Hello my lovelies!
Welcome to the ninth rendition of this crazy, chaotic shithole we like to call Sweet Disposition.
This is the dreaded chapter... where we all learned we had a soft spot fro Murphy, so I figured that the song had to be perfect.
I chose "The Pot" by a band that speaks to me on a spiritual level... known as Tool. I also named this chapter (as I usually do) after a lyric from the song, but I felt like it needed a bit of elaboration, seeing as it is a bit vague.
There's a lyric in the song that says, "Kangaroo done hung the juror with the innocent."and thats when I thought of this episode. The lyric is in reference to a Kangaroo Court, an unofficial court held by a group of people in order to try someone regarded, especially without good evidence, as guilty of a crime or misdemeanor... I thin you can understand how that fits in.
Anyways, Ramble over.
Home dawg is out.
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Who are you to wave your finger?
You must have been outta your head.
Eye hole deep in muddy waters.
You practically raised the dead.
Rob the grave to snow the cradle.
Then burn the evidence down.
Soapbox, house of cards and glass,
So don't go tossin' your stones around.
You must have been high.
Steal, borrow, refer, save your shady inference.
Kangaroo done hung the juror with the innocent.
Now you're weeping shades of cozened indigo
Got lemon juice up in your eye!
When you pissed all over my black kettle
You must have been high, high
Who are you to wave your finger?
So full of it.
Eyeballs deep in muddy waters
Fuckin' hypocrite.
Liar, lawyer, mirror, show me what's the difference?
Kangaroo done hung the guilty with the innocent.
~Tool, The Pot
We held a meeting that morning.
I wasn't sure why I had anything to do with it, or why I even had a say around camp, but that fact of the matter was: Clarke liked me, people trusted me, and I was one of the last people to see the face of Wells Jaha that was alive and breathing.
There wasn't much space for grieving on the ground, especially when there was a killer amongst us. I still couldn't help but feel like this was my fault. Wells didn't deserve to die. I should have known better than to leave him by himself... especially in a camp full of criminals.
All of us stood around a makeshift table in Bellamy's tent, which had become a popular meeting place for our particular group, at the expense of Bellamy's privacy. There wasn't much evidence left at the scene, except a knife and two severed fingers. They belonged to Wells. Just the sight of them- blood starved and dead- made my stomach turn. Everything depended on that one vital clue.
Clarke picked up the knife, wary about making any sort of contact with the severed pieces of flesh and bone.
"This knife was made of metal from the drop ship." Clarke observed.
"Who else knows about this?" Bellamy asked, cautiously.
"No one... we brought it straight here." Octavia answered to him.
"It means the grounders didn't kill Wells." Clarke whispered through gritted teeth, "It was one of us."
"So there's a murderer in the camp?" Jasper whispered, stating the obvious.
"There's more than one murderer in this camp. This isn't news. We need to keep it quiet." Bellamy said to all of us. Clarke lurched towards him, going to do some more research.
"Get out of my way, Bellamy." She growled, and we all took a step back.
"Be smart about this. Look at what we've achieved... The walls, the patrols. Making them think the grounders killed Wells is good for us" Bellamy said to her.
"Oh, good for you, you mean. Have them be afraid so they'll work for you?" She spit at him.
"Yeah, fear of the grounders is what we need. Besides, what're you gonna do? Just walk out there and ask the killer to step forward? You don't even know whose knife that is?" Bellamy asked, smartly.
"Oh really?" She questioned, "JM. John Murphy. The people have a right to know." She whispered.
There was a sudden heavy feeling in my chest. Like a stone sinking to the bottom of a lake.
Had Murphy killed Wells? No. I knew that much. His threats and his attitude was a front. Murphy was just as scared as the rest of us, but, like me, he didn't want to be played off as weak.
Clarke ran out of the tent before we could reason with her. She had the blood of her father, the man we all know had a secret.
Murphy had been ordering people around, being a dick to everyone... like a skinnier, more annoying little Bellamy. Oh god. Clarke pushed him back, screaming obscenities at him and making a huge scene... one that she didn't really need to make. This could have been settled in a much more... subtle manner.
This wasn't Murphy. He had gotten in a knife fight with Wells, where he easily could have killed him... but he didn't. He went to kill Jasper... but that was under Bellamy's best interest. Why was I defending him? He could have very well killed Wells... but anyone could have. There were so many people in the camp that hated the poor kid... and now he was dead. Now, typically, I wouldn't object to something like this. But he wouldn't resort to murder now... would he? I shook my head, trying to process the plot that was unfolding in front of me.
Murphy tried to remain calm, trying to reason with Bellamy.
"We found his fingers on the ground.. with your knife." Bellamy said, only stating the evidence. But this evidence wasn't solid. How hard was it to steal a knife?
"Is this the kind of society that we want?" Clarke began, going off on a rant. I couldn't take it, she didn't have solid evidence, no one did. As much of a dick as Murphy was, this was a huge accusation to be placed on someone with evidence as mediocre as a potentially stolen knife.
"Oh shut the hell up, Clarke!" I finally said to her, cutting her off mid-speech. Everyone stared at me... I couldn't handle the pressure. My fingers began to tremble.
With a shaken voice, I spoke up towards the prying eyes of the teenagers before me.
"We don't know that this was Murphy. This could have very well been any of us!" I spoke to them. I, Ophelia, was a leader around here, and I was going to make myself known.
"How many of us were in the skybox for murder? How many of us were in the godforsaken box waiting to die for crimes we didn't commit?" I asked, trying to get my point across.
"We're all criminals by The Ark's standards, and it's our job to decide who's going to be liberated, and who's going to be living in the same, shitty past as before."
I thought I was doing a pretty damn good job, until that stupid kid- who I presumed pointed out Octavia Blake's crime back on the drop ship- thought differently.
"Shut up, pothead! We all now you've been pounding Murphy, you don't want to loose your little playmate!"
Amongst the tension of the given conversation, something struck me... Oh no. He didn't know what I did to get arrested did he? And did everyone know I slept with Murphy?
"We should float him!"
And from there... there was chaos.
Murphy tried to run, but there were too many people who were overly-excited about the use of the word 'liberate', for him to have any chance at escaping. I made the fatal mistake of throwing all of my glorious five feet and two inches into the overbearing amounts of testosterone and muscle into the mix. I didn't feel the pain of being stepped on and punched, I just wanted to protect Murphy.
They had somehow managed to gag him and throw him down a hill like the lovely group of barbarians they had become. Clarke and I looked to Bellamy for help, but he just shook his head. I was angry, very, very angry. Especially as they tied a rope around Murphy's neck and stood him on a rock.
A publicized hanging... how civil.
They all chanted Bellamy's name, he would be the one to determine Murphy's cruel fate. Murphy held a pained look in his eyes, almost pleading for his life.
Then he kicked the log out from beneath Murphy.
I lurched forwards towards him once again, bearing my knife to slice the rope from his throat, but some kids held me back. This was it... I was going to watch him die. I was angry... angry at Bellamy for killing him... angry at Clarke for not keeping her mouth shut.
"Stop it! Murphy didn't kill Wells!" A small, young voice finally screamed.
It went silent, aside from Murphy's choking in the background.
"I did!"
We were all horror-stricken at the small child before us. A girl... maybe of about her preteens, fessing up to a brutal murder? I finally managed to find my words,
"Cut the fucking rope off his neck!" I yelled at anyone, as the guys let go of my arms. I grabbed a hatchet from Clarke, slicing cleanly through the rope and letting Murphy down. He offered a few bloody, sputtering chokes as a thanks. I rested a hand on his back. Bellamy grabbed the girl, Clarke and Finn running close behind. They hid out in a tent, with the rest of camp anxiously surrounding them. I stayed at the base of the hill with Murphy, working on getting the rope off of his neck and the gag from his mouth.
Once I got the gag from his mouth he gently shoved me away, standing up.
"I'm gonna kill that little bitch." He said through gritted teeth, and I tried to stop him.
"Murphy, look, I get it... she almost killed you but she's just a child... Let them decide what's going to happen." He balled up his fist and went to swing at me, and I winced.. but he managed to stop himself and sighed, shoving past me and going up towards the tent.
"You want to build a society, Princess, so lets build one!" He yelled, obviously for Clarke to hear.
Murphy walked up to Bellamy, exchanging a few angry mumbled towards each other. I stood next to Monty, trembling with anger and pain.
Then, Murphy turned to us.
"Who here wants to see the real murderer hung up? All in favor?"
Few raised their hands.
"Okay," He said, frustration building in his voice, "So it's okay to string me up for nothing, but when this little bitch confesses you want to let her walk?" He screamed.
"Cowards, all of yo-"
Bellamy cut him off, getting into his face and ending it there. As Bellamy walked away, Murphy picked up a sizable log and bashed Bellamy over... Damn it... there goes my revenge for that. Monty pounced then, bravely, Murphy landing a hard slug to his jaw and dropping him there...
Now? Now I was pissed. I tried defending Murphy, and I tried reasoning with him, but when you hurt my closest friend- who isn't particularly suited for hand-to-hand conflict- I'll hurt you twice as bad. I went running for him, but Octavia and another girl managed to hold me back... though I struggled.
Bellamy must've managed to smuggle them out of the tent, because Murphy began to throw a fit- screaming obscenities into the wind.
Murphy set off through the woods, and though I felt sick and dizzy, I followed behind him. He ran through the woods, continuing to scream and scream at the child. He didn't know I followed behind, and i made sure to keep it that way.
1...2...Murphy's coming for you...
Through the night he trekked along, and I did, too. He never found me.
In the early grey of morning, he found them running, and there was a silent conflict amongst them for several minutes.
I watched him hold a knife to Clarke's neck. I watched them argue back and forth over the life of the small girl, who carried herself with such a maturity, that I knew that her fate was already decided.
She threw herself from the cliff, and Clarke cried out. I ran towards the chaos as Bellamy began to beat the sense back into Murphy. Clarke and Bellamy yelled at each other for a bit.
And that was the end of John Murphy's presence in camp. They didn't kill him, but he was certainly dead to the camp. We walked somberly back to the camp, in an uncomfortable, awkward, and painful silence, as the realization of what had just struck me.
Wells had been murdered.
A child threw herself from a cliff.
John Murphy had been banished.
The law of the ground had struck again.