Reshuffled || Maze Runner Fanfiction

Training

As the day prolongs, the hours dragged by with the sun's position, I begin to realize that most of these boys are simply that- boys. Children. Like me. When I walk by, most of them shy away. The ones that don't refrain from even glancing at me. I keep my gaze on my feet, although my thoughts spark like wildfire. How to survive. How to thrive. Why I'm here. How to get out. I don't make any progress on the problem, but I'm beginning to grow accustomed to the basis of the situation.

A bigger kid called Zart leads me around the place, showing me to the different stations I can work at. He doesn't look at me much, but I have a feeling he's that way with everyone. Mostly he just tells me what I need to know with clipped, impatient sentences. I ask him anything and everything he knows about the Glade, the Grievers, the Flare. The latter one earned me a confused look when I brought it up, so I resolved not to bring the term up to many other Gladers. At one point, I asked where Newt was.

Zart had shrugged, "Why do you want to know?" I kept my gaze ahead of me.

"No reason in particular."

"Greenies," he rolled his eyes, "You think you're so mysterious. Newt's over in the map house; thinkin' through the maze."

"Why him?"

"He used to run the maze." I stayed silent after that.

He showed me the slaughterhouse. The kids there... they focused on their work, offering me only snide glares and hatefully cold shoulders. Within the first few moments, I could tell they didn't like me. I purse my lips and force myself to push through the rest of the day.

Finally, when the heat has reached its greatest intensity, there's a call for lunch. I almost faint from relief. The slaughterhouse smells rotten and bitter from blood, and the heat seems to press down on all sides. I look up from the slab of meat some boy had me cutting, my hands slimy from grease, and wave a fly from my hair.

I wait for the small shack to empty first, then I stumble through the door. The fresh air embraces me, and I suddenly notice the sweat that clings to my skin. But there's a small stream snaking through the field, just halfway from the food house. When I step into the brook, my feet against the smooth pebbles, I'm so happy I shiver.

It's only a five-minute trek after that. I'm about to walk to the food house, but most of everyone is already stuffed in there. And- there, in the midst of a small group of Gladers, in the field, clutching a sandwich. I see Newt.

I hesitate for a second. He's talking with some boys, they're laughing. But the sun is hot on my head and I'm not particularly overjoyed at the thought of going into the food house. I'm grateful when Newt catches my gaze, waving me over.

"Where've you been?" He asks, although he doesn't look at me. He's watching a younger boy stumble around the grass.

"Slaughterhouse." There are four other boys. I only recognize Alby, but the other three seem similar in height. One of them is riddled with acne, but his hair is gold and neatly ruffled. The other has a chiseled face and dark hair tied back in a bun. The last one has a hooked nose and avoids my gaze.

Newt finally turns to me. He's obviously put up a facade; he smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes, and he seems worried. Sweat drops down his forehead, and his hair is flat from the heat. I raise an eyebrow, suddenly uncertain. What was Newt dealing with in the map room?

Alby has the same conclusion, apparently, because he suddenly leads the other three boys into the lunchroom.

I screw up my eyes against the sun. "You okay?"