Night Visions (TMR) (Newtmas)

19

After what must have been a good half an hour of turning and kicking the sheets, Newt finally gave up sleeping. Too many things occupied his mind, and his thoughts were too loud to ignore them. But he didn't want to pay attention to them, either. Thinking about Thomas, the dead Griever, a dying Alby, stupid Gally and his own depression? No, thanks. He'd rather throw himself from the Maze's walls... Again. The familiar pain shot through his whole leg, as if the memory had awaken it.

Stretching his arms over his head, he decided to go for a night walk. It couldn't harm anyone, and maybe he'd see things in a different way under the moonlight. Or maybe he wouldn't, but at least he'd be nippier than trapped in his room.

The stairs creaked when he went down them, and even though it was far from his own, a muffled whine coming from Alby's room reached him. He knew it was Alby's, and also that he couldn't do anything to help him out. It was sickening, having to just watch —or hear, in this case. Shaking his head, he exited the Homestead, trying to get as far as possible from the boy, his room and his thoughts.

Starlight welcomed him, playing with his blonde hair and pale skin. He went to the forest at first, and presented his respects to the tombs in Deadheads, but then his feet took a different path to exit the forest and he ended up staring at the mass of asleep Gladers. Looking at them as if they were mines, Newt suddenly realised what he was doing —where he was going. Even though he wouldn't have had any trouble recognising Thomas' silhouette among the crowd, he banned himself from doing so, furious with himself. He set for the west wall, where a fallen trunk offered him a surprisingly comfortable seat, and then mentally yelled at himself.

Okay. Let's put facts straight. There's a bunch of issues I didn't want to think about, but I clearly can't help doin' so. The friggin' Thomas, that Gally slinthead, Alby, the Griever. It may be better to just let myself think 'bout them, to get them out of my head as soon as possible...

Argh. I just hate life.

There he sat, thinking. Thomas? Okay, next. Gally? They had to do something to put him back into his place. Some punishment that brought old Gally back, the one who hadn't been stung and was something even close to a good chap. Alby? He had tried to strangle himself, but apparently for talking about what he had seen during the Changing. And the boy had learned his lesson. He wouldn't do it again, thus he was safe. Unless he went nuts and wanted to suicide, he was safe. The Griever. They should investigate the dead one, and then the Griever Hole Minho had told him about. It may hide something that got them closer to exiting the Maze. You clearly couldn't get out by throwing yourself off a cliff, but maybe there was something.

And then he ran out of topics.

He looked up, but the skies hadn't paled the tiniest bit. He felt less hollow as he stared at the stars, as if his problems were as tiny as they were. Night always made him feel that way. Not like life was actually worth something, but at least he didn't fancy killing himself, just to stop sadness and boredom. I must have been a vampire in my previous life, he thought. Wait, what's a vampire? No idea.

Previous life... He had been able to remember very vague things about the world before the Maze through intensive concentration. There was some kind of barrier in his mind that didn't let him reach his memories, as if they were stored in a money box with a very small slot, but he had been able, by shaking the box, to get some general knowledge out of it. Things like knowing that the world was called the Earth, that it had seasons, that it was divided into continents or that he once lived in a place called London. That the Maze wasn't in London, but in something called United States. A very old lady for whom he felt great respect, called Queen.