[1] Let Me Go ➝ The Maze Runner ✓ (WATTYS 2015 WINNER!)

*Sweet Dreams*

*Sweet Dreams*

I was dreaming, but I was aware of it. It was strange; in my dream, I was watching a younger version of myself from a different perspective, almost as someone hidden in the shadows of the room. The Room. The hospital room, or that's what it looked like. My younger version was strapped to a table - an operating table - and my eyes were closed. My breathing seemed regular, meaning I was unconscious, but my hands repeatedly clenched and unclenched by my sides. They looked wet and clammy in the dim light of the room, and a small crease appeared between my eyebrows. I must be dreaming about something.

From my shadowy perspective, unheard and unseen, I saw three people enter the room, all dressed in doctors uniforms; lab coats, goggles, masks. I was undoubtedly in a hospital. They approached the table on which I was bound, pulling out a myriad of pointed tools and irrational devices. What the hell were they going to do to me?

All three people glanced at each other, offering signs of approval, and the one closest to my head grabbed a lethal-looking scalpel off an equipment wrack. No, no, no, no! What were they doing?!

The doctor poised the scalpel just above my scalp, then plunged it into my flesh.

They were going to kill me!

~

I was older now, by about two years. Almost my current age - sixteen. That's how old I was, and I was in a square room with white-washed walls. No windows, no doors. Just a box. A white box.

And I was sat in the middle of it; my knees drawn up, chin resting on them, arms wrapped around them, rocking back and forth.

Back and Forth.

Back and Forth.

Then there was a rumble, and a door slid open from nowhere. I seemed unfazed by it; I must have been used to it, or not have heard it. A young man clothed in a lab coat entered, and the door slid shut behind him.

"Okay, Rowan. I want you to try again," The man said in a pleasant voice, though I could discern the warning in his tone and the danger in his eyes. He could kill me if I disobeyed. But what was it he wanted me to do, exactly?

I rose my head, eyes meeting his. "I... I c-can't." My voice was hoarse and cracked, and the words lodged in my throat. My eyes were glazed, and soon enough, were welling with glimmering tears.

"Just try." There was more desperation in his tone. And I could detect it, for I seemingly braced myself to do something. I stared at him for a prolonged moment; my gaze fierce and unwavering. Then, all at once, the man screamed and clutched his head, his knees buckling underneath him. He collapsed to the ground, shrill screams of genuine pain rolling off his tongue.

Then he fell silent. And still. He wasn't moving. He wasn't even breathing. He was dead.

The doors slid open again, and a weaselly-looking figure strode in. He crouched in front of my younger self, now gasping in horror at what she had done. She scrambled away from the man, but his words still rang through the room in his nasally voice.

"Well Done, Rowan. You have passed the test; your time has come. Embrace it, my dear. Embrace the power."

... your time has come.

... embrace the power.