Persphyni: I am Determined

32

The day started off normal. A slight giddiness bubbled inside of me as I thought of all the new possibilities of what could happen today or tomorrow.

Today is the 1,825th day since Praimdaya. 1,825 days of waiting and writing. Of course minus the week I was knocked out but still.

I walked with a bounce down to the tables where Madi and Clarke had begun eating the breakfast I made. Eggs and fruit with a couple of squares of sausage. It was a special occasion so I also brought some Wylee Berry Juice.

That juice is a long story. But Madi when she was younger couldn't say Rylee Berry which is what her clan had called the bush tree. (We only just found out two years ago when she asked why we were calling it Wylee... yeah she tried to make us look like the dumb ones) But we kept the name and never once thought to change it. Wylee is just too funny and fits with the outlandish mess that is us.

"It's the 1,825th day." Clarke spoke softly as she chewed on her eggs. Madi hummed as I nodded while popping a piece of fruit into my mouth.

"All that leaves us to do is wait. Not that we weren't already." I added as I drank some water to flush down the slightly dry sausage.

_______•*•*•*•_______

I woke up this morning feeling so excited. I felt elated, antsy. And now I'm lost as I look up to the sky. I see the stars. The same ones that have been watching over me for so long. I see them and I wait for any sign of movement.

The stars that once shone so brightly seemed to dim right in front of my eyes. It seemed impossible, how could light thousands of light-years away know that now I would feel pain? That now I would feel this way?

I feel sorrow. Let down. I'm disappointed. Not in you. In myself. In myself for wishing. For bringing my expectations higher. For getting my hopes up only for reality to smack them right back down into my face.

I felt the atmosphere in camp when I watched Clarke and Madi go to bed. It dropped twenty degrees below depressing.

I tell myself that I'll be okay. That I'll be fine. I've waited this long, what's a few more days. Or months. Or years. But I'm just lying to myself.

I know I'm fortunate to have survived and made it this far. I know I'm fortunate to have gotten past my 18th birthday. I know I'm fortunate to have had all my adventures and experiences. I know I'm fortunate to have had you for the time I did. I know I'm fortunate to have been here and on earth versus below in a dark cement cavern.

I know. I know. I know.

But I can't help wishing for more. Wanting more. I want you to come down. I want everyone to be here. I want the life I had after Mount Weather and before Pike. If I could have that, then I'd sacrifice every happy memory I had made sense then. I would rather suffer in silence with those I love around me than suffer from anticipating the future.

I'm trying so hard to accept that it has only been one day. That just because you didn't come down right away doesn't mean you'll never come down. I'm trying to keep my ember of hope burning. But I don't know how long it will be until another dark gust of cold wind comes through and smashes it to bits.

Maybe you aren't coming back down because you think I've died. Or maybe that fuel problem finally caught up. Or maybe, you're not there at all.

I've been writing to you everyday since I sent you away. The least I could get is a sign. But maybe I'm being too selfish.

In time, Bell.
Pers.

_______•*•*•*•_______

She watches as the young adult leans her head back against the tree. The small booklet she had been writing in falls into her lap as her knees curl to her chest, hugging them protectively as she stares up at the stars.

She watches as the young adult's shoulders wrack with silent sobs. Her heart breaking as she sees the strong woman finally fall apart. The facade slowly unraveling in the eyes of the youth as she finds the young woman is human just like she is.

The silhouette sitting in the tree becomes unmoving as her tears dry. Her eyes staring into the moon as she loses the energy to stay awake. The last image before she sleeps is of the moon and the winking stars patched onto a midnight blue blanket.

The last thing she hears is a soft sniffle and the quiet footsteps of a young girl retreating.

She has to be better. If not for her, then for Madi and Clarke.

She would let herself sleep this slump off with a plan to attack the next day with a pen and mark all over the blank slate given by the sun.

Or so she thought.