nostalgia ✔️ | tough series bonus

↳ 5.1

FRANKIE COULD FEEL the weird metallic apparatus encasing her head after she laid down on an equally weird bed with wires and needles poking her skin, in an empty, cold room with tinted blue lamps.

She took a deep breath.

Remember, Frank, this is W.I.C.K.E.D., she tried reminding herself, whatever happens after this, it's not real. It's just W.I.C.K.E.D.. It's just a test.

"We will begin now," somebody said, followed by three beeps.

It's just a test...

But when she blinked, she found herself back in the middle of her precious, peaceful Glade, and it felt so... so real. She could feel the warm sunshine on her exposed skin. She could sense the gravel and grass underneath her running shoes. She could smell Zart's fresh fertilizer and something cooking in the kitchen.

"Look, I'm not saying she doesn't deserve our respect, but there are certain... limitations that Frankie has and we don't. She is a girl after all."

Frankie turned around to meet Frypan conversing with George.

At first, she felt some sense of déjà vu (yes, in real life, she had overheard them talking about her one morning), but then it felt like she was experiencing it again for the first time.

"Frankie!"

She turned around again and saw Alby marching over.

"I've got news, and it's not good. Newt... this morning, he tried to kill himself. Shuck, he didn't say anything to me. Did he, to you? He was your best friend, right?"

"Whoa! Is she on her period?" she heard Clint asking somewhere.

"You know, Frank. I get that you're blunt and you never say much," Minho said, "But that actually hurt."

Then the sky dimmed like a flip was switched.

"What hurt? His heart?" Jackson laughed dryly, "Knew it! You're nothing but a weepy, self-seeking whore who doesn't deserve all the special treatments you're getting. Well, boo shucking hoo. What a girl! —maybe that's your purpose here. If we can't get out, we should reproduce."

Self-loathe.

That was Frankie's third trial.

Old memories of insecure moments in her life were stimulated over and over again.

To the world, she may appeared indifferent, but the truth was she kept it all bottled inside.

At first it came like a small voice whispering to her ears, asking why did she have to be born as a girl. Why was she such a weak-hearted person. Why wasn't she smart enough to crack the Maze's code. Why didn't Newt confide in her during his hardest moments. Why the other Gladers never approached her first or want her as friends. Why did she do what she just did. Why did she say that. From what she could remember, there had been too many trivial moments that she had overthought during these last three years.

Day by day, the hatred snowballed into something unbearable. The condemning voices weren't whispering now. They were screaming loud nothing, and its echoes ricocheted louder within her skull.

W.I.C.K.E.D. didn't even need to modify much. Her insecurities did all the work itself.

Her blank mind was spinning from fatigue, and yet condemnation was all she could sense.

Frankie ended up crouching in the middle of all those scenes, crying into her arms, beating herself up for every tiny thing that made her vulnerable. She sank deeper until she laid down on the ground in a fetal position, listening to more and more remarks from her fellow Gladers.

On the fifth day, however, an unusual glitch happened.

Her tears dried. The blue sky blinked black for a second before turning back to blue, and she heard a distant echo: "Are you drunk, Minho?"

Huh?

Frankie turned her head to the left and saw Minho, clad in his complete Running attire. She could see traces of sot and sweat on his face, his neck, his arms, and his clothes. A nearly empty glass of drink was sloshing over in his hand.

Then the sky turned dark for two seconds again.

"What's wrong with being a girl?"

"Minho?" Frankie's voice cracked. She lifted her head sluggishly as it felt incredibly heavy.

Then the Glade's image cracked into the Maze's stony walls, and she saw the ghost of Minho running by.

"You're smart, wise and dependable. You're not too whiny or emotional. You did make some pretty stupid decisions, but overall you're someone who can take care of yourself."

"Minho?" she called out again, this time halfway through sitting up.

Another echo issued: "You don't need a man to complete you. You are already whole."

The sky turned dark once more.

"She's stronger, wiser, smarter, and definitely shucking better than all of you combined!"

Then grey. Frankie stood up onto her wobbly feet, reaching out to the source of voice. It didn't feel real. It just... It was an old record, embedded into her brain like stamp that would eternally stayed though sometimes partially forgotten.

"I'd say, in conclusion, you're perfect to me. And for me."

The sky turned dark once more, but this time it stayed. No more glitches.

All of the other boys and their words slowly faded, along with her own judgement towards herself, and she found herself looking at a very familiar set of Asian features. The flickering Celebration fire created an ever changing glow on his face, his glinting eyes of mischief, his lips... He jogged over until he was mere inches away from her face.

Frankie reached out to run her fingers down his side profile. When he sweetly smiled, his eyes formed two crescent moons and a cute dimple appeared on his cheek.

The voices had quietened down. Together with Minho, Frankie finally found herself feeling... peaceful.

"Stop being insecure, slinthead."

She believed him.

And then Minho's face was replied by the ugly one of Rat Man. He stiffly nodded, "Good morning, Frances."

She passed the test.

— end of part VII —