Ten Years Ago
The world is burning.
Finn huddles in the bunker while screams and sobs and the bitter tang of fear waft around him. He wants to cry for his mother, but his throat is already raw from screaming. He knows everything will be okay if he can just find her, but she had kissed him and told him she loved him and gone back for his brothers, and then the big metal door had slammed shut. He closes his eyes and clutches Jake, the puppy they just got a few days ago, and pretends that he is somewhere, anywhere, but here.
Bonny paces from one end of the bunker to the other, humming to herself to drown out the sounds of everything she knew crashing to the ground around her. She tries to leave it all behind, the wailing children, the mothers whispering comforting lies, the fathers clutching weapons and supplies and pretending they can save their families - and all of them with such empty, empty eyes. She staggers into a wall as an explosion rocks the ground, and slumps to the floor, praying that this cold concrete box will not be her crypt.
Marceline pounds at the thick metal door until her hands bleed, trying desperately to bypass this barrier between her and her mother. Her mother, with her slender limbs and soft eyes. Marceline had fought and screamed and clung to her with everything she had, but she had thrown her in here and slammed the door, and then there had been a massive explosion, and Marceline keeps struggling, because she would rather follow her mother into death then be left alone in this ruined world.