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The world was a dark place, but Clarke’s mind was even darker.
Knowing that you’re the only human walking the Earth does that to a person.
Clarke thought she knew what it means to be alone. Despite her continuous efforts to take on the leadership role, she was never truly a people-person. She enjoyed being on her own, the months she spent hiding from everyone serving as an evidence.
This was different, though.
Clarke knew what being alone felt like, but she never could have imagined how much it hurts to be lonely.
It was different than anything she’d ever felt, different than anything she’d been through so far. She searched the world, dug through ruins and listened to the silence, awaiting shouts or footsteps or yells despite knowing that they would never come.
She would swear, though, that sometimes she heard whispers. Sometimes she heard their voices; Octavia’s laugh, Bellamy’s shout, Raven’s scream. An every time she would turn around and search, heart filled with hope and longing, and she would call out desperately, holding her breath — but there was never an answer.
She wondered how long would it take for her to go crazy. Maybe she already did.
Not like it could hurt anyone.
So Clarke persisted. She kept on going. She kept on returning to Polis, she kept on trying to remove the rocks and debris. There was no way she would be able to get to them, but she had to try — for them and for herself.
“Can anybody hear me?” she yelled, her voice echoing in the ruins. “Octavia? Mom? Anyone?”
She didn’t expect an answer, and she didn’t get one.
Clarke walked away, the silence suddenly overwhelming and suffocating. No matter how loudly she called, her voice was the only human sound around.
The lack of people was terrifying. Unnatural.
Ironic, when humans were the ones who destroyed the planet.
And not just once.
It was the same all over and over again.
The same helplessness, the same loneliness, the same emptiness and silence.
She hated that silence had became a vital part of her life. It filled her days, stretching for hours and hours. It was unnerving, making her anxious and paranoid. She kept turning around, expecting someone - anyone - to creep up on her, ready to strike, to start a fight.
Or maybe these feelings weren’t caused by the silence. Maybe that’s what fighting and leading a war as a teenager, a child, does to you. Clarke had a habit of laughing death right in the face and somehow kept on surviving every time.
(She didn’t ask for this. Everyone she loved was unreachable, in one way or another, but every time she thought about pulling the trigger, something came up. It was as if the universe was giving her a sign - you’re not supposed to die, not yet. She didn’t dare to wonder what awaited her; she dreaded the answer. Hasn’t she given enough?)
“I keep thinking which one of the stars might be The Ring,” she muttered into the radio. “I always end up just picking one, because it’s easier.”
It’s easier to pretend you can see me. It’s easier to pretend I know where you are. It’s easier to pretend I’m not completely alone.
“The Earth is dead,” she continued. Although she whispered, her voice was so loud in the silent world; each word resounding like a gunshot. “But this place… it’s so green. It’s even more beautiful than when we came here back then.”
It was the only green land on the whole planet. The only place with life. A part of Clarke, the one that surfaced when she watched her friends die, the one that created Wanheda, was secretly glad that she was the only human here, because that meant she didn’t have to fight anyone for her territory, because that meant there was no one else who could destroy this promise of a new beginning.
Another part of her hated this place because it gave her a chance of survival.
Clarke hated surviving, but her life hadn’t been about anything else in a long time.
“I wonder how was your day,” she mused, never taking her eyes off the sky. “I hunted. Well, tried to. There’s not many animals, but hey, at least I have some, right?” she chuckled.
The stars blurred as first tears trickled down her cheeks.
“I don’t know how long I can do this,” she breathed out.
After all, there was no one who could witness her weakness.
“I miss you,” she admitted. “Even Murphy. Don’t tell him that, though.”
What she wouldn’t give to have one last conversation with them. With anyone. She would kill for an answer, for a voice that wasn’t her own.
But the radio stayed as silent as ever.
Clarke closed her burning eyes. “Talk to you later, I guess.”
Numbly, she released the radio from her grip. She laid on the ground, surrounded by darkness and silence, and cried. There used to be times where she feared to let her guard down, never sure there wasn’t an upcoming attack.
She didn’t have to worry about that anymore, and she hated it.
Clarke curled into herself, trying to remember how another person’s contact felt, hoping here memories were enough to deceive her mind. It stopped working a few days ago, but that never discouraged her from trying. At this point it was an every night’s ritual, just like her unsuccessful calls.
Tomorrow, she would return to Polis. She would try digging and calling without receiving any answer, he would search and hunt, and she would keep on walking the Earth all by herself. And then she would cry and scream and drown in her own voice, until she couldn’t hear even herself.
But despite all that, Clarke would survive, no matter how much she didn’t want to.
Surviving, after all, was the one thing she was good at.