it was over. He wanted nothing more than to go back to Camp Jaha. Tell the others that he was sorry for his mistakes. But the question was if they even accepted him back. Either that or be shot down like a dog. A lost, miserable dog that he was. It was time to dig his own grave. It was already dug. Now he just needed to fall inside it. There was no coming back from the choices he had made. A path that was dark.
A road that was long. Twisted. And wicked. He had abandoned his friends. He had... done terrible things. The fear that overcame him in that village. Murphy. It was all coming back to him in slow episodic crawls. All his friends had seen the change. Clarke had seen it. Raven had seen it. Murphy was a witness to his own self-disdain. Their screams echoed in his mind like a static. A noise that wouldn't subside. Then there she was. Standing between the trees. Was it fear that was etched on her face? Fear of him? He grimaced as he reached out to touch the darkness. The cold, unrelenting darkness. It wasn't supposed to be this way. It wasn't... it wasn't. And at once Finn opened his eyes. It was light outside. The long night had fallen behind the horizon and gave way to a new day. Another day in this circus. Finn was the main attraction that people fled to see. The main freak show. He rolled to his stomach, propped himself up on a knee. He hung his head in the perpetual shame that clung to him. He lay his walking stick over his thigh. Both hands clutched opposite ends as he closed his eyes. There was still a long way to go. His morning routine these days of imagining the end. Sometimes it was good, most of the time though, it was bad. There was no way out for him. Everyone was hunting him. Friends, enemies.
Even his own demons. He planned to go as far as the coast. Maybe if he saw the big waters at the end of the world; then he would die happy. He slung his pack over his shoulder planting an end into the ground. He propped himself up, swinging the stick end over end and finally tucking it in the crux of his arm. He planned to walk as far as he legs could take him. Until he outwalked himself and died, the demons that lay just beneath the skin, or until... until... the end was nigh. He walked for a bit. The first thing he noticed was a flock of birds feeding on the corpse of a four legged animal. It was fresh decayed and chewed on. . Despite the obvious Finn waved his stick side to side in an attempt to scare away the birds. No animal should have to be eaten so badly that it was unrecognizable. He shouted HEY, HEY BE GONE. The birds took off as one and took to the sky. Finn watched them fly towards the sun. He looked down at the carcass, holding the stick in the middle, feeling the weight in his palm. His teacher on the ark had taught him all about change. The current, the river that swept people and obstacles to a distant place. The river of time. Either go with the current or fight it. Either way...
Change. He had called it a science. It was a science of survival. He then noticed the claw marks then sunk deep to the bone. A bear had done this. Survival. Become a predator. Finn felt himself sink a little deeper. He didn't know how to be a predator. It wasn't who he was. He hung his head as he knelt down on both knees. The stick lay over his lap. He closed his eyes and tried to tap into the peaceful side. A side where there was no war or pain. But he only found emptiness.
He continued walking.
Kat Roux
