❝ Remembrance blooms from her fingertips.❞
Subject A0; The Primary Subject
Subject A5; The Glue
The Keeper of the Runners is alarmed when he finds a ball of white huddled in a crook in the Maze's corridors. A girl who is rotted with bruises and soak...
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As the day drifted on it started to rain. Not just a drizzle, but an oppressive downpour. According to Newt, it was a rare occasion for the weather in the Glade to be overcast. It caused everyone to be set on edge. I think deep down they feared it to be an omen of a sort. However, the upside of the rain was that it prevented Chuck and me from having to move wood for the hour before it finally went away.
Chuck and I hauled these planks, which weren't all that heavy, back and forth across the Glade. Though by reason of the heat beating down on our backs, they slowly began to feel like stones. Dropping the very last three of them from my arms, I wiped the side of my temple with the back of my head finally taking a respite. I plopped down onto the floor, tucking my feet in. Chuck laughed.
"Tired?" Not necessarily. The ache from the stitches had spread to which felt like my entire brain, and throbbed once every few minutes. I tried not to complain though, or tell Newt to bother him. Everyone has already done so much for me here, and I'm pretty sure I've swallowed more than half of their painkiller supply.
Chuck and I took a break before going back to find Newt. We sat in the kiwi-green grass, me writing and him widdling away still on that morsel of wood. I've noticed he worked on it while I wrote. I've tried to decipher what it could be, but no such luck on figuring it out on my own.
"What are you making? " I asked. He glanced up through his curls at the paper, before shyly returning to his sculpture.
"It's for my parents." I stopped my pencil, confounded.
We were all stripped of our memories. Whoever put us here stole them from us. I didn't think Chuck was any different. But today I noticed he carried something not a lot of us did, or that anyone cared to admit they had. Faith. Faith and hope bear different meanings.
"You remember them? " Earnestly, he shook his head.
"No, but I must have them. You know? I want to give it to them if we get out." If. I detected that word as quick as he said it. And it hurt. The look on his face, it was so dejected. I elbowed him in his side.
"We will." He gave me a sad smile, shrugging his shoulders.
"How can you be so sure?" He seemed to regret after asking. "Sorry, that's not fair to you."
I answered his question, needless I was new to this place. I didn't feel new to them. The more I spent time with them, the more their faces seemed more prominent. Like I've seen them all before. And these dreams I was having, they didn't feel like dreams. More like suppressed memories. I told him the same thing he told me.
"Everything takes time, right? " He smiled, nodding in agreement. I fell blank after that because my mind began to drift to his question. Where were our parents? They must have taken them from us to put us in here. Our families, our siblings. Did I even have any siblings?
