Some believe that there's a sort of beauty in death.
That there's something about the everlasting tranquility, the way the ultimate uniting factor spreads her song over us all in the end.
That this eternal rest is something artistic, something for the poets.
But there's nothing beautiful about this death.
No tranquility in the terrified bodies streaking past, running for their lives.
No song in the shrill, dissonant chorus of shrieks which pierce the night air.
And no artistry in the deep crimson which splatters on surfaces across the glade: the stains of careless swipes from death's loaded brush.
For this death is not one brought to life under a poet's fluid hand, rather one carved into the earth by science and her cruel, gleaming scalpel.
- - -
We run, and the earth trembles beneath our feet.
We breathe, and the air pulls away, fleeing itself.
We scream, and our cries are lost in the clamour of the metal army.
We fall, and the earth offers no cushion for our lifeless bodies.
We die, and we are forgotten.
- - -
Frantic hands grip my shoulders; someone screams in my ear, sending a rattle down my spine.
Bleary dark spots become shards of light as my sight clears; a burning orange sears my vision as heat strikes my face.
As I open my eyes, I'm jerked to my feet, leaving me time to wipe the tears which gently fall.
I love you too.
Please forgive me.
I love you too.
Pl-
"Please!" Worried, frantic brown eyes, pooling into mine.
It's Newt.
He says my name again, wrapping his arm around me.
"We have to go. Now!" As he pulls me along, I look beyond him.
The glade is alight.
Flame dance circles around our feeble structures; gladers flee its' deadly wrath, dispersing in all directions, into the darkness.
A shrill chorus pierces the air. Death. Screams. Havoc.
Click. Click.
Click.
Grievers.
I open my eyes and find myself running. My feet frantically hit the damp grass; my breath returns to me.
The night closes in as my breath rips in rags.
The Glade is a storm. Fire's embers catch on the breeze, streaking through the darkness like cruel stars falling from a malignant sky.
Screams echo from every corner, ripping through the night in rags. They are joined by the relentless clicks and shrieks of the Grievers prowling their prey.
Newt's hand is firm on my wrist, his grip pulling me forward through the chaos. My legs ache, each step a battle against the uneven terrain, tangling grass that snatches at my feet, and promise of death behind me. The air is thick, choking, as though the very Glade has turned against us.
Maybe it has.
Maybe you deserve it.
"Over here!" Newt's voice rips through my thought, but his voice barely cuts through the cacophony. He pulls me sharply to the left, toward a patch of earth near the wall.
YOU ARE READING
Newt x Reader || A13
FanfictionHe was alone; he was fragile; he was scared, crumbling under the weight of a leader's role. He is the glue. She is bold; she is determined; she is confused, haunted by visions of her forgotten past. She is the trigger. From the ashes of a world dest...
