The New Horizon ~ A Maze Runner Story

- 2 -

"Thomas? Dude, wake up."
Thomas's eyes burst open, panic visibly flaring inside of them as his pupils involuntarily dilated. But at the sight of Minho towering over him, Thomas's fear was sucked back into oblivion, only to be conjured up again later. 

"You look dead," Minho said, a smirk creeping onto his face. Thomas rolled his eyes, shielding his face from the brilliant morning sun. "You've slept in past breakfast. Your shuckface better be lucky Frypan saved you some bacon. I was about to eat it."
Thomas groaned as he sat up, observing the empty hammocks inside the hut. How long was he out?
"I'll be outside, shank." Minho said, walking out through the strip of material that covered the hut's entrance, like some scratchy, linen door.

Thomas groggily made his way to the sinks, smelling the aromatic wafts of bacon from the fire-pit not too far out. His stomach rumbled as he trudged to the large, carved wooden bowls full of stream water.
In an attempt to wake himself up, he splashed handfuls of the water onto his face, feeling as it rolled down his neck and soaked the collar of his tee-shirt. The coolness of his damp shirt was refreshingly pleasant. If only he had a mirror to see how ridiculous he must've looked.

Thomas's share of breakfast was a single strip of wilted, nearly-charred bacon that was just as much an insult to the pig as it was to Thomas's stomach. As more and more weeks elapsed, it became obvious that the food portions grew smaller and smaller. And judging by the half-satisfied faces around him, Thomas knew everyone was silently grumbling about it.
He took the skewer in hand and thanked Frypan, who was probably just as starved as he was.
There were only ten or so teenagers at the firepit, picking solemnly at their bacon sticks. Others had already gone out, gotten a head start on their daily to-do list of building and Thomas could only guess what other chores Paradise entailed.

His thoughts were cut short as his eyes latched onto Brenda, who was sitting on a fallen log in front of the pit, patting the tree beside her.
"Good morning to you, too." Brenda said as Thomas sat down, looking at him as if he were an alien--some very tired, very worn-out alien. "What happened to you? You look dead."
Thomas laughed, but found little humor in it. "That's exactly what Minho told me."
"Well, are you okay?"

"I'm fine . . . I just had a dream." Thomas never let a soul into his convoluted, terrifying dreams. Not even Brenda, who he once considered the closest friend he'd had in Paradise. More than a friend only weeks ago, but that notion was extinct now. Whatever there was between them was short-lived, and it was painful--for the both of them. But Thomas was never good at covering up anything. Brenda, on the other hand, was great. 
She lowered her eyebrows. "You know you can tell me anything, Thomas."

It came out as more of a question than a statement, and Thomas understood why. He refused to ever become a burden; someone to pity. He didn't like that, didn't want that. And he refused to open up. No one needed to understand what would happen inside his brain at night--the horrible, gruesome deaths of his friends, played on repeat. He didn't even understand.
"Yeah." It was all Thomas could say, and he heard Brenda sigh. Absently, he tore off a strip of the dry, yet incredibly greasy bacon. Brenda read his disgusted expression. "If you don't want that, I'll take it. I'm starved."

"No, thanks. I'll deal with it. I'm pretty starved myself." He wiped at his chin where grease had dribbled onto.
"Okay, but always keep me in mind when you get tired of eating. I'm never tired of eating."
"Speaking of being tired . . .," Thomas suddenly said, his mind churning with contemplation.
"Huh?"
"Don't you get tired of--" Thomas held up his half-eaten bacon skewer for effect --"eating bacon every morning?"
Brenda seemed amused. She shrugged. "I mean, sure. Why are you--"

"Don't you get tired of building, and wondering, and thinking--just living here in general? We don't even know where this freaking place is." Thomas said, feeling heat rise inside his chest. The frustration left an acrid taste in his mouth.
"Don't you get tired of talking?" Brenda deadpanned, and Thomas felt himself recoil a bit. How could she not understand?
"Never mind." He tore a measly, remaining bit of bacon from his skewer and stuck the stick into the loamy soil beneath him. "I gotta get going with Minho. More exploring to do."

Brenda finally picked up on his mood. Somehow her expression softened. "Sorry, I--"
"Don't sweat it." Thomas took off on a steady jog, gesturing at Minho who was stretching his hamstrings. "You ready, Thomas?" He asked, ready any second to start off on the trek.
"Yeah."
"Wanna stretch first?"
Thomas shook his head. He felt fine at the moment and if he stayed still any longer his thoughts would begin to consume him. "No, I'm good. Are you ready?"

"Is that even a question? I'm always ready." Minho retorted, as if he'd been waiting his entire life to run off into the forest. Thomas was glad for it. "Good that. Let's go."