REMINDER: This is if everyone were grounders and there is no Skaikru.
NOMI-mom NONI- dad Age 4 I looked around, tears streaming down my face as looked around for my Nomi.
"NOMI!" I scream. "NONI!"
Where did your parents go? I run around the corner of the market place and suddenly a pretty lady comes into view. She smiles sweetly and says something in a language I don't understand. I stare at her in confusion, as she seems to realize that I don't understand. She simply holds out her hand, I go up to her drawn in by her gentle demeanor. She gently holds my hand, and together you head off. Does she know where Nomi and Noni are? I wonder. She leads me to a wagon and I let her lift you in without a fuss, thinking she will take me home. She climbs in, pulling me onto her lap, and I rest my head against her chest, falling asleep. Suddenly I am thrown on a hard, dirty floor. I open my eyes, looking up, a man wickedly smiles down at me. "W-where am I?" I stutter, scared.
"You are mine now." He says menacingly bending down to my height. He tears my shirt and suddenly, I are screaming, I are crying and I can't stop what he is doing to me. It hurts. I bite his arm and he yells out in anger, he swings his arm out, and everything becomes dark.
Age 6
I move quietly in the dark small room, that I've called home for two years now. I stand up and walk over to the bucket, doing my business quickly. I set the bucket by the door for him, that way he doesn't get angry. There are no windows. The floors are concrete and so are the walls, blood and dirt stain the walls and the floor. I look around your room. I start my routine. Good morning blanket. Good morning floor. Good morning walls. Good morning ceiling. Good morning socks. Good morning shirt. Good morning bucket. I fold your blanket and stand, feet together, shoulders back, eyes on the floor, waiting. The door creaks open. One, two. He's in the door. Three, four. He's shuts the door. Five, six. He's pulls your shirt off. Seven, Eight. He pulls me close. Nine, ten. Puffy cheeks, red eyes, silent cries. Eleven, twelve. I close my eyes and hope to die. Thirteen, fourteen. He laughs. Fifteen, sixteen. He's done. Seventeen, eighteen. The door shuts.
Age 9
He was asleep. I am trapped in his arms. My body felt like a war zone, and I felt nothing but pain. My head, my chest, my back, my throat, my arms and legs, it all hurt. But it was nothing compared to the agony between my legs. It felt as if he had ripped me open. Maybe he had, maybe I wouldn't survive. You hoped you wouldn't.
Age 11
Arms around my waist. I struggle trying to get away. Shaking legs. Whimpering. Hands on me. The room spinning. He throws me on the blanket. I bite my lip, tasting blood. "You cheap whore." Panting. His sweaty fat face above me. "You like this, don't you?"
I hear a pitiful whimpering and realize it's myself.
"This is your fault. I hope you know that. If you weren't so damn pretty, I never would've kept you this long."
I stop struggling. I stay still and wait for it to be over.
"Good girl."
Age 13
I rocked myself, back and forth. Back and forth. A rat runs quickly past me. Concrete walls. Concrete floors. I gaze into nothingness, which even unerved the man who had kidnapped me so many years ago. Was I broken? I'm trembling, I can't remember the last time I wasn't shaking like a leaf. I stare at the wall.
Age 15
The familiar sound of sobbing and whimpering surrounded me. There were hundreds of girls around me, all chained and huddled in the bottom of their cages just like me. A man crouched in front of your cage, desperate to not be seen, I curl into a ball.
Age 17
STRIKON: little one
Screams, that's all you hear around you. You peer out of your cage to see, people setting fire to the slave traders. Killing them and slicing them, stabbing them, shooting them with arrows. Master yanks you out of your cage by your frail arm. He drags you along, frantically looking for a way out of this. He drags you into a forest, you trip over sharp rocks, falling to the ground.
"COME ON, YOU WORTHLESS BITCH!" Master screams at you. Frantically you try to get up. Suddenly blood spultters out of his mouth, spilling onto the the ground and sprinkling my face. He gasps for air, looking down at the arrow through his neck. You spur yourself into action grabbing his knife and bow. You look up, his eyes were smeared with dark war paint, painted jaggedly down the lines of his face. His cheekbones cut precise angles that the paint threw into starker relief. He wore a blood soaked shirt, a leather jacket and furs, a sword on his back, he wore black pants two holsters strapped to his thighs and each held a wicked curved knife with ornate handles. "Get away!" I yell, my voice scratchy from not being used. I point the knife in his direction.
"Ain't gonna hurt you. Calm down, strikon." He lowers his bow to the ground, holding his hands up in surrender.
"Come on now, put the knife down." He speaks as if talking to a spooked horse. "Shut the fuck up!" I yell.
"I'm Bellamy, com Trikru. I didn't mean to scare ya. I'm trying to save ya." He says taking a step forward.
I shuffle back, "Stay back!", I yell out.
"I know that he hurt you. He did terrible things to you. I'm not like him." He says taking another step forward.
"You need to see a doctor, we have one in Polis. We have food and 's freezing out here and you're..." He coerces, another step.
I down at myself and under the bruises and blood, I feel myself blush. A small sob tears out of my throat and I feel ashamed. "I can help you, strikon. We're good people. Not people like that piece of shit." Another step.
Raising my brows, I turn the knife so it's against my neck. He takes a few steps forward to stop me and push the blade deeper drawing blood. "Don't. I can get you through this." He says, comfortingly.
" I have to. I-I c-can't anymore. I don't w-wanna anymore. No more. No more. No more." I sob.
"Do you like horses?" He asks.
"W-What?" Confusion crowds my face. "We have horses." Bellamy waits for me to process this information.
" You have horses?" I ask slowly. "Yep, pretty too. My sisters horse is pregnant,we expect a foal to be here any day now." He explains.
I feel dizzy, exausted.
" A foal." I breathe out.
"Yep. No one really has the know how on how to birth a foal in Trikru." He says, glancing around quickly.
"I do... I know how." I whisper.
"Oh, Yeah? I thought you might. Maybe you could help her and the foal then." He scoots closer to me as he speaks.
I let out a shuddering breath, collapsing against the tree behind me.
"What's your name, strikon?" He reaches out plucking the knife from my hand.
"He called me Bitch." I bitterly spit out.
He hissed at that, making me jump. " I mean the name your Nomi gave you," He said softly," I know she didn't name you bitch."
He took his coat off wrapping it around me. "Willow. That's what my name was." I whisper.
" I'm gonna pick you up now, so I can carry you to my horse." He says gently.
I close my eyes, my breathing tortured and labored. He lifted me up bridal style.
"Commander, is everything ok?" You hear. "Yes, everything is fine." You hear Bellamy respond.
Suddenly I start to panic, I bucked my hips, limbs flailing.
"Hush. Hush. Strikon, I'm helping. Remember?" He sounded frustrated.
"Bellamy, remember?" I hear him say in my ear.
" Bellamy." I repeat.
" Where are we going?" I ask.
"Home. As fast as we fuckin can." He says. Then everything goes black.