Running in Circles || the maze runner

Prologue

'oh, let the sun beat down upon my face, stars fill my dreams, I am a traveller of both time and space,' - Led Zeppelin.

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Property of WICKED. Group A, Subject A5. The Glue.

[ newt ]

In his dreams he was always running..

Running and running, from what or who, he never knew. But he was always running. Grass licking at his heels like the tongues of tame dogs. His long legged strides never failing to fall short of a steady, in breakable rhythm. He ran right out of the Glade and into the Maze. A familiar face to Newt's dark eyes.

Nothing seemed more important to Newt than to keep running. Nothing. He was in constant battle with his body as it struggled to keep up with the pace he had set himself. His lungs burned. His heart raced. He never stopped.

He couldn't stop. Not once. Not for a second. And the outcome was always the same; Newt ran until he found himself falling. Falling off the cliff..

Newt's eyes flickered underneath long, interlocked eyelashes as he dreamt. The imagines in his head flashing through his mind like fireworks in the night sky. Their song so sweet and tempting he began to wish dawn would never break.. but again, as always, it was time he woke up.

The early mornings in the glade were always the most quiet. The smears of pinks and yellows dyed the sky with such a vibrant shade, Newt had to blink once or twice to make sure he was in reality. Squinting, he peered through his golden eyelashes, that caught the new light of day, and surveyed the dead quiet of the Glade.

He was the first awake.

Sighing, Newt swung his legs out of the canvas fold of his hammock. Cringing when his injured leg met the dry soil.

A hiss left his lips as the needle like pricks ran up the length of his long, skinny leg. The pain that he was used too still caused him trouble.

A wave of self loathing filled the pit in this empty stomach. The feeling nawing at him from the inside out. Yet Newt knew that no good would come from wallowing in self-pity.

What's done is done.

Forcing the uncomfortable feeling aside, Newt limped past the snoring Gladers. Occasionally one of the boys would open an eye at the sound of Newt's unmistakable awkward steps that could be heard from a mile off, but other than that Newt went completely unnoticed.

Step by step, Newt walked from the Homested, past Frypan's kitchens and towards the Tree House. The look out point of the Galde had become a get away for Newt. Over the past few months he found himself in need of a place of peace to clear his thoughts. The Deadheads was the first place that came in mind if silence was what you were looking for, but Newt only found it to be a reminder of where he had failed to end up.

The Deadheads are a place for those lucky shanks who find a way out.

Newt thought bitterly. His thoughts had been nothing but sour recently, not that anyone had taken much notice. His smile saw to that.

His smile was is mask.

Because no matter how bad things get, Newt was always there to fix it. He was the glue that held everything together.

Everything but himself..

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[ a.n ] Hey everybody, so recently I have become a little obsessed with 'The Maze Runner' books and film and I thought it was about time I release this fangirling into the world of FanFiction :) so for all those 'The Maze Runner' fans and Newt lovers, here's 'Running in Circles'.