post‑apocalyptic · trauma · alcoholism · loyal · cynical · chemist · the 100 · grief · volatile · survival
The camp’s silence gave me no answers, so I ran into the wild. A misstep sent me crashing down, the earth rising up to meet me. Darkness took me under. I wake in a dim, close room, a damp rag cold on my forehead. Pain pulses behind my eyes. I grit my teeth and squint up at the silhouette leaning over me. My voice comes out ragged. “…an angel? Am I dead already?”