Playlist

Nightmare- Warriors by Imagine Dragons

Breakfast- You Get What You Give by New Radicals

Car Ride- The 2nd Law: Isolated System by Muse

Goodbye's- The 2nd Law: Isolated System

Rehearsed Speech- The 2nd Law: Isolated System

Rude Awakening- Zombies In Coach by Marco Beltrami

Everyone was screaming, thrashing around as if they were suffocating. Clary couldn't tell which way was up or down, pulling at the air, or that lack of it. Her lungs felt as if they were exploding inside her chest with such pressure, enough to crack her ribs.

She opened her mouth to scream, and in doing so, her throat ignited with a burning pain, as if she had swallowed fire. The atmosphere was thick, clogged with both people and humid, almost heavy air. Scraps of metal sunk to the bottom of whatever dark pit she was in. She looked up to see what was blocking the sunlight from reaching her, and gasped, regretting the intake the moment the fire poured down her throat once again.

Bodies, there were bodies blocking out her view of the sky. The color red curled around her vision like smoke and she brushed it off, thinking it was her hair but being startled as it evaporated. The people around her had stopped screaming, but it sounded like high pitched echoes anyway. Their faces were swollen and bloodied; enough of the crimson liquid to die the oxygen around her.

Floating down in front of her was a little boy, his eyes open and glazed, his arms sticking out stiffly. His hair was a snowy white, a color she recognized with horror.

And joining the still shaking people, she screamed out bubbles of panic.

She sat up in bed, still hearing the screams but in a more techno tone. She turned to see her alarm going off and slammed her palm on the snooze button.

Today was the day she'd see her father.

Clary rubbed at her eyes, smelling a breakfast caused her stomach to grumble with need. Adjusting to the whiteness of her ceiling, she gave a heavy yawn before throwing her legs over the bed and feeling the cold floor underneath her feet. Then again, how would she know it was cold? She was still numb from the dream, or rather nightmare. She always got visions like that before she visited her father. Though the last visit was years ago.

"Clary! Time to get up!" She heard her mother yell. Clary stood shakily from her bed, eyeing the posters hung up in her room and wishing she didn't have to leave them. The room at her father's house was more lavish, but didn't carry the same homey feel to it. "One-"

"Coming!" Clary shouted from her room, stocking over to the open bedroom door and noticing a few sticky notes that she put there to remind herself of the flight to Hawaii.

"There you are, I was just going to send Luke in to wake you up. I figured you'd be a little reluctant today." Jocelyn spoke as she flipped some… pancakes? Clary's stomach growled louder at the smell of her favorite breakfast.

"It's just weird is all. I haven't seen dad in years. We've only talked over the phone and now I get to see him." She said blankly, taking a seat at the wooden table. Luke walked in, mug of what she presumed was coffee in his hand. He gave her a friendly smile before kissing Jocelyn on the cheek.

"See someone has bedhead." Clary noted at the wild ends of Luke's brown hair. He turned to her, mid eye roll.

"Morning Sleeping Beauty." She growled at him, hating the term. Nothing felt worse to her than when someone called her Sleeping Beauty, knowing damn well that she looked like trash that a bar would throw out. Or, when she slept in her clothes, that she looked like she'd taken the walk of shame. As pestering as he could be, she'd much rather stay with him and her mom instead of leaving to a home that was more empty to begin with. Emptier because Jonathan was no longer there to give her comfort or make her laugh. Jonathan wasn't there to make her do anything now.

Because Jonathan wasn't here, there, or anywhere to begin with.

"Did you call your father last night?" Jocelyn asked Clary.

"Yeah, why?" She questioned.

"Oh, I just heard you on the phone is all. Thought you were maybe talking to a boy." She explained. "Clary, you are seventeen. You know you can do that?" She exaggerated. Clary almost rolled her eyes at the presumption.

"Mom, you know the only boy I talk to is Simon, right?" Clary groaned. She swore she saw Luke laugh into his coffee and sent him a death glare. "Go ahead Luke, say what's on your mind." She challenged him.

"Nothing, I have nothing." He said with a soldier's salute. Jocelyn patted his shoulder, kissing him on the cheek before returning to her breakfast-making. Clary stared down at her empty hands, praying that her pancakes came soon before she got ravenous, or cranky. On her palms was the paint she'd tried to wash off last night, but to no avail. She'd try again when she took her shower.

After she'd gotten her breakfast.

"Amy?"

"No, if you're trying to name her after my sister, please don't. Amatis is already trying to ambush our marriage, don't let her ambush my daughter's life."

"Okay, fine. How about Lucy?"

"After me? How sweet, but I'm sure we can do better than that. Like… I don't know? Naomi or Samantha?"

"Oh! What about Emma? Emma sounds like a sweet name, right?"

"Mom, why are you choosing now to pick the names for the baby?" Clary asked from the back seat of the car. "I mean, I know I'm visiting Dad, but it kinda feels like a replacement." She half-chuckled half-groaned. Jocelyn turned around and laughed as Clary crossed her arms. Luke was busy driving them to the airport like they'd done every summer. Only this time, Jocelyn was five months pregnant and very hormonal about the whole thing.

"Come on, like we could ever replace our darling daughter." Jocelyn snorted, switching the station on the radio until it settled on a song that might be placed at the dentist. "Do you have any suggestions for her name? You are her big sister." She asked Clary.

"A big sister; I still can't get used to that title. I mean, I'm seventeen." Clary said with a shake of her head.

"Would you prefer it that I impregnated your mother any sooner?" Luke said, smiling back at Clary in the rearview mirror. She rolled her eyes at him, pulling out her phone to see if Simon had sent her any messages trying to get her back.

"No, because then I'd have to share your attention as a kid." Clary finally spoke after a bout of silence. She watched as Jocelyn cooed at the not-so-little bump on her stomach, running her hand protectively over it. Clary thought that her mother deserved such happiness after the family tragedy that struck them so many years ago.

"Do you think the girls will have my hair, or yours?" Jocelyn asked Luke, running her hand through the tangle of brown. He grabbed her fingers kissing the knuckles and setting them down to where he could still lace them with his own.

"I don't care if our kids comes out with purple hair… wait yes I do. These are my babies, right?" He teased her. Jocelyn giggled at his side, playing with their locked hands, and Clary could literally feel the love emanating from them. The baby was so lucky to have parents that loved each other, compared to Jonathan and Clary, whose mother and father wouldn't stand to be in the same room as the other.

Clary thought back to the first time she had to fly out to see her father. Jonathan was with her, constantly talking about how awesome Hawaii was going to be. When their plane had landed, Valentine greeted them with candy and flower, hugging them both and saying things such as the occasional I love you. His house was like a mansion there, and to add to her amazement was a puppy. Jocelyn never allowed pets in the house, so as four year old, Clary fell in love with the black lab. She named him Taki, after a diner in New York. The first summer she spent with her father was odd, so to say. While he was the same loving man he was- towards his kids, and obviously not Jocelyn- there was some tension in the house. He'd casually bring up the subject of their mother and if she'd needed money, or if another man had moved into the apartment yet.

Clary stopped going there when she was eight for specific reasons. Now, she was a seventeen year old visiting her father, something she felt guilty for. They had called several times, him always telling her that Taki missed her and the beautiful waves he saw. Clary would ask him if he'd moved on yet, and like always, it was a no. He'd never get over her mother.

"Blue or green eyes?" Jocelyn asked Luke.

"Green of course, your eyes are beautiful." He answered with a humorous scoff.

"But... blue. That's been passed down from your family line!" She cried. Luke shrugged his shoulders. Clary wondered if they were to try having another child after these ones. After all, Jocelyn was just turning thirty four, enough time to pop a few children. Which she was able to do with the help of fertility treatments. Doctors had explained that this happened all the time. That the drugs would increase the likelihood of multiple babies.

"Jocelyn, he or she can have my eyes or yours. Maybe even both. We won't be able to tell until they're born." He explained softly.

"Oh okay. You're no fun." She giggled.

"Mom, you have to stop crying, you'll see me in two months." Clary rolled her eyes at the weeping Jocelyn as she crushed her with another hug. As much as she didn't like visiting her father who lived far out in Hawaii, a distance that was like an around the world trip when she lived in New York, the thought of visiting other places sounded extraordinary. The only problem was that each time she had to visit Valentine, Jocelyn sobbed like she'd never see her daughter again, or Clary was going out to war in the early nineteenth century. This was probably the worst part of visiting him like she did nine years ago.

"Oh but you're getting so big, and soon you won't want to visit your old mother." Jocelyn sobbed, still holding onto Clary despite the protruding pregnancy belly, all thanks given to Luke, Clary's step father.

"Honestly, Mom, we've been doing this since I was little, I'll be fine." In honesty, Clary thought she'd be much better than fine. Hawaii was amazing, separated from the New York chaos Jocelyn had come to love.

"But Jonathan didn't return, I can't lose you too." She whispered. Clary felt bad for her mother, she felt like she lost a son to Valentine. Though she'd never say that he died on that fateful plane crash when he was ten, Clary leaving to visit her father brought back terrible memories of the last time she saw him. Alongside him in the crash had they lost Clary's grandparents. Jocelyn blamed Valentine for a long time, saying he took her son from her when he'd asked him to visit.

When you're eight years old, it's hard hearing that your big brother died because people wished to spread terror.

"They've improved airport security, Mom. No one is gonna hijack the plane." Clary insisted.

"Remember to call the the instant you land." Jocelyn spoke with sternness. Clary hugged her mother tighter, hoping that was enough to assure her that she'd be fine.

"I will Mom. I always do." She promised. Her mother nodded, swallowing back fear as she stroked Clary's hair and hummed to herself.

"Don't have too much fun without me?" She asked with a tight throat, her arms still wrapped around Clary protectively.

"You're my mother, I can never have fun without you." Clary giggled, now scared of leaving her mother. Luke walked up from behind them, putting his hand on her mother's shoulder and switching Clary out from the hug tag team style. Clary mouthed a thank you to him before turning her back and walking a path she'd come to learn. There was a numb feeling to her chest as she approached the plane, wondering why her father had to move so far away after the divorce. Maybe this was his way of subtly saying that he didn't want to see his children. She knew for a fact that if he'd stayed in New York, that her brother wouldn't have boarded his ill-fated flight.

That he'd still be alive.

"And the emergency exits are…" Clary was already drifting off to sleep as she'd heard the speech so many times she could probably give it herself. She watched many people raised their hands, asking the probability of a crash or what would happen if a terrorist boarded the plane. Clary rolled her eyes as, like usual, a baby started to scream the moment the plane took off. She pulled out her iPod and began listening to some songs that would hopefully lull her to sleep, because there was no way she'd get such a thing when people were whispering, kids were cranky, and baby's were testing the strength of their lungs.

How great was flying?

Clary drifted off to sleep, not caring that the person behind her had a habit of kicking the back of her seat. Said person being a seven year old boy.

From outside the plane could she hear a familiar rumble but thought nothing of it.

"Get up! Everyone please put on your oxygen masks!" Someone screamed. The air had become much colder than what she remembered before going to sleep. Even as her eyes adjusted to the plane, they were still blurry.

"Mommy? Why's the plane going down?" A child panicked.

That scared her.

Clary saw everyone pulling down the oxygen masks and pulled one down to ensure she wouldn't pass out. Immediately, the air got clearer and she could see that it wasn't sunlight making the room red, but alarms flashing and wailing. The colder the air got, the more people began to cry and pray out to their gods. From where she was seated, she could see the pilots, the door being wide open for all to witness.

"Lighting strike… engine failure… is anybody there?" Was all she could pick up from outside the screaming. Her hands began to shake, thinking of what was to happen in the very, very near future. She began to think of her vision, of the people drowning and screaming around her. No, what was even worse was the fact that her mother was out there, waiting for her to return home at the end of summer.

She couldn't die, not like this.

Not like her brother.

Had this been his final moments? Had he died so scared of the impact of land?

Land.

Clary turned in her seat, looking out the window to see nothing but the dark, threatening and very close ocean. She swallowed bile, thinking that if the landing wasn't to kill her, it would be the soon to-be-water in her lungs. Unlike her brother, it wasn't an explosion and burning fire to kill her, but the salty water and hypothermia of the ocean.

Clary looked around her, seeing the panicking passengers as some held their children close to them and cried silently, or those who were screaming as their hair lifted up in the extremity of the descent. She saw a boy, around her age, holding his hands to his ears to block out the chaos. It was as if he knew she was staring at him, because he popped open his eyes and stared into hers.

If the plane weren't to be falling, she would have felt embarrassed, maybe shocked that his eyes were a golden. But, the plane was falling. And they both stared horrified at the other before a heavy impact tore them from each other.

Literally.

The plane split into fractions from the impact of the ocean and the screams died down, just like she imagined they would. The outer protective shell broke apart, leaving the survivors to their own devices, strapped to their seats. Only for a second for a second was everyone calm.

And then they were under water.

She'd never been this far, or deep in water before. She looked up, not knowing where the surface was. Not knowing if she was already dead and was being hurled into the afterlife. After all, there was the continuance of those water-muddled screams in her ears.

Looking down, or what she assumed was down, the darkness grew, close to touching her. Her hands pounded at the seat, hoping that it would float her to safety. With the faint glow of moonlight could she spot the sinking bodies of unlucky passengers. Or, they could be lucky. For all Clary knew, they were alone in the ocean, having no clue if anyone heard the pilot's distress calls or not.

If there was ever a time to regret her wishes, now would be it. When she wished for her seat to float her to safety, it did more than that. It was like the entire time she'd been sinking, she was being pulled back in some sort of natural sling shot. The seat's buoyancy kicked in and then she was being dragged to the surface with a speed so strong her cheeks burned from the cold water gliding so fastly over them. Inside her ears were the screams of what few people were left, and like in her dream, she screamed out in the watery depths of the ocean.

Praying for the comfort that only death could bring.

AN: Any thoughts for the first chapter? How do you feel about this whole survival of the fittest plot?

Leave your comments and questions in the reviews!