It was dark within the cell. The cold metal walls closed in on the small bed in the corner. It was made of metal too, with only a small mattress placed on top. There was a sleeping form covered by a thin blanket resting on the thin cushion. She had blonde hair, which was carefully braided, and pale, milky skin that had never before seen the sun. The girl shivered, her skin covered in a light coat of gleaming sweat. Her brow furrowed, and she tossed about, her hands wildly grabbing for invisible things within the solitary room.
She was broken out of her restless sleep by the banging of a door and loud footsteps. She felt strong hands grab her shoulders and rip her out of bed. She struggled against their grasp, but it was futile. She blinked her eyes open blearily, taking in the hazy image of tanned skin and curly, brown hair. She felt as if she recognized the face, but her mind was too sleep-addled to make much out of what her eyes were seeing.
"Careful!" A voice barked quietly in the darkness of the room. She knew that voice. She turned towards where it had come from, near the open door, and there was a face she knew without a doubt.
"Mom," she choked out, her own voice confused and desperate. Her mothers's face was creased with worry, causing her to look far more aged than Clarke had last seen her. Her mother's hands cupped her face, and grey eyes met blue.
"Yes. Come, Clarke, we have to leave. Now. Quietly." She grabbed Clarke's hand and pulled her hard towards the door, causing the blonde girl to stumble, her body still in the process of waking. She felt the guard's hand return to her shoulder, pulling her up with a harsh tug. She glared at him, but he only shrugged in response, as if he was accustomed to far worse.
She regained her composure and followed her mother out of the door. She was curious and scared, but something within her told her to stay quiet. She followed her mother through the twists and turns of the Ark, through stations and corridors she had never visited before. It was unlit for the most part, save for the occasional flickering electric light on the ceiling of each hallway.
She followed her mother through the maze of metal with the mysterious guard behind her. She felt all tiredness purged from her body, and real fear started to seep in as replacement. Eventually her mother stopped at a door, pausing to look both directions with a strange glint in her eye before pulling a key from her pocket and inserting it into the lock.
There was a clicking sound and the door swung open. Her mother turned and beckoned them in with frantic hand motions, closing the door immediately after the guard had entered. The room was lit brightly, causing Clarke to cover her unadjusted eyes with the back of her hand. Eventually her pupils shrank and she removed her hand to find herself looking at a large metal pod.
Her mother bustled around, talking with a Hispanic looking girl who was covered in old grease stains. They both turned to look at her; her mother wearing a concerned yet loving expression, while the other girl sported a worried yet determined one. She blushed at being caught staring, but her curiosity had risen at overhearing the hushed tones of their conversation. Her mother took a step towards her, her hands reaching out for Clarke.
"Clarke, honey, you're being sent to the ground." It was a bombshell and Clarke felt its echoes throughout the very structure of her bones. She opened her mouth to respond, but no sound came out. "It's no longer safe for you here. This is the only chance we have." Clarke took a step back, evading her mother's cloying grip. Her eyes had widened and her heart thumped franticly against the confines of her chest. The air had been stolen from her lungs, and she felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes.
To Clarke this was as good as a death sentence. "Murderer," she spat at her mother, seeing an equally shocked and saddened face reflected back at her. She saw her mother look over her head, giving a small nod to the guard behind her. Before Clarke had any time to react, she felt the sharp prick of a needle enter her neck, and unconsciousness flitted on the horizon of her mind, drawing steadily closer.
Her body felt light, and without the ability to hold herself in a standing position, she keeled into the waiting arms of the mysterious guard. She blinked her eyes slowly trying to hold the impending darkness at bay. However, she was unsuccessful, and the last thing she remembered before falling into a dreamless sleep was the touch of her mother's fingers smoothing away the flyaway blonde strands of hair from her face, and whispering, "You're our last hope, Clarke. Don't fail us."
oooooooooooooooooooooooooo
She awoke to a loud rattling sound surrounding her. Her eyes flew open and she found herself gazing through foggy windows at the stunning view of Earth, which was steadily coming closer. She reached her arms out, feeling constricted by the large metal contraption that held her. The metal was hot under her fingertips, and she yanked her hands away, burying them in the safety of her lap. She tried to lean forward, but was pulled back into place by a complicated looking safety belt that held her securely against the cushioned metal of the seat.
There was a startling bang that shook the pod, and it started to shudder uncontrollably, making Clarke press sharply against the red protective gear that kept her strapped in. She saw flames lick up the windows and felt a panicky fear fill her, causing her to scream and fight against the restraints holding her immobile. Tears filled her eyes, and sharp jolts of pain shot up her legs as she kicked against the front of the pod.
She reached a trembling hand into her pocket and felt the familiar cool metal of her iPod. She dug it out of her pocket with some difficulty and shoved the attached ear buds into her ears, pressing play as soon as she could with her shaking hands and cramping fingers. Music started to pour into her ears. It was harsh and loud, but it eliminated some of the sounds coming from the pod as it made its first entry through the Earth's atmosphere.
She was thankful that her mother had done that, knowing how claustrophobic Clarke could become. Any type of art relaxed Clarke. It was something she had inherited both genetically and through practice with her father. It was soothing to them, giving both a way to clear their minds. She saw her father in her minds eye, picturing his sandy hair and hole-filled sweater. She wanted to reach out and feel the dimples on his face, and to trace the familiar wrinkles on his brow. She smiled sadly at the image in her minds' eye. It was the last thing she saw before feeling a huge jerk from the pod and an unimaginable pain that coursed like fire throughout every fiber of her being.