clarke + it's in the little things

installment (2) of (8) in my meta series "the 100 + after we part"

(prequel to clarke + healing)

(credit to the creators of the 100 where it is due.)

Clarke sitting on a mountain ridge, eyes closed, feet dangling, and wind buffeting her face, a gentle caress that reminds her of a brush of fingertips against her skin.

(it's been so long since someone has touched her like that.)

Clarke sleeping in the forest in a bed of moss, letting it enfold and warm her in it's soft embrace, save for the few leaves from the towering trees.

(it reminds her of her father, his hug, how he made everything okay with just his presence.)

Clarke wandering through a valley and finding wildflowers in every shape and color and sitting the rest of the day in the midst of them.

(childhood daydreams never gave nature this much vibrancy.)

Clarke finding a stone in a riverbank that is swirled browns and tans with an endless center that she tucks into her pack.

(it reminds her of Wells' eyes when he laughed. she cries for him that night.)

Clarke waking up to an ear-splitting whinny and scrambling to the nearest rise to look down upon a herd of wild horses, racing down the mountain to the green space below.

(they are every horse documentary she watched on the Ark come to life. the urge to smile is foreign.)

Clarke staying up all night so she won't miss the sunrise, one that is breathtaking in its glories as it lightens the sky with a mesh of blues, purples, and pink.

(she longs for her paints and brushes from the Ark.)

Clarke startling awake from a nightmare that haunts her all too often and finds her wrenching sobs abating when she sees the littering of stars across the inky night sky, so much more enchanting from Earth.

(she remembers going to the star viewings with her parents and misses them both.)

Clarke stumbling across the remains of an old mill, picking through the crumbled structure as rain drizzles down on her head and wishes she knew what it'd looked like before.

(there was one puzzle her grandmother had owned, so faded until only the name Thom Kade was known as the artist, of a similar scene.)

Clarke standing on the verge of a raging waterfall, captured by how it roars and thunders. Unending. Unstoppable.

(water has never thrummed with hope quite so loudly before.)

Clarke contemplating how easy it would to just… end. To see her father again, to see Wells.

(it is only a memory of endless brown eyes and may we meet again that backs her away from the edge.)

(end clarke + it's in the little things)

thanks for perusing these scrawls