Sometimes it's easier to live in vagaries. To dream of tomorrow, withering away today without focusing on the details of reality. To talk about the getaway, the Promised Land, however rash or faraway it may be. It just so happened that this holy stretch of beach and broken glass was it.
To most people the Island was a vacation, a tourist trap with poorly made mixed drinks and parties vaguely reminiscent of luaus.
But to a brother and sister it was vaguely reminiscent of home. To a troubled delinquent it was almost hope. To a lonely thief it was all there was. To a stoner and his dealer it was the smoke spot of all smoke spots.
It was an escapist's fantasy. And escaping was an art Clarke had mastered a long time ago.
Being a politician's daughter made it harder, but all the more necessary. Even dire, now that death was on her heels, biting at all the songs in her throat. She could barely remember the last time she sang.
So with a mixture of remorse, heartbreak and trust-fund confidence, Clarke Griffin found herself pulling into the Kilueua campgrounds of Kauai, some indie electronica beat reverberating from the speakers of her brand new truck. She accelerated like a dream, chrome shining and painted in red like the fires of hell itself. No wonder she named her Phoenix.
With a joint held between her teeth, Clarke let her lips give way to a nostalgic smile as she took in the resilient patches of grass, tents and trees. And the waves, the sea.
Lighter flicking and smile unwavering, Clarke made her way to the water, which was cerulean, clear, and begging her to swim.
She stripped out of her grievances like she stripped out of her t-shirt and dove right in.
XXX
"I'm fucking starving," whined a childish voice, belonging to a far from childish Octavia Blake, who was splayed out on a surfboard in a dark bikini.
Bellamy glared down at his sister, who he'd rather have wearing a shirt, or pants, or best yet, a nun uniform, whatever they were called.
"Doesn't Jasper have food?" He asked, throwing a frisbee down the beach where it hit Murphy in the back of the head.
"Watch it, Blake!"
"Jasper gets food from me!" Octavia groaned, returning his glare with even more intensity (and annoyance) as she pulled herself off the ground.
"What about Monty?"
"Yeah, Monty has weed brownies and shrooms," Octavia snapped, "I'm sure that'll make a balanced breakfast."
"I hate teenagers," Bellamy sighed, catching the Frisbee as it appeared out of nowhere and sending it into the waves towards Miller.
"Teenagers hate you too," Octavia huffed.
"Oh don't be like that O," Bellamy put a hand on her head to rub her already messy hair, "If you really want something ask the neighbors," he said with a hint of deviance, "I'm sure the asshole driving that red truck won't mind sharing."
Ask.
The smirk in Bellamy's eyes made it obvious that asking wasn't part of the plan.
"Sure thing big brother," Octavia smirked back at him before stalking off towards Jaspers hammock.
If there was one thing Octavia loved about Kauai it was how easy everything was here. No one cared about their unlocked cars or open tents when there was sunshine and good waves. Well, no one besides Octavia and her friends.
How long had it been? Three weeks? Four? Time didn't really work on the Island the way it did on the mainland. Instead of days of the week it was today and tomorrow. Instead of minutes and hours it was surfing or drinking, laughing or sleeping.
Jasper was curled up in a hammock with his goggles on, making two crab shells kiss.
"You're not even high are you?" Octavia laughed.
"Unfortunately," Jasper smiled, pushing the goggles up to his forehead.
"Come on," Octavia smiled dangerously before walking towards the dusty parking lot, "We're getting food."
"Who's the lucky victim?" Jasper grinned on her heels, a crab shell still in his hand.
"Hot, rich girl," Octavia replied with a devilish brow, "With an even hotter truck."