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BACK IN THE GLADE, THERE WAS PLENTY OF SAD MOMENTS FOR THE GROUP OF TEENS- MORE THAN ANYONE WOULD EVER DARE ESTIMATE. Having heard of the environment the young kids had lived in for a span of a few months to a few years, you wouldn't doubt that there must've been some rough times that fell upon them . . . but nobody would truly understand like the Gladers did.
Back in the Glade, there was never a good day for them. Sure, they had okay days . . . but no day was ever a day the young kids wanted to spend the rest of their lives living out. They wanted freedom- all of them did . . . but only a few were considered lucky enough to actually receive it.
And even then, as the surviving Gladers sat in the Scorch that restless night with a dimly lit fire being their only source of light; they were left to ponder. Minho was the first out of the group to speak, breaking the thick silence to voice what seemed to be on most of their minds. "I thought we were supposed to be immune."
Teresa, who was staring at the fire as if in deep thought, answered with. "Not all of us," there was a pause to her words before she tumbled out in a mumble. "I guess."
"If Winston can get infected, we should assume so can the rest of us." Newt advised in a tough, authoritative response, his eyes too trained on the flickering flame before them.
That was a scary thought for Rita as she hugged her arms around herself, the action appearing to be an attempt to warm up . . . when in reality, it was a move of fear.
The young girl didn't want anyone- especially her friends- to go through what poor Winston did. Obviously, she wasn't dumb, she knew that right now her mental begs would never be good enough.
"I never though I'd say it," There was an emotional layer in Frypan's voice as the group collectively looked at him just to see a tear leak out of his red eyes and roll down his now salty cheek. "but I miss the Glade."
Thomas later excused himself from the conversation, walking away from the group to sit by himself in the night air. Nobody seemed overly concerned about the young boy, blind by their own emotions to even see that . . . but Rita did.
Even with the subtle way his shoulders slumped in the distance, the young girl knew he wasn't okay. A part of her felt guilty, wondering if she could be a possible reason why due to the last time they spoke.
She knew it was a bad idea and would only later cause her tormenting pain, but Rita got up anyway and made her way over to him. Thomas heard her approaching, recognising the way her light footsteps padded in the thick sand. He didn't turn around, leaving the young girl to sit in a seconds silence behind him before gently speaking. "Are you okay?"
