NIGHT BEDS ━︎━︎ THE MAZE RUNNER

xxix. APPLE PIE WITH MILK.

edith piaf // la vie en rose.

THE ELEVATOR WAS STILL RUNNING. In fact, R.A's building was one of the untouched parts of the city where the rebels haven't blown it up. MK wondered why it hasn't been perished yet. She wished it was, but the men that escorted her from the car forced her to walk into the elevator and pressed the floor button for her before exiting back out.

The doors were closed and she was by herself again. The lift took up. She waited, slumping back against the wall for the doors to slide open and find R.A standing right at the door to kidnap her or possibly kill her, or for an explosion to come from the battle, for someone to save her maybe. Instead, it was just the lame elevator music playing innocently through the speaker as she was taken up to the high floors to the penthouse.

She has the opportunity to stop somewhere and try to escape. But maybe this was meant to be. Maybe she needed to stop, accept that nothing was going to be useful for her to get out. There could be one or a dozen guards at every floor if she tried to get out.

The elevator came to a stop and opened, but she took a while to get back on her feet and take a step in. The living room of the penthouse was only lit by a chandelier, quiet inside but she could hear structures crashing down from the windows. It was juxtaposition. Everything seemed to be reflecting on being relaxed and untouched. But soon, all of that would change. All it takes is one shot of fire aimed right at them.

No one was inside except for her. She looked out the glass that lead out to the balcony. The view outside was chaos. From afar she saw another building come tumbling down with flames from every direction. The poor citizens inside. At least she knew not all of them thought the same as WCKD. People inside the cities were living in buildings, some going to work, some with families and spouses.

When was it time for Lawrence's team to blow up the building MK stood in? So she could crash down with the broken floors and ceilings, where she can fall and die with debris crushing her fragile body, finally ending her long night?

There was a desk. On top were stacks of paper, some scattered across that it looked like someone was working pretty hard, an empty wine glass stood beside the reading lamp as well as blueprints and a map. All were signed with someone's writing.

The last time MK was there she saw the desk, but not the blueprint and map.

Not even the photo frame on the corner. She has never seen it before, so she picked it up. The photograph looked old so the frame was a small size. MK removes it from the black frame to look at it closer.

A family. They were smiling. All of them looked so happy. The mother seemed to smile the most while the young boy looked a bit more forced. The father was on one knee so his daughter could be the same height as him to put her tiny hand on his shoulder.

But what sent chills up MK's spine was the fact that all their faces— their eyes, were scratched out with their smiles a bit visible to see, as if a person had used their fingernail to erase them from the picture. All of them except for the little girl whose face remained out of all three.

MK knew who she was, she knew who the parents and the little boy were. That was her when she was a little girl, at least ten or eleven, her little brother being a bit younger and immature to behave like a young man, her parents that once looked genuinely happy and healthy. Her mother and father both looked like loving parents, protective over their two kids.