Weak Walls ☪ Newtmas

02

» Thomas's POV.

There's only two possible explantations for my current situation, I concluded. The first being that this whole ordeal is just a horrendous nightmare that I will hopefully wake up from soon. Second, this 'maze' is a very complicated prison and I have been locked up in the center of it with a group of other juvenile delinquents as a strangely morbid form of punishment. Since my temples were starting to throb from attempting to cease myself from dreaming, I decided on the latter.

That led me to wonder how seriously disastrous the crime that I committed must've been to have me sent up into a hell like this without any memories. None of the boys around here even seem like criminal material, except maybe that Gally kid, who could've most definitely been a serial killer in my opinion. But then there's Chuck, who couldn't be more than thirteen. So maybe my assumptions were incorrect.

I sighed with an unbelievable amount of frustration at the fact that I couldn't remember any of the events that took place yesterday, or any time before that. I can't even remember the face of my own mother, or anyone from my past for that matter. Everything is a blur of blank faces and obliterated moments in my hazy mind.

The smell of smoke from the searing bonfire that the others set up in celebration of the 'Geenie's' arrival relentlessly flooded my nostrils along with the stench of sweaty bodies and alcohol. Sparked ashes that aroused from the scorching logs floated aimlessly in the air several feet above the earth before slowly dispersing and descending to the ground below. Besides the smoke faintly drifting and fading into the atmosphere, the sky was entirely clear of any blemishes. Stars scattered the night sky in an array of patterns and constellations around the full moon, illuminating a ghostly pale light.

I leisurely rested back onto a fallen log that was located at a decent distance away from the small party of people. The obnoxious noises of conversation amidst the boys were not helping the pain in my head in the slightest. I brought my hand up to my face, squeezing the bridge of my nose as if that would automatically relieve me of my headache. I rubbed my hand over my eyelids as well, causing small lights of vivid colors to dance around my blackened vision.

"Is the pressure of being a Greenie getting to you, shank?"

I promptly opened my eyelids, peering up through my eyelashes to meet the gaze of the one who spoke. His slim figure was silhouetted from the firelight of the ongoing flames behind him, preventing me from deciphering his features. But I did notice that he was swaying slightly back and forth and his fingers were grasped tightly around a jar filled to the top with a mysterious golden colored liquid. I didn't need my memories to know how to analyze when someone is drunk, or on the verge of.

I furrowed my eyebrows up at the boy, baffled with the amount of foreign sounding words that I've heard only today, "What the hell is a shank?" He chuckled at my question.

"You," He answered, almost inaudibly, and with the boisterous cheers and shouts that resounded out through the Glade from the boys around us, I barely heard him. Before I could ask whether or not being called a 'shank' was an insult or a compliment, he pointed down at the spot next to me, "Mind if I sit down?"

"Go ahead, I guess." I replied, suppressing a laugh when he practically fell face first onto the dirt beside me. Surprisingly, he didn't spill a drop of his drink.

Once he situated himself into a more comfortable position with his back resting against the log and his legs sprawled out in front of him, I could distinguish his face much more clearly. The first thing I noticed about him was that the color of the irises of his eyes matched the intoxicating color of the drink in his hand. Though I couldn't recall his name, I instantly recognized him as the blonde I saw earlier today when I escaped from the metal box that lifted me up here. He wore a light blue colored hoodie that was much too large over his small frame. The firelight danced glowingly against his exposed skin, making his tussled hair look just as golden as his eyes. He glanced over at me, exhaling a small sigh from his lips.