The 100 (The 100 #1)

by Kass Morgan

First, orange streaks appeared in the blue, like an oboe joining a flute, turning a solo into a duet. That harmony built into a crescendo of colors as yellow and then pink added their voices to the chorus. The sky darkened, throwing the array of colors into even sharper relief. The word sunset couldn’t possibly contain the meaning of the beauty above them,

You couldn’t expect anyone else to share your suffering. You had to carry your pain alone.