Back to the Maze

Chapter 6 | Kenzie

I creep towards the Box, trying my best not to get ahead of my feet. Still nothing appears. Without even thinking about it, my hand grabs the outer door, ripping it from its idol position. It slams down, causing dirt to spread around in a vanishing cloud. The second door, which is a cage-like structure, allows me to see what is inside...who is inside, actually. There's someone inside.

He covers his eyes from the glowing light, which is probably blinding him.  I'm shocked...No words escape my lips, and I wish they did. But I don't know what to say. "Bloody he-"

"Hey!" No, I don't even know who he is. I need to sound stern. "Get up, shank." He stands to his feet, but he doesn't seem intimidated. I open the next set of doors, and I can see him clearly. He looks up at me with his hand still blocking part of the sun, but I can tell he's trying to make out what I look like. I point the machete at him, and he can see that, I know, because he sticks his hands up.

"Woah, woah," he says in a thick accent, "I'm not looking for trouble. In fact, I don't know what I'm looking for at all." He rubs his hands in his hair, apparently coming to the realization. He can't remember anything either.

I try to play it off like I know where and who I am. "Get out of the Box." He tries to climb out, but can't. I dramatically roll my eyes, and reach out a helping hand, which he takes. Once he's on his feet, I take a good look at him.

A really good look.

"Oh," I whisper.

"What?"

"What's your name?" I change the subject.

"Newt," he hesitates, eyeing me up and down.

I'm about to ask more questions, but he vomits all over the place. I step back, avoiding any droplets that dare to splatter on my clothes. He breaths heavily, staring down at his masterpiece. "Uh-" There is a moment of silence, and his embarrassment turns to what seems to be a mixture of anger and disappointment. "What is wrong with me?" He says through gritted teeth.

"Okay, just calm down." I turn off my tough guy act, and try to help him regain his composure. "Stop looking at it so you don't do it again." I haven't even looked at the puddle of stench. I don't know whether I'm the empathetic vomiter type or not, but I don't want to find out. I need to stay strong and dominant in this situation anyway. If this guy turns out to be psycho, or sprouts a pig nose, then I need to be on guard. But it would be awfully good if he's normal. In which, I think he is. Seeing as he can't even hold himself together at the moment. I don't think even the greatest of actors could look how he does right now.

Now that I think about it: I finally have someone. I can't help but smile. I'm not alone anymore. Once the rush has stopped, I decide to make him comfortable. I bring him into my little home, and help him sit. "Please, if you can remember an-"

"I don't. I don't remember a single thing," he interrupts. Not in a rude way, kind of just a I-already-know-what-you're-about-to-say-and-I'm-very-traumatized way. "Why can't I remember?" he continues. The heavy breathing comes back; I can tell he's about to puke again. No, don't. Not in my home.

"Just stay calm. I went through the same thing. You're going to be fine." Please don't throw up on my bed-floor. I stare at him with wide eyes as he chokes on a response.

"You don't look fine," he snaps at me in a weak voice.