𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗥𝗨𝗡𝗡𝗘𝗥 𝗚𝗜𝗥𝗟 ᐅ 𝙣𝙚𝙬𝙩

𝘁𝘄𝗼

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

It gets easier, Greenbean.

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

I'm alone again.

I'm sitting on a log in front of the bonfire, staring into it's flames which lick the air as the smoke climbs higher and higher. Funny how smoke is more free than we are. I don't remember home. Or family. Or even me. What's my favourite colour? What's my coping mechanism? Do I even have a family?

I try to remember something... anything at all. Yet there's nothing. Just general knowledge of society with no memories to connect them to.

My family won't care that I'm gone. I doubt they've even noticed. I curse myself silently for forgetting about them, as if I could have held on for longer because maybe if I'd tried a little harder, I could still remember their faces. What happens if it was my parents that put me in here? Why am I of all people, in here? The only girl in a Glade full of boys. There had to be something that connected us all... all I had to do was to figure out what that was exactly.

Someone sits down next to me, breaking me out of the peaceful quiet I wished would last for longer. I turn to find Newt sitting next to me, the fire casting soft, flickering shadows across his face. I sneer at him. I think I'd prefer talking to a cow than to him.

"Hey, Greenbean," he says, taking a swig of whatever was in the bottle of his.

"Lizard," I greet dryly. I don't particularly want to talk to him, nor anyone else for that matter. But, being the first person to show me a smile, I feel like I owe him the liberty of at least making small talk with him. I shake the thought from my head. The mere notion of that disgusts me, what with the way he spoke to me. I don't regret calling him a twat.

He almost chokes on his drink. If I wasn't currently contemplating where the hell I was, I might be inclined to laugh at him. He wipes his shirt free of the drink he'd spilt and glances sideways at me. "I hope that nickname doesn't stick."

"Then you'll be sorely disappointed."

"A newt is the furthest thing from a lizard," he argues.

"Well excuse me if I'm not well versed on frog history."

"Lizards and frogs ain't the same thing."

"Fine," I say, snatching the bottle off of him, swigging some and handing it back to him while he stares at me, his brow quirked with amusement. The cold liquid relieves me slightly of the pain in my head. "Frog-Face it is."

"You wouldn't dare."

"Oh, I do dare. It's either frog or lizard, take your pick."

"Neither."

"Both it is," I proclaim to no one in particular, and Newt glares at me before we both fall into silence.

I don't trust him. I don't trust anyone here, especially that Gally guy. The notion that I might not be able to trust anyone ever again dawns on me, but I find comfort in the fact that all these boys have been through the exact same thing. Alone. Confused. Scared. I stare at the wall past the flames, eyeing the vines that crawls up to the top. I wonder if anyone's ever tried to climb it before. Surely they've tried everything? Like going back down in the box or going down in the void it left.

How many people have died? If these Griever things are as bad as they sound then loads of them — us — should be dead. The thought emerges that the likelihood of me surviving is slim to none. I don't even know what my strengths and weaknesses are. Am I smart? I suppose I am, I don't need to ask a lot of questions and can work out the answers myself. Am I fast? Considering I almost made it into the maze earlier, I'd say I'm pretty good at running. Am I strong? I guess we'll find out. I'm not sure how long we sit there in silence before Newt speaks again.