The Maze Trials [Behind The Scenes]

Newt's death scene

this was just something i wrote to spill my emotions out, sorry for not updating twice today ): <3

unedited <3

Penelope

I think that to blame human instinct on reflexes or nature is simply primal, and it refuses to explore the fact that we, as creatures, are empathetic. Perhaps all the way at the bottom of the food chain, they're crying for one another more than we are over missing children and a world subjected to decay and virus.

It's foolish to say that our main emotions are happiness, sadness and anger without taking into account fear, depression, agony, ecstasy, all of the emotions which fall under these categories. Often we feel things much more complex than possibly comprehensible to our feeble minds, making it impossible to control our emotions. That's the thing about emotions, about love, it's that you can't control it, and you can never see it coming, you just realise one day that it's there, and it hurts like hell trying to get over it.

How odd is it that something so sweet could cause so much pain? Nevertheless, maybe that's why we get so defensive over our emotions; we cannot control how we feel, therefore we feel embarrassed to even admit to ourselves that we feel that way.

I've done it probably a hundred times or more, pretending I don't feel a certain way about things, especially when they're insignificant yet make me so incredibly upset or angry, and I find myself angry at myself for feeling that way. It must be so tragic to loathe yourself because of your own feelings.

It's all I can think about though, lately, and staring at Newt as he busies himself with morning tasks has me in a complete trance of relaxation, the realisation that my heart, soul and body are his, and perhaps they always were.

My hand doesn't fit with anyone else's in the way it does with Newt, the way we mould together like our hands were made for one another, and the way that he holds me, as though he's held me a million times before, with no intention of letting go. A familiar kind of love, yet one that I fear I may never get used to.

Every time I blink, he's gone, replaced by nothing but a still pulse, a heart rate never moving no matter how much I pray and weep. I can still feel my hand shaking as I drop the gun to the floor, the movement of his body collapsing to the floor replaying over and over again.

I tell myself I did what I had to do to survive, that he wanted it that way, but I often remind myself that I've been surviving because of Newt. Time after time he has saved me from the danger of the outside world, saving me from my own mind, yet I repaid him by ending his own life.

Perhaps his sacrifice was noble, one that was a variable put in place by W.I.C.K.E.D, always meant to happen, even inevitable, yet I still can't control my intrusive thoughts breaking through every barrier of logic I've tried to set up. This is not a memory that I can pack up in a box and forget about for a few months, it's the kind of thing that haunts me.

I see Newt in the black veins of victims, I see him in my survivors guilt with my reflection in the lake we once swam in. I see Newt in the gun I shot him with, and I see him in the blood I'm forced to spill. He's in my coffee, with his familiar scent of earthy aromas and leaves. Newt is in the sunrises every morning, reminding me of his appreciation of how the sun used to hit the glade right at that perfect moment.

Sometimes Thomas tries to get me out of bed, other times he sends Frypan to bring me a meal and a drink, just enough to keep me alive as I refuse to move, getting up only to use the bathroom. I can't bring myself to move, it's like I don't deserve to be mobile after what I did. Gally tried to sympathise with me again and again, telling me he didn't know what to do after he was forced to murder Chuck, but I can't relate to him in that way.

I don't know how to function, let alone get up and look in the mirror, all I see is a monster, a murderer.