Trapped ➝ The Maze Runner ✓

Imprisoned

Imprisoned

(Thomas' P.O.V)

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"You okay, Minho?" I asked, glancing uncertainly at my partner. A crease had appeared between his forehead, his eyes seeming distant as he stared blankly ahead. He instantly snapped away from his thoughts and his frown deepened into a scowl.

"Yeah, shank. Why?" He glared at me, waiting for an answer as his feet thumped heavily along the dusty path. Something must be really bugging him; I wondered what it was, considering several points, before waving the thoughts away. Probably nothing.

"I dunno. You just seem... distracted," I muttered eventually, shrugging and training my eyes on the path ahead, twisting abruptly to the left.

"It's called thinking, shuck-face." Was his sardonic response, and I grinned like a maniac. I still hadn't fully gotten used to the Glader language; it sounded alien and irrational, but I made an attempt to try it out anyway.

"Come on, Minho, I'm shucking starvin'!" I quickened my pace, driving my feet forwards, as my stomach growled in protest. Minho huffed but a smile pushed at his lips before he left my sight and I sped on ahead.

A surge of excitement and adrenaline pulsated through me whenever a wall popped into view, and I swerved precariously away from the vine-adorned barriers, my mind racing. At any point, I could carelessly collide with one of the walls, so kept my attention solely forward, directed on the path trailing ahead. That's what I loved most about being a runner; the sense of panic or fear, then the instant relief. Relief of surviving another day in the maze; escaping the walls and the ghastly things that haunted them. The grievers; my worst nightmare.

The sudden rumble of the walls in the distance caused me to shake off all traces of fatigue and hunger and push on, determined not to get trapped; as was my constant fear. My laboured breathing ricocheted off the walls as my chest heaved in protest, but I was almost there...

I had made it through, slipping past the walls and staggering into the familiar grass-plastered fields of the Glade, dotted with hazy figures. Newt was waiting by my side and I pivoted on my heel to tease Minho... but he wasn't there. Only Newt staring at me in confusion, his blonde hair falling messily over his face.

"Minho!" I called desperately, eyes peered through the gap.

No answer.

Panic raked through my body; the walls were almost shut, inching closer with every second that passed. With a fleeting glance, I caught sight of Minho sprawled along the floor, several paces away. He lay unmoving, blood seeping down his head. In the few seconds I had, I made a rash decision, and bolted forward like the world was crumbling behind me, ready to suck me into a gaping void of darkness.

I heard Newt give a yell and leap to grab me, but missed and stumbled through after me, just as the doors slammed closed with a resonating rumble. The sonorous vibrations resounded through my head as I slumped to the floor, gasping and panting, my chest heaving and my hands trembling, avoiding Newt's bewildered protests.

What had I done?

I was trapped.

We were trapped.

Newt. Minho. And I.

Imprisoned.

With the Grievers.

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super short part, i know. sorry guys. this is only supposed to be a super short story anyhow!

please vote and comment and spread the word to fellow gladers, else the grievers will get you... 😁🙌 joking? of course. only vote if ya think its worthy.

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