Astrid took a deep breath. Plastered on a smile. Stood a little taller. Straightened her jacket.
Walked on stage and tried to ignore the butterflies in her stomach.
'A warm welcome to Astrid Ellison, survivor of the Perdido Beach Anomaly!'
Astrid wore the same smile she had worn to every interview since the FAYZ wall disappeared – the one that hurt her cheeks to sustain. But today was different – today was the release date for Astrid's book. Which was good, Astrid supposed. Finally, finally she would be able to give the unlucky ones, the ones who could not call themselves the survivors, the story they deserved.
She remembered being unsure of how to go about telling the story. Should she include the worst parts? Should she bend the truth, just a little, to protect her and her friend's secrets? She sat staring at her laptop screen for hours, hours - how do I start it? What do I write? – until Sam sat beside her, traced the outline of her face tenderly, and whispered 'Tell the truth. All of it'.
Astrid did.
She wrote for hours upon end, sometimes laughing, sometimes crying, always remembering. It was then that Astrid realised that she never wanted to forget, not ever, not even the worst times. She would remember the moment the Breeze appeared, grinning, holding Drake's head in her hand like a trophy. She would remember her charging at Gaia with all the fury of a hurricane, her eyes shouting 'yes, yes, come and get me, come and see what the Breeze will do to you for hurting my friends'. She would remember watching Quinn grow, watching him find himself, watching him change from a coward to a brave fisherman. She would remember Orc in all of his drunken madness and compassion and regret, remember him misquoting the Bible horrendously, reminding her of her faith, insisting that yes, yes, there was a God in the FAYZ. She would remember Dekka, saving the kids from falling to their deaths, remember her fighting for her friends until the second the wall came down, despite the horrors she had faced. She'd remember Dahra, working night and day to help the injured until her very last breath. Lana, the saint, working herself to the bone saving lives, Lana, without whom the number of deaths in the FAYZ would have doubled. Mary Terrafino, who, despite everything, gave so much to the kids. Mary, who didn't deserve to die that way. Diana, who watched as the child she gave birth to was possessed, watched as the boy she loved sacrificed himself. Diana, who walked through Hell with her head held high. She would remember how in the end, Caine redeemed himself, loved, saved the people of the FAYZ. She would remember the feel of Drake's whip on her back. She would remember the faces of all the bodies of those who died, and the circumstances of those too mangled to identify. She would remember how it felt to be helpless, to be starving, to be on the brink of death.
But most of all she would remember Sam. She would remember finding her night dress in his bed where he slept, remember feeling as though everything would be ok, everything would always be ok if she had Sam. She would remember waking up next to him for the first time and feeling as though a hole in her that she didn't even know existed was filled.
The FAYZ taught her how there has never been such a thing good and bad, but instead a million shades of grey. She would remember how heroes could become murderers and murderers become heroes. She would remember that there is no right and wrong, only circumstances and situations.
So Astrid wrote all of these things, shared her most private thoughts and secrets with anyone who would take the time to read it. Which seemed like the best thing she could do at the time, but now, with all these people watching, waiting in anticipation, Astrid Ellison was nervous.
She responded to the interviewer's questions with as much enthusiasm as she could muster, and tried to ignore the images playing in her mind. But the picture of her mother and father reading the book, reading about the terrible things she'd done, kept torturing her. She could imagine their poorly disguised expressions of horror, imagine exactly what they were thinking – how could our sweet little Astrid possibly do that to her little brother? It made her sick.
Astrid headed home to Sam and Diana with a tear in her eye, anticipating the highly welcomed meaningless words of comfort.