"How can you lose when you never stop fighting?"
Cassiopeia Walker-Simmons looked at her star from a tiny window in space her whole life. She never imagined that it'd be even more beautiful from the ground. Yet every time she gazed upon the dazzlin...
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ASTRID THE ANNIHILATOR
Cassie wasn't sure if it could get any darker. The fifteen year old stumbled through the dark, arms blindly reaching for the walls for support. She had tripped over her feet more times than she could count and she was fairly sure there was a chance she could get radiation poisoning. It felt every breath she was taking in was killing her, stealing her years and condemning her to live a short, unfulfilled life.
If the rumours were true, maybe it would be worth it.
She shuffled her way through the pitch black. She still hadn't adapted to it, her heartbeat thrumming rapidly against her rib cage. At any moment she felt as though someone was going to snatch at her, stowing her away in some unknown part of the Ark and make her their slave. Or worse - kill her. Maybe the rumours were only there to lure innocent victims in. Maybe it was so someone could get a thrill they couldn't seek in a heavily guarded hallway.
Her mind begged for her to turn back. Rumours weren't true, and if she died for a mere lie what would happen? Would anyone even find her body? This part of the Ark had been closed off for as long as she could remember, the radiation leak supposedly having made the entire space uninhabitable. They never returned to fix it, even with hazard suits. Cassie believed that it may be there to act as a reminder for what the Ark was doing. They were protecting them all from the dangers of the world.
Cassie scoffed. They weren't protecting them from the danger. They were the danger.
Her thoughts still raged on. She could vaguely remember how to get back, it would only be her time she wasted and not her life. Yet one tiny voice in the back of her head convinced her feet to carry her forward. There's always some truth in fiction. Even in the stories she'd grown up loving to read - 1984 was about a corrupt government and The Help highlighted the discrimination's faced all because of a different skin tone. Even though the plot lines were fictional, the stimulus that sparked the creativity was built in truth.
A few minutes later, she was grateful she hadn't given into her doubt. Her ears picked up on faint cheers, the roar of a barely containable crowd. The path beneath her feet smoothed, softened by those previously before her, leading her down a path of no turning back. Shortly after, her eyes caught onto the light at the end of the hallway.
Her pace picked up. Cassie's hand still trailed the wall, the only thing holding her up. She had been so anxious about whether or not the place was real that she had never really thought about what she would do if it was. Her mind could barely fathom that this intricately built, strict society had let something so maniacal slip through the cracks, but yet it had.
Swallowing deeply, she reached the source of the light. A door, looking worse for wear, let light stream for it, acting as a barrier between her determining her destiny or denying her needs. It looked like how she felt - nervous, with a questionable excitement thrilling through her veins.
