Amber and John Murphy were inseparable as children, finding solace and adventure within the confined spaces of their dimly lit home on the Ark. While Amber's parents were strict and often preoccupied with their duties, she had discovered several hiding spots where she could retreat into her own little world. But no matter where she hid, she always emerged when John arrived home from school.
On this particular day, as the faint hum of machinery filled the air, Amber sat tucked away in a small alcove, her eyes bright with anticipation. She could hear John's footsteps echoing through the corridor, and she knew it was time for another lesson, a glimpse into the world beyond their metal confines.
As John pushed open the door, his backpack slung over his shoulder, he greeted Amber with a mischievous grin. "Hey, there you are," he said, his voice filled with excitement. "I've got something amazing to tell you today."
Amber's face lit up, and she eagerly crawled out from her hiding spot, joining John on the worn-out rug that served as their gathering place. Her eyes sparkled with curiosity as she settled in, ready to absorb every word he had to say.
John began to regale her with tales of the vast ocean, describing the majestic creatures that inhabited its depths. He spoke of colorful fish that shimmered like rainbows, graceful dolphins leaping through the waves, and mysterious creatures lurking in the darkness. Amber's imagination soared as she envisioned the wonders of the sea, her mind painting vivid pictures of the underwater world John painted with his words.
But then, his voice shifted, and he spoke of the pirates—fierce outlaws who sailed the treacherous seas, hunting for treasure and wreaking havoc. John's face contorted into an exaggerated scowl as he mimicked their evil deeds. "And you know what they do to pirates, Amber?" he asked, his voice dropping to a whisper.
Amber's eyes widened, a mix of excitement and apprehension coursing through her. "What? What do they do?" she asked, leaning closer, eager to hear every detail.
"They hang them, Amber," John replied with a mock seriousness, his voice tinged with theatricality. "They tie a noose around their necks and hang them until they can't breathe anymore. It's the punishment for their crimes."
Amber gasped, her hand instinctively covering her mouth. The image John painted was both thrilling and terrifying, a world of daring adventures and consequences for those who strayed from the path of righteousness.
As the day turned into evening, Amber and John sat side by side, lost in their imaginative world. They laughed, shared secrets, and allowed their minds to wander.
/
The school day had been particularly brutal for John Murphy, his body bearing the marks of yet another fight with the other kids. As he stumbled through the door of their cramped living quarters on the Ark, Amber was quick to rush to his aid. She winced at the sight of his bloodied face, her heart breaking for her brother.
"In this world, John, we have to punch back," Amber said firmly, her voice filled with determination as she gently cleaned his wounds. "You can't let them keep doing this to you."
John nodded weakly, wincing as Amber dabbed at a particularly deep cut on his cheek. She wrapped a bandage around his knuckles, evidence of his attempt to fight back, even though he was outnumbered and outmatched.
As she tended to John's injuries, their mother stumbled into the room, her movements sluggish and her words slurred. It had been months since their father's execution, and their mother had been drowning her sorrow in alcohol ever since. But this time, something was different, she seemed more disoriented than usual.
"Mom, are you okay?" Amber asked, concern lacing her voice.
But before either of them could react, their mother tripped and fell, hitting her head on the edge of a nearby table. Blood began to flow from her temple, and John rushed to her side, fear evident in his eyes. He tried to roll her over, telling her to stay still, but she mumbled incoherently, insisting it was all John's fault that their father had died.
"No, Mom, it wasn't his fault," Amber interjected, trying to calm the situation. "He's just a kid."
Their mother, still intoxicated, pushed away the plastic cup of water John offered her, causing it to spill onto the floor. She continued to berate him, her words cutting deep into his already wounded soul. Amber watched helplessly, her heart breaking for both of them.
As their mother's slurred speech and movements slowed, Amber's worry grew. She knew something was wrong. She wanted to call for help, to get their mother the medical attention she needed, but she knew that help wouldn't come to a girl that wasn't supposed to exist.
Amber whimpered, not able to hear the full extent of their mother's hurtful words. She only saw her struggling and in pain. But then, as their mother's speech ceased altogether and her movements stilled, panic set in.
"Mom? Mom, wake up!" John pleaded, shaking her gently. "Please, wake up!"
Amber held her breath, her mind racing with what to do next. She knew they couldn't get help, but they couldn't just leave their mother like this. As the room fell into an eerie silence, their mother lay motionless, and in that moment of uncertainty and fear, Amber and John clung to each other and all they had left.
Amber woke up in the cold remains of the drop ship, her body tangled in the thin blanket that barely shielded her from the chill. She resisted the urge to open her eyes, not quite ready to leave the solace of sleep. She tossed and turned, trying to hold onto the remnants of her dreams, where the weight of the world felt lighter, and she wasn't burdened by the complexities of reality.
With a huff, she finally surrendered to wakefulness and sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. The dim light filtering through the broken windows cast a gloomy ambiance over the room. She was alone, except for a few other teenagers scattered across the space, still lost in their own slumber. Amber let her gaze wander, her mind filled with thoughts and reflections.
Staring at the wall, she couldn't help but think back to her childhood, when life was simpler and the world seemed less harsh. Memories of her and John exchanging stories and rumors they overheard floated through her mind. They had relied on each other for companionship and survival, forging an unbreakable bond along the way. But time had passed, and they had grown up in this unforgiving world, shedding their innocence like discarded skins. John had become as stubborn as their late father, while Amber found herself questioning her place in the tumultuous events that had unfolded since their crash-landing on Earth.
Friendships had never come easily to her. In fact, it was one aspect of life that John had never been able to teach her through the lessons he brought home from school. Amber stood up, stretching her arms out to shake off the remnants of sleep. As if on cue, the sound of footsteps echoed through the chamber, catching her attention.
Turning toward the entrance, she watched as John walked in, his presence commanding and filled with a sense of purpose. His rugged appearance and piercing gaze mirrored the harshness of their reality, and yet, there was a flicker of familiarity that tugged at her heart.
Amber's lips curved into a small smile as John approached, their gazes meeting. The weight of their shared past and the challenges they had faced together hung in the air between them. Words remained unspoken, but their connection transcended the need for verbal communication.
They had come a long way from those innocent kids who once traded stories and sought solace in each other's presence. The world had hardened them, but their bond remained steadfast. Amber took a step forward, closing the distance between them, and embraced her brother in a silent reunion.
In that moment, surrounded by the wreckage of their past and the uncertainties of their present, Amber found a glimmer of hope. She knew that whatever lay ahead, they would face it together, just as they always had.
"What's gotten you all smitten so early in the morning?" John smiled, pushing his sister off him playfully.
"Just thinking about pirates."
Amber and John then found a secluded spot within the confines of the drop ship, away from prying eyes and curious ears. They settled on a patch of worn-out blankets, their gazes meeting as Amber mustered the courage to ask her burning question.
"John, what the hell is friendship?" Amber blurted out, her frustration evident in her tone. "Why is it so damn elusive and confusing to me? I mean, all I know about people and society is what you've taught me."
John leaned back against the metal wall, his expression a mix of weariness and resignation. He had always been the one to bring bits of the world outside their family to Amber, but he knew all too well the harsh realities they faced.
"Friendship," John replied with a sigh, "is supposed to be this magical thing where people connect, trust each other, and have each other's backs. But in reality, it's often a disappointment waiting to happen. People change, they betray you, and they let you down."
Amber's face fell, a flicker of disappointment crossing her eyes. She had hoped for a more optimistic answer, but deep down, she knew her brother's perspective was rooted in their shared experiences.
"You've seen it, Amber," John continued, his voice tinged with bitterness. "You've seen how our parents turned their backs on us, how the world up there on the Ark was nothing but a cold, heartless place. Friendship is just another word for vulnerability, and vulnerability gets you hurt."
Amber nodded, her heart heavy with the weight of their shared past. It was hard to deny the truth in John's words, as much as she longed for something different.
"But what about the few good people out there?" she asked, her voice a mere whisper. "What about finding someone we can trust, someone who won't let us down?"
John's gaze softened, a rare moment of vulnerability crossing his hardened exterior. "They exist, Amber," he admitted, his voice carrying a trace of longing. "But they're few and far between. We've got to be cautious, protect ourselves, and not let anyone get too close."
Amber felt a mix of disappointment and understanding. She had hoped for a glimmer of hope, but she knew her brother's experiences had shaped his perspective. The world had been unkind to them, and it had made them wary.
"But what if we want more?" she whispered, her voice barely audible. "What if we want connections, companionship? Can we ever find that?"
John's eyes met hers, a flicker of vulnerability shining through his guarded expression. "Maybe, Amber," he said, his voice tinged with reluctant hope. "Maybe we can find those connections, those bonds that defy our expectations. But it won't be easy, and it won't come without risks. We'll have to navigate the darkness and be prepared for the disappointments along the way."
Amber nodded, a mix of determination and trepidation coursing through her veins. She understood the challenges they faced, but she couldn't deny the longing in her heart for something more, for the possibility of genuine connections. John noticed this.
"Amber," John began to backtrack on his words, grabbing her hand, his voice filled with a mixture of hesitation and determination. "Sometimes, despite all my warnings and precautions, you can't help but form connections with people. It's a natural and biological instinct. There's a deeper level of understanding that goes beyond mere words and actions. It's an intuitive feeling, a sense of who you can trust and who you should be kind to. Remember when you went to save Jasper? It wasn't because you were bored, right?" Amber shook her head in agreement. "Exactly. Your instincts guided you. They told you who you should help and who you should be wary of. I've always told you not to make friends, not to get too attached, but I didn't realize that it's difficult to avoid making friends when you've never experienced friendship before."
John's voice softened, and he looked at his sister with a mix of remorse and understanding. "I forget sometimes that after our parents died, I became the only one to teach you about society and human interactions and pirates and all that. I only told you what you needed to know, but there's so much more to learn. Emotions can be confusing, especially for us. Being young and all. We're all bombarded with hormones, and it's a chaotic journey. I'm not sure where I'm going with this, but what I want to say is, live your life, Amber. Embrace it fully. You once said you should be dead, but you're so alive, so strong. You have a remarkable resilience that carries you forward effortlessly. I need you to promise me that no matter what, you'll live your life to the fullest. Stop being constantly on guard."
John's grip tightened on her hands, his eyes pleading with her. She nodded, and her bruised hand squeezed his.
/
That morning, the discovery of Wells Jaha's lifeless body sent shockwaves through the group. Jasper stumbled upon his fingers, clutching a blood-stained knife, and a heavy silence fell over them all. Something was terribly wrong, and they couldn't ignore the implications.
Clarke, despite her own pain and grief, maintained a stern expression as she analyzed the knife. "This knife was made with metal from the dropship," she stated, her voice steady. The weight of her words hung in the air, and Jasper's question was met with a heavy silence. He didn't need a response from Clarke to understand the gravity of the situation.
Octavia stood beside Jasper, her hands tightly gripping the table, her jaw clenched in anger and frustration. The news hit her hard, and she struggled to contain her emotions. The thought of someone within their midst being responsible for Wells' death fueled her anger, and she was determined to find the truth.
Bellamy, though his face remained calm, felt the tension coursing through his veins. He knew there was one person who was definitely outside the walls when Wells was killed. The thought crossed his mind, but he refused to believe it. He couldn't fathom that she, the person he thought he began to finally understand, could be capable of such a heinous act. But he couldn't ignore the possibility either.
"Who else knows about this?" Bellamy's voice broke the silence, his gaze searching for answers. Deep down, he hoped for an explanation that would absolve the person he had in mind, even if it meant facing the harsh reality that someone else among them was capable of this betrayal. The room grew still, each member grappling with their own thoughts and suspicions, their trust in one another shaken by the weight of the evidence before them.
"No one. We brought it straight here," Octavia confirmed, her voice resolute. Jasper's troubled thoughts found some solace in her words.
Clarke, her gaze shifting from the knife to Bellamy, revealed the unsettling truth. "It means that the grounders didn't kill Wells. It was one of us," she stated, her voice carrying the weight of the revelation. The tent grew tense as the gravity of the situation sank in.
Jasper's voice wavered with anxiety as he spoke, mirroring the unease of those gathered in the tent. "So, there's a murderer in the camp?" he questioned, his fear palpable.
Bellamy's jaw tensed as his mind raced, grappling with conflicting emotions and thoughts. He attempted to compose himself, inhaling deeply to regain control. "There's more than one murderer in this camp," he responded, the words slipping out a bit too hastily. He immediately regretted his choice of words, realizing the weight they carried. Bellamy shook his head, trying to regain his composure and temper his words. "This isn't news. We need to keep it quiet," he stated, his voice resolute yet conflicted. He shifted on his feet, silently grappling with his own internal struggle.
However, Clarke, fueled by grief and a determination for justice, made a move toward the opening of the tent. Bellamy instinctively stood in her path, his resolve firm. "Get out of my way, Bellamy," she warned, her tone reflecting her unwavering determination to uncover the truth behind her friend's death.
Bellamy met her gaze, his expression filled with a mix of understanding and conflicting loyalties. He knew the pain that burned within her, but he also understood the potential consequences of stirring chaos within the camp. After a moment of silence, he reluctantly stepped aside, his voice laced with concern. "We'll find who did this, Clarke. But we need to be careful," he urged, silently hoping to strike a balance between justice and preserving the fragile unity of their group.
"Be smart about this," Bellamy urged, his voice laced with a tinge of pragmatism. "Look at what we've achieved. The wall, the patrols. Whether we like it or not, believing that the grounders killed Wells works in our favor."
Clarke's expression twisted into one of disbelief and disgust. "Good for you, you mean," she retorted with venom. "So, keeping people afraid will make them blindly follow you? Is that your plan?"
Bellamy's nod was resolute, his gaze shifting briefly to the others in the tent before returning to Clarke. "Yes, that's exactly it," he admitted unapologetically. "But it's not just for me—it's for all of us. Fear of the grounders is what's driving the construction of that wall. And besides, what's your plan? Walk out there and ask the killer to come forward? You don't even know whose knife that is."
Clarke's anger intensified, her voice sharp as she fired back, "Oh, really?" The weight of her accusation hit Bellamy like a blow to the chest. His eyes fell upon the knife, and he couldn't deny the truth. It bore the initials "J.M."—John Murphy. The realization stung, knowing that his sister, Amber, wouldn't let her brother escape unscathed. She declared, her resolve unwavering, "The people deserve to know."
/
Amber was in the midst of transporting a few logs from one side of the camp to the other when her attention was abruptly seized by Clarke's enraged voice piercing through the air. "Recognize this?" she heard Clarke shout, the anguish palpable in her tone. Despite her heavy load of logs, Amber's instincts kicked in, urging her to rush towards the source of the commotion. She quickened her pace, her arms straining under the weight as she strained to catch a glimpse of what was happening.
The distance hindered her ability to fully comprehend the situation unfolding, leaving her anxious and eager for more information. "Where you dropped it after you killed Wells," she heard Clarke's words echo in the distance. The realization hit Amber like a physical blow. Wells was dead? The logs slipped from her weakening grip, crashing to the ground below, forgotten in an instant. She disregarded everything else and sprinted around the corner, her heart pounding in her chest, forgetting to even take a breath.
As she emerged from the turn, a thick crowd had gathered around Clarke and her brother. Amber's eyes darted between the two figures, searching for answers, her mind racing with a mix of emotions and concerns. The gravity of the situation weighed heavily upon her as she pushed her way through the crowd, determined to confront the truth and find her place amidst the chaos.
"Bellamy, I'm telling you I didn't do this," John pleaded, his wide eyes reflecting his honesty. But Blake's duty as a leader compelled him to set aside personal feelings and instincts in favor of upholding the will of the majority.
"They found Wells' fingers on the ground with your knife," Blake stated, his expression rigid. He glanced around at the gathering crowd, scanning for any sign of Amber, but she was nowhere to be seen.
Clarke's voice resonated through the assembly, challenging the very fabric of their society. "Is this the kind of society we want?" she questioned, her gaze shifting towards Blake. "You say there should be no rules. Does that mean we can kill each other without punishment?"
John reiterated his innocence, his voice filled with unease as he approached Clarke with an unwavering determination. "I didn't kill anyone," he declared firmly.
Amidst the growing tension, a voice from the crowd called out, suggesting that John be floated. Agreement rippled through the crowd, causing Clarke to panic. This was not the outcome she had hoped for.
"That's not what I'm saying," she countered, her voice resolute. "Why not?" the boy challenged, his words laced with a thirst for vengeance. "He deserves to float. It's justice."
"Revenge isn't justice!" Clarke's voice rose, her fear and agitation intertwining. She was determined to challenge the notions of retribution, to stand for a different path, one that sought true justice and fairness.
"It's justice! Float him!" The boy's voice rang out with a fervor that echoed through the crowd, fueling their anger. Chants erupted, growing louder and faster, drowning out all other sounds. John's face contorted in terror as he scanned the sea of faces surrounding him. The crowd pressed closer, their aggression intensifying. With a surge of desperation, he lunged towards Clarke, fueled by a desire to protect himself, but before he could reach her, someone tripped him, sending him sprawling to the ground.
In the midst of the chaos, John could have sworn he heard a faint voice yelling, "No! Stop! John!" But it was quickly drowned out by the swarm of teenagers that descended upon him. He was helpless as they kicked and thrashed him, his body becoming an object to be battered at their feet. Amidst the onslaught, his vision blurred, and the world seemed eerily quiet. The only sound that pierced through the silence was the pounding of his own heartbeat, slow and heavy.
Amber fought her way through the crowd, her voice joining the cacophony, screaming her brother's name in a desperate plea for mercy. Blood stained her vision as she reached the center of the circle, smearing across John's battered form and the fists that assaulted him. Soon, it coated her own trembling hands and face. As blows rained down upon her, she stumbled and fell, the impact jarring her senses. She tasted the bitter mixture of dirt, blood, and tears on her lips, each breath labored and painful.
Her eyes fluttered open and closed, the world appearing in fragmented glimpses. They shut tight with every dull strike to her chest, and when they opened, Amber's gaze fell upon the only person she had left in the world. He was being lifted up, suspended in the branches above, a cruel and twisted spectacle. With each blow to her head, her world grew darker, consciousness slipping away. In those final moments, the image burned into her mind was her brother, standing upon a block with a rope around his neck. The weight of despair settled upon her, and in that agonizing moment, she wished for the end to come, for it to be her instead.