In my Blood

CHAPTER 3 - I Remember

Time passes slower than I imagine it would. I have a sense of time, and I know it shouldn't be going this slowly, yet it still does. Or maybe that's just my unconscious mind giving me mixed signals; I can't tell anymore.

People come and go from my room, none stay longer than half an hour, at most. I manage to figure out names connected with voices, and the personalities that match them. Alby is the leader of this place, the 'Glade', they call it. He sounds responsible and mature, from how people have talked about him, yet he's never entered my room, though I don't know why. Newt – the boy from the lift – is second in command. He doesn't talk much, yet when he does, he radiates calm authority and a curiosity which seems familiar to me. Everything about Newt intrigues me, but I don't know why. The way he talks... reminds me, very vaguely, of something from my past – if I even have a past. A few more boys come in and out, such as Minho, Gally, and the Med-jacks Clint and Jeff. Then there's Thomas. He's probably around me the most, lingering by my bedside or pacing the length of the small room.

He sometimes talks to me as if I could respond, which we both know I can't. I don't know what he expects. He's here now, muttering to himself. Or me, I can't tell anymore. I feel sorry for him... I don't think many boys take a liking to him. From what I gather, he's new to the Glade, just like me, just as confused as me. Just as confused and lost.

Another boy walks into the room and sits on the edge of my bed.

"You alright, mate?" Newt asks. I know its him because of his accent, and the way he speaks... softly, carefully, quietly yet with a sense of calm authority. I hear Thomas sigh softly, as if he's debating how to answer Newt's question.

"Who put us here?" Thomas mutters. "Why did they put us here?"

Now Newt's the one sighing. "We don't know that. We just call them the Creators. They send up a new Greenie every month, along with new supplies, and a maze full of bugging Grievers." He laughs softly under his breath. A maze? And... Grievers. The words ring a bell in my head, yet I've never heard them spoken before. It's like an itch in the back of my mind.

The air is filled with silence. 

"She's very pretty, isn't she?" the quiet, accented voice eventually murmurs.

I'm taken aback by Newt's simple comment, and apparently so is Thomas.

"Oh – oh, uh... yeah, yeah I guess so..." he utters.

"And you're sure you don't recognise her?"

"I'd tell you if I did."

Silence. Tense silence.

"Yeah. Yeah, I know that," Newt eventually concludes, but he doesn't sound so sure. He coughs quietly and begins to get up from the bed. "Right. Enough staring at a sleeping girl, let's go and be helpful. Remember the three rules."

Thomas gets up from the chair beside my bed, and leaves the room rather reluctantly. But... I'm still not alone.

Newt lingers by the edge of my bed. He seems unsure of what to do or say. After a moment, I feel the blanket covering my lower body being pulled carefully up to my shoulders, and Newt gently lifts the pillow from underneath my head to turn it over to the other side, before placing it back beneath my head. The pillow is cooler and more comfortable than before.

I sense Newt crouching down beside the bed. I'd imagine his face is about eye-level with mine. "I don't know who you are..." he whispers, "and I don't know what the Creators are intending on doing with us, but I'm going to work it out." He clears his throat softly before continuing. "You're probably very confused right now... shuck, I don't even know if you can hear me... but, if you can, everything will be fine. Well, I don't really know that, but..." he sighs. "Oh, what am I even saying?"