What Was Supposed To Be The End

Trampled Under Foot

A.N: Here's part three. I have decided that there will be a part four, but that's probably it. If anyone actually decides to read this, I thank you. The video is a Led Zeppelin song, Trampled Under Foot, which I greatly love. It's also the title of this chapter and the song Newt remembers listening to. I know most kids my age don't even know what Led Zeppelin is, but I love this band and this type of music, and Newt always struck me as a person who would too.

I DO NOT OWN THE MAZE RUNNER.

He was 14. He didn't know how he knew, but he did. He saw himself, just sitting there. A boy with long, messy blonde hair looked unpleased with the world as he shoved earbuds in his ears. Music immediately began blaring through them.

What was this? A memory? Yes, it had to be; everyone who has went through the Changing says they have gotten some of their memories back.

The thought of the music made him curious. He listened closely, trying to remember the name of the long. It took him a few moments, but finally, he remembered; Trampled Under Foot by Led Zeppelin. The name of the artist sent an alarm off in his head. That's right, he loved Led Zeppelin. He remembers now.

Memories flood through him. There's too many to keep track of, too many passing through his mind's eye. One of when he was 13, with his first girlfriend. One when he was only five, seeing his little sister for the first time. He made a promise to always protect her. Another memory from when he was 14, of his little sister dying in his arms.

She was only nine, his sister, when she died. A man, who Newt could only describe as mentally ill, attacked them. Newt had done all he could. He tried, and in the end, he ended up killing the man, but too much damage had been inflicted upon his sister. But still, he held her, hoping for a miracle, anything. When she stopped breathing, Newt did nothing but sob, looking at all the blood that stained his hands. His sister's blood. The day she was born, he made a promise to protect her.

He didn't keep that promise.

Another memory of his mother slapping him, saying it was his fault his sister was dead. Madeline had been her name, he remembered. His mother kept yelling over and over, "It's your fault! She's dead because of you!" And the worst part is, he believed her.

He remembered the day he got taken away from his mother. The day they showed up at his door, going on about how he was smart, and strong, the perfect canidate for their experiment. His mother gave him up without a second thought. She was still upset about Madeline, and now saw her son as a disgrace, the reason why she didn't have her daughter or her husband anymore.

That was the last memory he could take. He forced himself to wake up, and once he did, a seering pain erupted in his chest. Restraints on his arms and legs refused to let him move, even though he desperately wanted to. The pain got worse, building up in the center of his chest until he felt like he was going to explode. He let out a blood-curdling scream, alerting Minho, who was alseep in a nearby chair, that he was awake. The ball of burning pain in his chest dispersed, making its way down his arms, into his fingertips. That only made it worse. He screamed again, this time louder, if that was possible.

 His skin was hot to the touch, and he was sweating, but he was also cold, if that made any sense at all. A fever. It had to be fever chills. The Changing was taking its toll on him. Taking a deep breath, he attempted to calm himself down, attempted to ignore the sharp, bubbling pain that refused to go away. Slowly, he opened his eyes, and the first thing he saw was his bare chest, covered in bulging green veins, a symptom of the Changing. The second thing he saw was Minho sitting by his bed, eyes red and puffy, as if he had recently been crying. This shocked Newt. Minho always seemed so composed, so strong, emotionally and phsyically. He was the last person in his cursed place he expected to see cry.

Newt didn't say anything, not that he could have if he wanted to. He had no strength left for that, and his throat felt raw and dry. Talking would do him no good. If anything, it would just make him feel worse. Instead of talking, he tried to steady his breathing, focusing on nothing but the rise and fall of his chest. But once he did that, another surge of pain winded its way through his body, completely submerging him in nothing but pure agony. It drowned out his focus. Bloody hell, it made him feel like he was drowning, like he couldn't breathe. It felt like a hand was grabbing his organs from the inside and trying to pull them out, but it also felt like someone was pushing down on his chest at the same time. He tried to move yet again, but of course, he couldn't. He was still tied to the bed.

Another scream. Another cringe and silent sob from Minho.

Suddenly, the pain stopped, and he was engulfed in another sheet of darkness.