After hours of working and being generally rude to everyone he saw; Murphy wandered out of the camp and found himself in a cold rush of wind within the trees.
He padded his jacket with fur to protect himself from the harsh winter air that now tormented the ground. Sometimes Murphy thought about how warm it would be to fall into a deep sleep and recede from the ever-present sorrows that plagued him and everyone else who lived in the camp. He wondered how the earth could be so beautiful and so horrid all at once.
He didn't want to die necessarily, but he never wanted to feel cold, or hated, again.
As his feet wandered through the outskirts of the forest he let his mind wander as well. It floated right back to his pleasant memories aboard the Ark. He was running down forbidden hallways with Mbege by his side, laughing at the sight of their warm breath in the air.
They used to enjoy lurking in frozen corridors where the power and heating had been shut off. For some reason when he thought of winter he always thought of running and laughing with red cheeks and runny noses. He didn't imagine the oblivion of white he saw now, and the constant longing for warmth deep inside his chest.
Murphy shivered then, as his thoughts shifted to Mbege. He was Murphy's best friend, through hell or high water, through prisons and hangings; Mbege had always been there.
Now he was pinned to a tree somewhere with a spear through his chest.
Murphy counted him lucky to die so quick, but the thought of his lifeless body made him sick. At least he wasn't dying painfully slowly like Murphy was. To him living was just the meaningless space before death, all these thoughts and actions would be insignificant when Murphy died. His only fear was that there would be no one to document his last "fuck you" to the world.
He pushed that thought away when he came to a circular clearing among the trees, cursing under his breath at the sight of small flakes coming down from the sky.
Murphy may have hated the snow, but the way it consumed the forest seemed like something out of long forgotten fairytale.
Despite hating almost everyone and everything in Camp Jaha, Murphy rarely found himself wandering outside its' boundaries, especially not alone.
He honestly didn't know what inspired him to leave anyway, but upon remembering this he realized he had no idea where he was or how to get back.
"Fuck," he muttered, his warm breath creating a cloud in the air, but he didn't find it the slightest bit amusing.
He glanced around a bit, trying to determine which direction was the best to go, but every way looked the same. With dwindling hope, he sat down on the ground and let the white take over. Apparently freezing to death wasn't the worst way to die; he had heard it was much like falling asleep, and that sounded quite appetizing to Murphy at the moment.
He closed his eyes and finally gave in, relaxing at each flake that fell onto his skin as if they were cool kisses. His mind wandered far away. Farther than it had ever gone before; until he was in a new plane entirely. There he saw his mother walking towards him through the white.
"John!" She called as she motioned at Murphy to stand and follow her. But a figure appeared behind her; larger and dark against the bright oblivion that Murphy was so drawn to. He stood over him, but Murphy wasn't the slightest bit afraid. The figure raised his black hand, pausing as it wound back so Murphy's eyes could meet his. By the sympathetic brown eyes Murphy could tell it was his father. Murphy closed his eyes to prepare for the blow.
The sharp sound of the slap made Murphy jump up from his resting place. Panting, he groped his cheek as if he could still find his father's hand there. It wasn't of course, and neither was the pain. It must have been a dream, Murphy thought.
Standing, Murphy once again looked for direction, and this time his eyes fell upon what looked like crude scratches on the trunk of a tree.
Murphy approached it and saw that the scratches were in fact poorly carved words. He pulled his numb fingers out from the confines of his pockets to trace them across the letters, which read,
What is love? Tis not hereafter,
Murphy faintly recognized the old style of writing, possibly Shakespeare, he thought. Murphy looked around in the distance to see another tree with similar scratches. He ran over to see the next verse,
Present mirth hath present laughter
He looked around again and realized who ever wrote it must have done it recently because their footprints were still fresh on the snow. Murphy followed the footprints from verse to verse,
What's to come is still unsure
In delay there lies no plenty
So come and kiss me, sweet and twenty
Youth's a stuff we'll not endure.
After Murphy read the last line of what had to be a poem, he was able to see a clearing of white in the distance. He came to the edge of the trees, which to his luck bordered the camp.
As he walked through the gates and to his tent he repeated the poem over and over, wondering who the writer had been and whether it had been an act of serendipity or some higher power that had led him to the poem.
Murphy wasn't sure about God, but after being imprisoned, lynched, tortured, and shunned, he had to wonder what had kept him alive through it all. It definitely wasn't his strength, and it couldn't have been luck. Maybe it was fate, but Murphy tried not to dwell on hopeful things like that.
Grey was lingering around the camp gates, admiring the snow covered land and wondering about all the possibilities it could hold come springtime.
She had snuck behind Kane's back this morning by telling him she was working in the smokehouse, which gave her a significant amount time until he came looking for her.
Even in this weather there was probably more to do outside of the fence than within it, and only the stars know how boring it is to look upon something so intriguing but never be a part of it.
Or at least she thought you couldn't go, until she saw Murphy walk right out of the gates; All by himself, not even with a gun.
Grey didn't know Murphy very well, but it was hard not to know of people within the small confines of the campsite. Most of the time when Grey saw Murphy he was alone with a stone cold glare on his face, and even though she knew why, she still pitied him.
Ever since the first time she heard his name she felt sympathy towards the outcast.
"I don't need your help!" she heard a snarling voice vibrate of the metal walls of the Ark. She was sitting in a make shift waiting room separated by a sheet to where Dr. Griffin met with people.
Grey moved forward from where she was sitting so she could see through the opening in the drapes.
"John, listen to me-"
"If you wanted to meet informally why can't you just call me Murphy?" The guy interrupted.
Abby sighed, and said, "Alright Murphy. Well, I've received a number of complaints that you've been screaming at night and I just wanted to know if you were ok."
The guy, Murphy, began to grope at his neck, but she couldn't see his expression since his back was facing her.
"What do you care? Maybe it's because it's cold as hell outside and you-"
"Calm down," Abby said in a remarkably cool tone, "Were working on indoor bunks, hopefully we'll have them ready before snow fall. Anyway, John… Murphy I mean, does this have anything to do with nightmares or flashbacks."
Murphy remained silent.
"Hm… I see. You've been through a lot, Murphy, you were almost killed a number of times and tortured by Grounders-"
Grey gasped and immediately covered her mouth to look away. Abby didn't seem to notice, but Murphy turned as if to scowl at the eavesdropper.
"-It would be odd if you weren't traumatized. It's very difficult to talk about, I know. But, talking about these traumatizing experiences are what help you recover. Maybe if you-"
"Maybe if I what?" Snarled Murphy, "Talk to you? Do you really think talking will change anything? Will fucking talking make my scars go away?" He was practically yelling now, and he pulled down the collar of his shirt to reveal a red scar that wound all the way around his neck.
"You and the council are the reason this happened. And if you really think that's going to help then you're full of shit."
Before Abby could interject he was standing up, and Grey averted her eyes so she was staring at a dark stain on the floor, only to realize it was a dark stain of blood.
He ripped open the drapes and stormed out of the room. As he went by where Grey was sitting he stopped to meet my gaze.
Murphy's eyes were vengeful, but Grey returned the same cold glare with a raised eyebrow. He knew she had heard everything and he sighed at her as if contemplating what to say.
"Murphy!" Abby called. She was standing in front of the drapes now, and when Grey looked back Murphy was already gone.
Something ached in Grey then, she couldn't know if it was sorrow or pity, but it swelled inside of her every time she saw him. Grey felt guilty for not carrying the burdens the 100 held. She saw their hollow faces everyday and all she wanted to do was to lift the sorrows off their shoulders and place them on her own.
She couldn't stand being in such a beautiful place when everyone around was either morose or desperately trying not to be. Of course she shouldn't be one to talk because Grey could be much more than morose sometimes, but at least she could see the hopeful beauty of earth even in its treacherousness.
Grey scanned the tree line for a trace of the pitiful boy, but he had long since disappeared in the trees.
With nothing better to do she walked idly around the camp gates, and allowed herself to reminisce on her previous life on the Ark. Unlike most kids she grew up with sisters. The four of them were never adopted as children, so they grew up together with a guardian. They may not have been sisters by blood, but through living and suffering together they shared an unquantifiable love.
But her sisters were gone now, only living in Grey's memory and as particles of dust in outer space. She couldn't dwell on them for too long without being overwhelmed by grief.
They were all Grey had to care for and look up to since their real guardian neglected them and used their supplemented money to gamble and purchase drugs.
He was an asshole, to say the least. But Grey was thankful, because without his neglect she would never have been open to a world of ancient literature and poetry that her teachers showed her too.
She was given the job of filing and recording books at a very young age by her English teacher, Jonah, probably because she adored the ancient classics and her malnourished and beaten appearance likely made him pity her.
That's probably the only thing Grey missed about the Ark. She would spend her afternoons in the back of the library sorting through the works of Shakespeare and Dickenson, and then bring her favorites back home to her sisters.
She thanked Jonah every goddamn day of her life for showing her to a world of imagination and possibility. The creative mind wasn't something well appreciated on the Ark, and most people hardly cared about expanding their knowledge or discovering new things.
Those people were happy though; they lived in a blissful world of ignorance that Grey envied from time to time. Once you've read stories full of love and nature and family, it makes you realize all the possibilities in the world, so Grey thought, but it also makes you realize that in Ark's society those possibilities were unattainable.
That's probably what drove Grey into moods of depression and indolence; for she could never lead a life like the characters of the Romantic Era. She could never have a family to cherish, or wander through the windy moors of England with a lover. She could never set sail and journey to a new land that she could conquer as her own. Everything in the real world was rigid and metal and so deplorably dull it nearly killed her.
Grey felt as if she was the only person on the ground that truly enjoyed it. Of course it sucked most of the time but at least they were no longer the viewers of a long told story, so distant and profound it seemed like a fairytale. Now they were a part of it.
But to Grey's dismay it was far from a fairytale. The land she dreamed of may have been beautiful, but it came with brutal consequences. The story had turned into a nightmare, and Grey didn't know how long she would be able to take it.
It had been over an hour and Grey wondered why Murphy hadn't returned yet. She was worried for him, and a sudden burst of courage brought her face to face with Bellamy Blake.
His features had become remarkably sullen in Clarke's absence, and Grey couldn't ignore the purple skin under his eyes that only seemed to make his appearance more pitiful.
"Where do you think you're going?" He said in his usual gruff tone. Bellamy stepped in front of Grey, his gun shaking slightly in his grasp.
"On a walk," Grey said confidently as she maneuvered around him.
"It's not safe out there on your own, you can walk within the fence." Bellamy seemed so worn; she felt bad picking this fight with him but went on anyway.
"It'll only be a few minutes, Kane recommended it for me," Grey felt even worse using her reputation as a depressive teenage girl to manipulate her way out of the camp, but it was partially true. Kane had told her to take frequent walks, just not by herself… or in the freezing cold.
Bellamy nodded understandably; he had been there at the time of Grey's incident a couple months ago. Out of regret and shame Grey pushed the thought deep into the chasm of her memory, so that even if it were referenced it would only appear to her like a vague dream.
The world was bright, ethereal, as Grey stepped through it. Freedom billowed through the cold air in her lungs, and for the first time in days a doted smile crossed her lips that she didn't even attempt to subdue.
By means of precaution, Grey gripped the hilt of her dagger as she entered the forest. She relaxed after awhile upon seeing the stillness of the trees and returned her hand to the warmth of her pocket.
She was positive that her journey was exactly like Victor Frankenstein's snowy trek through Chamounix as he pursued the Creature. Well maybe not exactly like it, Grey thought, but it was just like she imagined it in her mind.
Snow began to fall and Grey looked towards the sky gratefully, but when she looked back at the ground she was startled to see another set of footprints alongside hers.
They must have been Murphy's, and she quickly checked her compass to check the direction they were going in relation the camp.
He was going north, parallel to their new home, and Grey walked on, eager to follow his trail.
She came upon a circular clearing, and was startled to see Murphy lying still on the ground, his skin pale even against the snow.
Grey was relieved as Murphy exhaled a cloud of warm breath, at least he was alive, but the choice to live or die was one's own so Grey left him to make it himself.
She had to leave a noticeable trail somehow, and Grey knew that if she were lost in the woods she would want to be led home by her favorite poem.
As she headed west towards the camp, Grey stopped every so often to carve a line of a sonnet into one of the trees.
Bellamy nodded at her as she returned through the gates, but Grey wasn't in the clear yet, because Kane was standing in front of her tent with his arms crossed and expression bitter.
"Fuck," Grey drew out the syllables inaudibly under her breath.
"Care to explain why you were beyond the gates? All alone I may emphasize." Kane was like the overprotective parent Grey never wanted, but she could hear the concern through his harsh tone.
"Just getting some fresh air," She replied coolly, hoping he wouldn't be persistent.
But, of course he was.
"Just getting fresh air? Were outside all the time, Grey!" his voice was raised now and people around them began to take notice.
"It's extremely dangerous in these conditions, you need to think of your own well being!"
"I can take care of myself, Marcus," at the sound of his name Kane reddened in anger.
Murphy came strolling by at that moment - seemingly he followed Grey's path - and took notice of the dispute going on.
"You know as well as I do that-" Kane paused to look around, finally aware of the crowd that had gathered, "-that you're just a kid! You cannot go outside these fences without a guardian because you can't take care of yourself out there."
"Oh really!" Grey replied, raising her voice, "You didn't say they were just kids when you sent the 100 to the ground, did you?"
The crowd gasped, some even commented in approval. Kane was fuming.
"If you think 100 teenagers can survive on a completely new terrain with no guidance, I'm sure you can think it's possible for me to take a walk outside the camp all by myself."
Grey caught Murphy's eye for a split second, he seemed to be smirking in approval. Kane was the opposite.
"You are to be supervised by a guard at all times until further notice," said Kane in a remarkably flat tone, "To ensure that you do not disobey me again."
Kane then yelled at the crowd to disperse, and Grey watched solemnly as Murphy sauntered back to his tent. He didn't look back at her, but if he knew what Grey had just done for him he sure as hell would have.