A/N: Hello :) Thank you in advance for taking the time to read this story :) I love the 100, It's fast become one of my favourite series. I love the concept and the depth of the characters and I think that it's really interesting and I really wanted to write something after the end of Season 1. I live in the UK and I know that the first episode of Season 2 has already come out in the US but I can't see it yet so it probably wont be the same at all. (Unless someone can give me the name of a website where I could be able to view it? Hint Hint?)

It's set after the end of Season 1, as you can probably tell, and I hope that it's okay.
Please enjoy :) I apologize for any mistakes when it comes to their ages :) Or if it's crap. Or if there are any grammatical errors.

Disclaimer: I do not own the 100 or any characters.

Chapter 1: Lost.

If there was one word to describe how Clarke Griffin felt, it would most definitely be lost. And though there was clearly more than one word to describe how she felt, she couldn't for the life of her think of them. It was strange because she had all the time in the world to think about everything, about how she was feeling, who she was missing and how lonely she was but she couldn't. She couldn't do it. Everything, every thought that she had seemed for some reason to be just outside of her reach. Like if she tried to think about Finn or Octavia or Jasper, her mind would suddenly detach herself so she was floating in the middle of nowhere. Perhaps it was a form of subconscious preservation. Perhaps if she were allowed to think about them. Even for a minute it would be too much. If she were allowed to focus on how much time she had spent in her white prison, she wouldn't be able to cope. Perhaps it was better this way. To remain in a permanent floating state of mind. Because after all feeling lost was a lot better than feeling heart-broken.

Her meals came like clock work. They kept her well fed, but not over fed. As if the food had been specifically allocated to her for the diet that she required. She was in no pain, which led her to conclude that her food was being drugged in someway but for that exact reason she couldn't bring herself to care.

Monty was still in the room opposite. She would see him some days, communicate as best they could through the windows. But they never talked about anything important. Monty didn't seem to care all that much about anything either.

Sometimes she would stare at the picture on the wall. She loved art. If there was anything that was going to keep her sane it would be that picture. It was truly beautiful. At one time, Clarke knew the name of the artist that painted it, but like everything else now she couldn't quite remember it. She still painted. As best she could with her limited resources. She mostly used her own blood. Digging deep enough in her skin with her nail to draw it out and using her finger to paint different shapes. She never painted anything in particular, it was always abstract.

Today was different. Today Clarke found herself drawing a face. She didn't know whose face it was, she kept drawing until the painting developed enough for it be clear.

The gasp Clarke let out, echoed around the room as she stared down at the face of the person that she had grown close to in her few weeks on the earth. The face of the person she now trusted more than anyone. The one, she suddenly realized, she missed the most.

Bellamy.

And suddenly it all came flooding back to her. All of them. Each memory bringing a fresh tear and sob. Bellamy. Finn. Octavia. Jasper. Raven. All of the memories and feelings and thoughts rushed in, crushing her, banging around in her head until she let out a scream. A scream she had held in since she got there. A scream that seemed to slice her throat like a knife as it came up, tearing her airways until her throat was raw and all that came of was gasping sobs as she cried for each and every one of her lost friends.

It wasn't till hours later, after Clarke had sobbed her self into a deep and sad sleep that she sat up. Finally feeling ready to take control of everything. To think things through. She had so much to process. She closed her eyes and began. She didn't know who was alive and who was dead. That was her main problem. She tried to remember as many people as she could but everything kept getting mixed up.

It was then that she opened her eyes and noticed the newest addition to her prison. Lying just in front of the door was the most beautiful thing Clarke had seen in she didn't know how long. A pencil.

She could hardly stand up quickly enough as she rushed to pick it up, to feel it and make sure it was real. It was a simple, yellow pencil. HB with a pink rubber on the top. Like the ones they had on the ark. The ones that Wells had got her.

Wells.

Clarke sat back down next to the picture of Bellamy, crossing her legs and tapping the pencil against her hand as she thought.

Slowly, she positioned her pencil in her shaking hand and wrote the first name. It was barely readable. Her writing was all over the place but she knew what it said.

Clarke.

Next to it she wrote her age.

17.

And under it she wrote her status.

Alive.

Good. She knew who she was. She was Clarke Griffin. Daughter of Abigail and Jake Griffin. Medical Apprentice on the Ark and Camp Medic on the earth.

Slowing her breathing down considerably she wrote the next name.

Wells. 17.

Dead.

Her heart ached for a moment but she forced herself to move on.

Charlotte. 13.

Dead.

One by one she went through all 14 of the 100 that had died before the battle.

Then she started working on the living.

Monty. 17.

Alive.

The list was very short. She didn't want to put any one else down because she didn't want to get her hopes up. She decided to go into more detail.

Jasper. 17.

Unknown. Captured by mountain men.

Mountain men. She remembered the Grounder princess's description of the men in suits that had stormed in with gas as soon as the rockets had blown. It helped clear things to know names.

Raven. 17.
Unknown. Badly wounded and unconscious before explosion.

Slowly she listed everyone on the drop ship. Stating as best she could what she thought had happened to each one. Then came the hard part.

Octavia. 16.
Dead.

Finn. 17.
Dead.

A tear rolled down her cheek as she wrote the next name. Her handwriting that had become more clear suddenly grew shaky again as she wrote the name that of the man she had come to trust more than anyone.

Bellamy. 23.

She closed her eyes. Only looking, reluctantly, after she's written the last word.

Dead.

Thank you for reading :) Reviewsare nice :)