FOREVER. newt

one. is today the day?

WARNING: suicidal themes, heated makeout session

Is today the day we finally conduct a rescue plan?

This is something I ask myself in the morning when I wake up. In the middle of the day while I try to keep my consciousness awake as Vince drones on and on about how we'll be at our shelter soon. At the campsite we set up to stay at the night. At night when I'm lying awake because my brain won't shut off due to all there is to think about.

Is today the day?

And if not today — when?

I'm asking myself the same question as I look at the sea in the area we are currently residing. A month. A month of looking and finally, today, Vince found an abandoned warehouse near the sea. Naturally, everyone else is asleep, thankful that we finally had a chance to rest, but I was wide awake. Unblinking. Eyes set on the sea.

Closing my eyes, I feel the soft sky above, soles upon smooth stones and clouds caressed with reflected light. Lacy waves in steady rhythm echo my heart. A breeze brings a long awaited relief to my bones. I was supposed to be calm, but somehow, I still wasn't.

I thought I knew what happiness was. I took everything for granted. But it's only now, cold and hungry and alone, that I know how much it all meant. For you only know the true worth of something, when you lose it.

If Jisung and Minho were here, they'd probably be splashing around in the water like some children. This is one of the things I've admired the most about the two of them; even if we were in the very worst situations somehow they could turn things bright and happy.

But they weren't; so everything was just gloomy. Just like the waves. Crashing at the same awful godforsaken pace.

I open my eyes, and the ground is still there, hard and permanent. My ass is still seated on the ledge. A part of me wished that we were back in the Glade— all complete. I missed Frypan's stew. I missed hanging out in the gardens with Chuck whenever no one was getting injured. I miss waiting for the runners in front of the maze doors with a bottle of water. I miss having to go stretch Jisung, Minho, and Ben out whenever they were being overdramatic before a run.

Now there were only four of us left.

Four.

Out of sixty-something, four were left.

Frypan, Newt, Thomas, and me. Never would I have thought that my slow ass would make it through everything. I always thought that I would somehow wind up tripping on my own feet and become Crank food— but no. I was still here, alive and healthy.

Somehow.

"Nini?"

I don't need to look back to know who the voice was from. Instead, I keep my eyes on the crashing waves, placing my two hands behind me so I could slightly lean backwards for a better view of the body of water. "Hi, Newt."

As he takes a seat beside me and dangles his feet above the ledge, I couldn't help but let out a soft cough to somehow relieve the tension. Ever since Jisung and Minho were separated, we went on our feet and left the campsite— constantly on the wheels. Maybe everyone was too tired of everything that had happened to us, but none of us had the energy to talk unless it was essential.

Camp. Drive. Eat. Sleep. All in that order, for a whole month.

Now that we had a permanent (hopefully) shelter, were things going to change? Would we finally conduct a rescue plan, or would WICKED find us again and we'd have to move once more?