❝usually i'm remarkably good natured. try me on a day that doesn't end in y.❞

-jace herondale, the mortal instruments

♛

I BURST INTO THE dropship and startle Monty out of his wits, the wristband slipping from his fingers and falling to the ground with a sharp clatter of metal against metal. He's been working all day to tweak them into working again as a way to contact the Ark. It doesn't seem he's been having any luck.

"Monty!" I exclaim. He jumps at the loudness of my voice, eyes going wide. I take a deep breath to calm myself. "I need to ask you something. Can you be completely honest with me?"

Monty picks up the wristband he dropped and eyes me suspiciously. "That depends. What is it you need to ask?"

I slump down in front of him. "Why won't anyone tell me why they're staring at me like I'm a Grounder? What's wrong?"

Monty falls silent, gaze casting to the floor. I sigh at his lack of response and how much he hesitates before responding. When he does reply, his voice is small and quiet. "Bellamy will kill me."

I groan. "Look, Monty. I know that whatever Bellamy has said to you guys has scared you enough that not even my best friend will tell me what the hell is wrong with me. I don't care anymore!" I pause, lowering my tone. "All I want to know is if I'm okay."

Monty stares at me for a few seconds, then lets out a slow breath. "Okay. Let me get Octavia."

He leaves the ship, footsteps echoing on the floor. I study his collection of broken wristbands and wonder how he will be able to contact the Ark with them - if he even manages to fix them. Most are cracked open to reveal the dead spikes within. I rub my forearm where my skin still seems to sting.

A few short minutes later, Monty returns with Octavia in tow. She's grumbling underneath her breath. I can't make out what she's saying. She looks exhausted. Stress lines litter her oily face and her hair is greasy from the lack of showers. However, she doesn't seem to really care. We all pretty much look the same.

"Why did you drag me over here?" she questions louder this time as she plops down beside me.

"Fallon wants to know about the thing," Monty explains. He sits down next to the pile of wristbands and gets back to work, though his eyes occasionally drift to us. I can tell that he's curious about my reaction. It makes me even more nervous.

Octavia gives an excited squeal and digs around in her pocket. "Finally! It's been driving me insane. Forget Bell's rules." She produces a shard of glass a little bigger than my palm and passes it to me. I take it carefully, being sure not to cut my fingers on its sharp edges.

"Go ahead," Monty urges gently at my hesitance. "Take a look."

Slowly, I lift the glass up to my face and discover it's actually a mirror. The reflection staring back at me seems perfectly normal aside from the few cuts here and there. Other than that, I seem fine. Then I take a closer look. What I see causes me to nearly drop the mirror.

It's my eyes. Now I know why they'd been burning so badly. There are white flecks in my pupils, looking like snow against the dark colors of my irises. Some spots outline the black of my pupils where they used to blend into the brown, making the imperfections much more apparent. My hand immediately starts gently pulling on the skin underneath my eyes to get a better look. My jaw can't close.

"Oh my God," I mumble, my voice barely a whisper. Octavia looks at the ground and bites her lip.

"Bellamy instructed all of us not to tell you," she informs. "He didn't want to scare you, I guess. But I couldn't stand you not knowing- I felt like you had a right to."

I nod, examining my eyes one last time before handing the mirror back to her. "Thank you."

The lack of lighting in the dropship casts shadows over Monty's face. He gives me a sad look before speaking. "Clarke's been worried sick that you're going to lose your sight."

Despite the nerves churning inside of me and turning my insides to mush, I manage a timid smile. "I don't think it'll get to the point where I'll go blind, Monty, though I appreciate your concern." I pause. "Where is Clarke?"

As soon as I ask the question, I feel immensely dumb. Of course I know where Clarke is- I just can't bring myself to say it. Octavia's somber expression is all the confirmation I need. Clarke is at the graves.

Last night, a girl named Harper went outside the fence and started screaming her head off. When Clarke and I ran to see what was wrong, Bellamy ordered Jones and another boy to hold us back. I didn't know why. It was pure chaos. People ran outside the fence to see what had Bellamy so riled up, yelling when they found what it was. Clarke and I were trying to break free. We thrashed around in their strong grips, panic consuming us. We were both utterly confused. What was going on?

Murphy and another guy carried a body wrapped in cloth. My terrified eyes followed it until I couldn't see them any longer and they were consumed by the darkness. A shaky breath escaped my lips. Who had died?

Soon Bellamy himself appeared, looking distraught. "Hold them," he commanded to Jones and the boy who had Clarke. "Don't let them see this."

"Bellamy, what's going on?" I asked worriedly, gaze shifting to everyone shouting.

"Nothing you need to worry about," he answered gruffly before turning away. His shadow disappeared into the hoard, leaving me unsatisfied with the answer I was given.

It didn't take us long to figure out what had happened. Grounders had killed Wells.

It aches, knowing I never got to fully mend my relationship with him. Knowing I should have let him into my life, should have trusted him. Now that fact will haunt me forever.

I stand, pushing myself up. My knees crack and I cringe as I stretch. "Thank you both. I'll talk to Bellamy later, but I promise I won't rat you two out. For now I guess I'll actually be productive and get to work on that damn wall."

Waving them goodbye, I exit the dropship. The bright sunlight blinds me once again as I sweep the red fabric aside. I cringe, bringing my hands up to my eyes and rubbing them. A small stinging sensation charges through my pupils.

I blink rapidly and jump down the ramp. Leaning forward, I gather all my hair together and tie it into a high ponytail at the crown of my head. I really don't care how bad I look; I just really want to get the stupid wall done and over with.

Bellamy, as usual, is standing aside doing absolutely nothing with his trusty friend Murphy at his side. Neither of them seem to notice me as I help carry logs to an empty space in the barrier. To their credit, I'm shielding my face from them as much as I can. I don't want to talk to Bellamy now. I'll deal with him later.

The sun beats down on us and I'm sweating in no time. I signal for Zeke, the boy I'm helping, to stop, and set my side of the tree down. Shrugging my jacket off of my shoulders, I'm left in a plain burgundy v-neck. I tie my jacket around my hips before picking up the log again with a grunt. The frayed hem of my shirt occasionally gets stuck on the rough bark, tearing the old fabric up even more.

"Hey!" Murphy's voice causes everyone to turn to him. He's stalking toward Connor, who has dropped his log and is kneeling on the ground. "You think the Grounders are just gonna sit around and wait for us to finish the wall?" He points to Charlotte, who's working only a foot away from them. "Maybe we should let the little girl do the lifting for you, huh?"

"I just need some water, okay?" Connor defends, panting. Droplets of sweat are apparent on his dark skin. "Then I'll be fine."

Bellamy has arrived at the scene. He stops beside Murphy, who is still glaring at the boy. "Murphy, get this guy some water." He nods to Charlotte. "Hey, you got this?"

"What does he think he's doing?" I ask beneath my breath as Charlotte somberly nods, bending down to pick up the log.

Bellamy reaches out to her with a smile. "I'm just kidding."

Charlotte gives him a closed-lipped grin as Bellamy lifts the log over his shoulder and carries it away. I'm too busy watching him to notice what Murphy is doing. It's only when I hear Connor's shouts of anger that I return my gaze to them. My jaw falls and I drop the log on the ground, narrowly missing my foot. Zeke curses and tries to drag it along by himself.

Murphy has the nerve to unzip his pants and urinate on Connor. My eyes go wide in shock that he actually did it. Connor immediately retaliates, jumping back as if he had been burned.

"What the hell is wrong with you, Murphy?" he growls, shoving the smirking boy backward with his face twisted in fury. Two others hold him back by the shoulders before he can do any more damage.

Murphy shrugs. "You wanted a water break."

Snapping out of my initial surprise, I clench my fists and storm down to where the smug, arrogant male is standing. "Yeah, and the last time I checked, urine isn't water. But of course, I guess you'd have to be smart to know that."

Murphy's lips curl into a snarl and he jabs a finger at me. "Stay outta this. We don't need annoying girls getting in our way." Another boy pulls me backward and holds my arms behind my back tightly, bending my wrists. I scowl at Murphy as he addresses everyone who's watching. "Get back to work!"

"What a great argument," I mutter darkly as I ram my fists into the guy's stomach. He releases me and hunches over in pain, face contorted in discomfort.

"You look like an angry hamster," someone comments from behind me. I turn to see Bellamy a few yards away with raised eyebrows. Rolling my eyes, I start to walk away. He grabs my wrist. "What's the matter, Amazon?"

"Shut up, Bellamy," I snap, zipping around to face him with my eyes narrowed. I extract the venom from my voice and ask in a much calmer manner, "Why did you have everyone keep quiet about my eyes?"

Bellamy sighs. He pinches the bridge of his nose and looks around at the people by us. Soon he tugs at my arm, pulling me roughly to an area that's less busy.

I rip my wrist out of his grasp. "I'm not just some rag doll you can--"

"Look, Fallon, I know you're angry," Bellamy coaxes like I'm a grumpy toddler. "Just know that I did it to keep you from getting hurt."

I scoff, crossing my arms over my chest. "Well, you did a damn good job of that, King of the Jungle."

A smirk lifts the corners of his mouth. "You haven't called me that in a while."

My arms fall to my sides and I groan, tossing my head back in annoyance. "Whatever. This is dumb. I'm not arguing about this."

As I start to walk away, Bellamy grips my forearm again. "Let me know if you have any problems with your vision - any at all. I'll have Clarke look at the flecks."

I open my mouth to reply, but someone else speaks before I can. "Bellamy! Fallon!" We both turn toward the voice, seeing Octavia running toward us with a terrified look on her face.

"O, what is it?" Bellamy questions, letting go of me. His facial features melt like a candle into a softer expression.

Octavia's chest heaves up and down as her horrified eyes flicker between the two of us. "It's Wells. Jasper found his fingers."

--

"What the holy hell?" I ask, staring bug-eyed at the two bloody fingers on the table in the center of our circle. The longer I look at them, the more I feel like I'm going to be sick. Those are Wells's fingers. Why would someone cut them off?

Clarke reaches for the knife beside the detached body parts with shaking hands. She, Bellamy, Octavia, Jasper, and I are all crowded in Bellamy's tent. Octavia leans over with her hands resting on the edge of the table. Jasper hasn't spoken since we arrived. I don't blame him; he'd spent his first time beyond the wall in days finding a dead boy's missing appendages.

"This knife was made of metal from the dropship," Clarke observes, turning it over in her hands.

Jasper looks ten times more frightened at the news, eyes going even wider than they were before. "What do you mean?"

Bellamy shifts his weight uneasily. "Who else knows about this?"

"No one," Octavia responds, looking up at her brother. "We brought it straight here."

"Clarke?" Jasper says in a voice so cracked and quiet it can barely be heard.

"It means the Grounders didn't kill Wells," Clarke elaborates in a shocked tone. "It was one of us."

A deep terror sinks into my nerves and settles in my chest. I feel like I've been punched in the gut. How could it have been one of us? Wells had never been the most... popular of our group, but for someone to go as far as to murder him in cold blood is awful.

Everyone else is equally as surprised as I am. The fright is so palpable that it seems like I could reach out and grab it in my hand.

"So there's a murderer in the camp?" Jasper asks weakly.

"There's more than one murderer in this camp," Bellamy says with no hint of surprise in his voice.

"What do you mean, Bellamy?" I question, hugging my arms to my chest.

"This isn't news," he continues, ignoring me. "We need to keep it quiet."

Clarke starts to walk toward the exit, but Bellamy blocks her way. She gives him a fierce glare. "Get out of my way, Bellamy."

"Clarke, be smart about this," he advises lowly. "Look at what we've achieved- the wall, the patrol-"

"So you're just going to let a killer wander freely around the camp?" I exclaim, unable to believe his logic. "Wells didn't deserve this. His death can't be lied about."

Bellamy rounds on me, though his voice is still calm. "Like it or not, believing the Grounders killed Wells is good for us."

"Oh, good for you, you mean!" Clarke corrects angrily. "What- keep people afraid and they'll work for you? Is that it?"

"Yeah, that's it," Bellamy confirms with a nod. "But it's good for all of us. Fear of the Grounders is building that wall." I feel my jaw clench harder and harder at every word coming out of his mouth. My feet stomp over to him as he finishes. "And besides, what are you gonna do- just walk out there and ask the killer to step forward? You don't even know whose knife that is."

"Oh, really?" Clarke asks, raising her eyebrows. She holds out the knife toward Bellamy, revealing J.M carved into the metal. "J.M.- John Murphy. The people have the right to know."

She shoves past Bellamy and leaves the tent. I feel like all the wind has been knocked out of me as I stare at the ground, eyes the size of small planets. I know Murphy is a jerk, but would he really kill Wells? Chop off his fingers?

Bellamy turns and follows after Clarke. I can't move from where I'm rooted from my spot. Octavia puts a hand on my shoulder and helps to guide me out. "C'mon, let's go."

We make it outside just in time to hear Clarke scream, "Where you dropped it after you killed Wells!"

Murphy looks confused, face scrunched in disbelief. "Wh-Where I what?" He takes a step toward Clarke and says more to the crowd than her, "The Grounders killed Wells, not me."

"I know what you did," Clarke accuses darkly. "And you're gonna pay for it."

"Really?" Murphy asks, expression now amused more than anything. He turns to the group of us who had emerged from the tent. "Bellamy, you really believe this crap?"

I look to him. He has his arms crossed over his chest and lips pulled into a thin line, face blank. He doesn't answer.

"You threatened to kill him!" Clarke jabs. "We all heard you! You hated Wells."

"Plenty of people hated Wells," Murphy points out indifferently. "His father was the Chancellor that locked us up."

"Yeah, but you're the only one who got in a knife fight with him!" Clarke cries.

"Yeah, I didn't kill him then, either," Murphy says. His expression makes him almost seem bored with the situation.

"Tried to kill Jasper, too," Octavia sneers loudly. I'm reminded of when he had bragged about his failed murder attempt, wondering if he really would have done it.

Murphy now looks at the crowd with a nervous smile on his face. He appears to be hiding his fright with a nonchalant attitude. "Come on. This is ridiculous."

"No, what's ridiculous is that you killed someone because of his father's actions- ones that Wells has no say in!" I shout, bristling with rage. I can feel it filling my veins and shooting around my body until I'm basically seeing red. My face is as hard as stone and I'm glaring daggers at Murphy.

"I don't have to answer to you," Murphy barks at me, raising his arms. "I don't have to answer to anyone!"

Bellamy tilts his head to the side. "Come again?"

It goes silent. Murphy looks like a deer in headlights before he speaks again, walking toward Bellamy as he does so. His voice is laced with desperation. "Bellamy, look, I'm telling you, man. I didn't do this."

I feel my body tense at his close proximity. Octavia straightens up a little.

"They found his fingers on the ground with your knife," Bellamy says darkly. Murphy doesn't reply.

"Is this the kind of society that we want?" Clarke asks, turning in a circle to address everyone surrounding her. She points to Bellamy. "You say there should be no rules. Does that mean we can kill each other without...without punishment?"

"I already told you. I didn't kill anyone!" Murphy snaps, voice rising into a yell. He starts to stalk toward Clarke with a livid expression on his face.

"I say we float him!" some guy in the crowd shouts. Many others chime in their agreement.

Clarke turns to Connor, the one whom Murphy had relieved on. "That's not what I'm saying."

"Why not?" Connor demands. "He deserves to float."

I scoff at the macabre suggestion. "We aren't on the Ark anymore, guys. We don't kill people for committing crimes."

"It's justice," he insists. More agreements rise up from some of the others.

"Revenge isn't justice!" Clarke asserts, desperate for people to just listen to her for once.

"It's justice," Connor repeats with more determination in his voice. "Float him!"

A chant rises up from everyone. Many voices blend together to form two words. "Float him! Float him! Float him!"

I look around, noticing with alarm that nearly everyone is joining in the chant. My angry composure melts away and is replaced with a feeling of dread. What do they mean by 'float?'

Murphy turns away from us and darts at Clarke, but someone sticks out their leg and trips him. He topples to the ground roughly. The crowd closes in around him instantly like a swarm of coyotes hunting a smaller animal. Some boy is kicking his gut repeatedly, jamming their foot into his stomach.

"No!" Clarke shouts, rushing to Murphy. "Get off him!"

"Clarke!" I sprint to help her as a guy prevents her from coming closer by holding her in his arms. At the same time, Octavia starts forward, but Bellamy pulls both of us back. I attempt to squirm out of his iron grip. When he doesn't budge, I give him a fierce glare. "You're just going to let this happen?"

Bellamy pretends I never said anything at all. His eyes stay glued on the horrible, chaotic scene in front of us, glazed over as if he's forcing himself not to watch.

"Get off of him!" a male voice orders over the shouts, but nobody listens. Instead two boys gag Murphy and pick him up by each limb. Clarke is still screaming for them to let him go. Every nerve in my body is yearning to help, but Bellamy's hold isn't letting up, and it won't anytime soon.

Still holding onto me and Octavia, Bellamy follows the crowd as they drop Murphy. He rolls harshly down a slope and lands face-first in puddles of sticky mud. I notice his hands are tied behind his back with seatbelts from the dropship. Someone picks him up. Connor punches the boy square in the jaw, knocking him down again. I watch, horrified and unable to do anything.

A rope is tied around the branch of a tree. A sick feeling develops in my stomach when I realize what's happening.

They're going to hang Murphy.

-----------

believe it or not, this is only like 15 mins of the actual show. can someone say witchcraft?

thank you to those of you that checked out my join.me session thing. i had a lot of fun talking to you guys and watching parts of the 100 together!

-kristyn