" 𝐴 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚘𝚛 𝚍𝚘𝚎𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚖𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚕 𝚊𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚛 "
In which Aife leads her boys to freedom, with the help of a boy named Thomas.
Iғ Yᴏᴜ Aɪɴᴛ Sᴄᴀʀᴇᴅ, ʏᴏU ᴀɪɴᴛ ʜUᴍᴀɴ
丂ㄩ尺ᐯ|ᐯㄖ尺丂
Ma...
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"My people, My responsibility."
It's been a little over three years since Aife has been in the glade. After about two months of the girl being there alone, she finally was welcomed with a group of four that were like her. Memory swiped, completely clueless, utterly confused. Except they were boys. Every single one of them. That confused her greatly, why hadn't there been any girls? She doesn't know any other females than herself.
She soon figured out that once a month they send up someone new with a box of brand new supplies.
Currently, she sat on a log near the forest, with her elbows rested on her scarred knees. The gladers were working, and Aife could hear their faint voices, but she could quite make out what they were speaking about. A ghost of a smile appeared on her face as she watched. She built this.
They built this.
We've survived this long, we can keep on going, she told herself. She sure was getting tired of hearing it, as she had told herself that for so many days of so many years.
The girl absentmindedly rubbed her neck and felt at the scar that reached down to her collar bone. Her nails immediately began to scratch at it, her face twisting up as she thought of how ugly it must look to other eyes. She would tell herself, it's fine. We've all got something. I don't mind. I don't mind.
She doesn't mind.
She wore a grey thin strapped shirt that was loosely tucked into torn black pants that had rips scattered all around. She had old sneakers that covered her feet. On her face, she smeared war paint over her eyes As well as a machete strapped onto her back and a small knife attached to her thigh. She wore leather fingerless gloves that fit perfectly over her hands.
She didn't know why they had been somewhat polite with their gifts, but she wasn't complaining.
She grabbed a large stick from the ground and grabbed the knife off of her thigh and began to sharpen the stick. The wooden flakes fell to the floor with each swipe, creating a ringing sound.Her upper lip curled up as she focused on not cutting her fingers off.
The gladers have become her family. Her brothers. Not just to her, but to each other as well. They look out for each other. And they always have.
She often finds herself hating her real family. Or, if she even has one. She cant seem to understand why someone would put them in a place like this. They're just kids. The maze is dangerous if you don't know what you're doing. Which makes it difficult since they don't have everyone helping to find a way out. Not everyone's a runner. Not everyone had what it takes.
