A/N. This is my first ever fic and so I apologise if it's a little rough around the edges, so stick with me :) It is going to incorporate all sorts of characters from the show one way or another, but all from Clarke's POV in the form of a diary.
8th January, 2161
Dear Diary,
I told him not to tell anyone and he said 'your secrets safe with me', that was obviously untrue.
I feel so numb. My body is full of overwhelm and negative feelings I never thought to exist.
Wells. I can't even write his name without feeling like I'm going to throw up. And now because of him, I've been stuck inside this solitary, cold box. They just threw me in here, like I was garbage, only half an hour after they... After they... I can't. It's been a month and yet in here it feels like no time has passed at all.
I get up, eat, lay in bed, eat some more, maybe draw something (I have to be careful though, there's only so much wall space) and I did cry at first, but I don't think my body physically has any tears left to shed.
So many thoughts run through my head, and they're the same every day. He could have kept quiet and not said anything to Jaha. He could have pretended he didn't know. Perhaps that's selfish of me, but I can't see beyond anything else right now.
Until now, there was nothing inside this hollow, bleak metal box/cell/solitary confinement, whatever, other than me and my thoughts. Only now I get to write them down after begging to be able to do so (one of the guards took pity on me and gave me some paper. She must be new, because that so called pity they have on us, goes away pretty quickly after being on the job for more than a week). However, I'm not sure how keen I am on that prospect right now, given that the future for my seventeen old self looks much the same as it does now, insecure and unpredictable. But who am I kidding, it's apparent none of us have much of a future anyway.
Solitary. I wish I was eighteen and got floated because I feel like I've got nothing left to live for.
Clarke.