𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗥𝗨𝗡𝗡𝗘𝗥 𝗚𝗜𝗥𝗟 ᐅ 𝙣𝙚𝙬𝙩

𝘁𝘄𝗲𝗻𝘁𝘆 𝗳𝗼𝘂𝗿

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

She's different than the other
subjects — less advanced.

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

It had only taken two days for Newt's hand to heal properly, during which time he never complained once, and insisted that he get back to gardening again. I argued that that wasn't helping, and he argued that neither was I. As the days blended into each other, the pain in his hand — to my relief — had subsided, only making him wince now and then. I was wary that Clint and Jeff's magic concoction would have been defective, however I was just as surprised as Newt was when he removed the bandage to reveal a small cut a couple of minutes ago.

"I had a thought—" I say suddenly as we both stare out at the Maze walls from the comfort of the Hammocks, the soft snores of the Gladers drifting through the air.

"That's dangerous," interrupts Newt.

"—and it doesn't involve murdering you for a change," I say nonchalantly, glaring at him. Newt knows how annoyed I get when people interrupt me, so naturally he does it as often as he possibly can and it takes all of my willpower to not push him off the Cliff. I'm tempted, however I'm not too sure where the Cliff is... and there's also the issue that I like the shank. So instead, I make my point by chewing and snoring as loudly as possible, earning a plethora of glares from him which never fail to amuse me.

He scoffs, easing his gaze. "That's surprising."

The fireflies aren't out tonight, and so we can hardly see the Maze walls in the pitch black. I'm only just able to make out the thick vines crawling over each other. It's like another maze in itself. Sometimes, when Newt and I are especially bored, we'll walk up to the walls and try to follow a single vine down to its end, yet I could never trace it far enough. It's exactly how my memories are. You know they're there — you can see it, yet you can't follow it. It's in shapes and blocks of colour, but it's devoid of life. And since I don't know the people or even the places, it's also devoid of meaning. No faces. Nothing familiar.

Hopeless.

I sigh, leaning back on my hands and shuffling on the log — someone really needs to make us some chairs. These logs are more insufferable than Gally's snoring, if that's even possible. I stare into the void around me, the darkness morphing into dappled swirling patterns in my vision. I whisper, "What if we're all being tested on?"

"Alby told me about that," Newt says thoughtfully and nodding at the Maze. "It would all make sense. The Grievers... the Maze... someone's gotta be controlling everything. S'just not natural."

I dwell on the that. It's not natural. It's all artificial. None of this could ever be real. I don't exactly remember what society was like, but what I do know is that it was nothing like this. Would Newt and I have been friends out there? Would I have been friends with anyone out there?

Where even is there?

"Some things still don't add up," I muse.

"Like?"

"Like my visions."

"What d'ya mean?" He says, tilting his head, his eyes inquisitive as he turns to me, searching for a clue in my expression.