The Extirpated

Chapter 5-Annoyingly Truthful Mirrors

Three Months In WICKED
On the surface, I'm calm, a voice full with life, but inside I wither slowly, wondering if I'll live or die, this foreign life I dread is programmed inside me, the numbness in my bones, a reminder that there's no such thing as free, placed in a cage called the Maze, brain locked of memories, they taunted me when they spared my name, as I wonder, is this my destiny?, the experiment for a Cure, a variable called the Inadvertent, it appears I've resided here for a year, there's only so much I can do. Friendship is how I survive, keeping me sane, but now I stay silent, somehow planting the seed of change, they say home is where the heart lies, whether it be a person, place or even an object, but WICKED separated me from my heart and left me with nothing but a meaningless shack with boards and beams, the deprivation of food is beginning to unfaze me, my stomach no longer aches, my bones feel light, unburdened by air or weakness, although I savvy I'm slowly, but certainly, starving to death, the trips to the bathrooms with showers display my worsening state. The mirrors hang jovially above the sinks across the showers, harboring the reflections of my struggles, they array that my hair is becoming long, spilling past my bottom in uneven and untamed strands, my lids are weighed down by distinct ebony bags of fatigue, my skin a ghostly pale from the lack of sunlight, my chestnut orbs are worn, sullen with hopelessness and ruby from the influence of Terrors, my bones have begun to peek out from my skin like a mischevious child left unsupervised, elevating mountains of my pain, although the image is something someone would frown to, I grin lightly. For I'm enduring the suffering for Minho, the picture of my body faltering lingers in my mind, accompanied by the Terrors of the previous nights, WICKED has altered them again, they're now the wrathful, unforgiving yells of my deceased friends as they Banish me for the crimes I committed that costed them their lives, the powerless witness of Newt, Thomas, Minho, Frypan, Aris, Jorge and Brenda all being torn apart before me by merciless Cranks, the Terror from the previous night however is more potent than the rest, I can distinctly discern the wails of agony from Newt. His plead for mercy left ignored, devious smirks smear Paige's and the Betrayer's lips as they utilize anything to inflict pain upon my Newt, the devices of torture slashing against his skin, of course, I was bounded by the room I reside in, banging upon the wall in hopes they would cease, but they never did, this was the first time I awoke screaming, wailing out in an agonized cry similar to Newt's, with an aching chest and unstable limbs, I was escorted out of the room for my unaltered routine, unwisely left alone with my darkening thoughts, for Minho.

Four Months In WICKED
Life is merciless, it never waits for anyone, forces us to persistently run as we're already weary, and I am exhausted, exhausted of fighting, annoyed of trying, loathing how I smile, while on the inside I'm dying, I've grown tiresome of the lies, of the games that bring my chaos, I'm tired of knowing I'm the sole one to blame, of the spiteful ways the universe embroiders in its design, tired of the running, tired of the crying, tired of living, yet never given the tranquility of dying, I am tired, yet I will never rest. Drooping lids witness the cruel world now, tears and screams are normal, the world is a blur, a routine of pain and torture, I am certain WICKED is growing bored of me, how I know this?, Paige informed me so "let's talk about your friend, Minho", I remain lifeless, staring at the floor emotionlessly, drained from the Terrors of the previous night "he's much like you, surprising us in every way", a pause, probably a stall for a reaction "his tests are displaying promise, whilst yours only show failure", the hatred of the voice almost impacts me, almost "I think a change of action is required. We will continue to experiment upon you, but we will also reserve a seat for Minho as well", I take the chance to speak "if you wish for no hostility, I wouldn't proceed with your plan", the silent months have left my voice uneven and rough, but it presents a threat, one that unfazes her "he's a high candidate for the Cure, we must investigate", powerlessly, I remain silent, her voice lingers, but her presence evaporates, tiredly, allowing the daunting Terrors to beckon, I groan, vexated I'll never be allowed peace "leave me alone". I apply pressure to my head as if I could erase the annoying Terrors summon "I want to sleep peacefully", tugging the roots of my hair irkedly, I already detect exhaustion washing over me, you don't deserve peaceful sleep, I groan again, recently, the Terrors have not only disturbed my sleep, but they've also distorted my waking hours, they've become a berating voice that slithers into the most vital parts of my consciousness, where they know I can't ignore them "it's bad enough I have Paige to annoy me, so I'm not in the mood today for you to either". Isn't that what makes this fun? I get to drive you to the brink of insanity while you are left powerless?, "not when you're the one who's powerless to sleep-deprivation" I snap at thin air, you belong to WICKED, the moment you heard my voice in your head it became fact, I growl lowly "I belong to no one" I retort, not even to Newt? Face it, your life will always be in the hands of some higher force, and the sooner you accept defeat, the easier this will be on you, "I won't be broken easily WICKED!" I shout "I'm doing this for Minho".