Conflate | Bellamy Blake ¹ ✓

※ | chapter one

❝the earth does not belong to us. we belong to the earth.❞

-marlee matlin, actress

♛

THE SCRATCHING OF MY pen against paper is the only sound in the otherwise silent room– or prison cell, if you want to get specific. My back aches from sitting against the concrete wall for so long. The notebook I've been writing in for the past hour is about the size of my hand, nearly filled with dozens of poems and journal entries from the past year of me being moved to Solitary. The ever-constant electrical hum of the Ark is practically background noise after dealing with it for seventeen years. 

I'm on a roll. I barely even think before transferring words from my head onto the worn paper. Several lines get filled before the pen stops moving abruptly, hovering over the page. I search my mind carefully for any words, any inspiration I might have. It's no use. I'm brain dead.

Sighing, I lean my head back against the cold wall and stare at my living quarters. The walls are littered with hundreds of quotes written in equally as many fonts, letters swirling around me in an almost dizzying pattern. On the floor is a gigantic sun with spirals and designs curling around it until it reaches the bases of the walls and ends. It's the least I can do to make my room a little bit interesting.

I had started my renovation project a few months after I had been locked into the cell. It only took that long for me to get sick of the confining, grey walls and single window that revealed twinkling stars throughout space. Having no one to talk to anymore made for long and boring days. Then again, I suppose it's better than having a cellmate attacking me like what happened before I was transported here. 

Suddenly, the door creaks open and brighter light floods in. I jump in surprise and stand immediately, watching in alarm as two guards enter the room. With my hands behind my back, I slip the pen and notebook into the back pocket of my black jeans before bringing my arms above my head.

"Prisoner one-three-eight, face the wall," one of the guards commands, and that's when I feel it– the fear that strikes my heart, then starts to flow to the rest of my body until I am completely encased in terror that makes my muscles grow heavy. However, I do as I'm told and turn toward the wall behind me. I let my eyes wander around the curls of the letters to prevent myself from freaking out any further.

But there is something else there as well. It's a flicker in my mind that starts to burn brighter the more I realize that something is wrong. "What's going on?"

"Be quiet," the other guard orders in a monotonous voice. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a thick metal bracelet gripped in his calloused hand. "Hold out your right arm."

"What?" I ask, more confusion buzzing in me. With the fear and puzzlement combined, it takes a surprising amount of effort to think rationally. My words come out jumbled and blend together on my tongue. "You can't do anything yet. I'm not of age–"

"I said, quiet. Hold out your arm." The wristband snaps open to reveal what looks like tiny, glowing needles poking out of it. The taller man flicks his wrist, unsheathing his baton that has volts of electricity surging through it. I know enough to understand that a single touch from that wand can knock me to the floor. "Take off the bracelet."

My hand immediately covers the bracelet I've kept on me for five years now, feeling the worn, cracked leather beneath my fingers. "No, it means a lot to me. Please let me keep it."

"Remove the jewelry." He reaches forward to take it off himself, and that's when I snap.

"No!" I cry, lunging out of his way so he hits the wall, but not before the leather snaps and the bracelet is in the guard's hand. He quickly shoves it in a pocket. I feel like all my spirits have been deflated like a balloon. Everything inside me grows hollow. My last connection to Clarke, gone.