The Middle (TMR fanfiction)

The Middle (Dear Newt,)

   The enemy surrounds me. My reflexes kick in. Swords miss me by mere millimeters, arrows whip past my hair, and I receive a long cut down my arm. Thankfully, the army is quite small, but we too, the Gladers, we're only human. I notch another arrow and it pierces a Griever right behind Thomas in the eye. Minho slashes a woman right before she can pull the trigger on me. I wonder if my beautiful Newt, is okay.  Suddenly, a wave of exhaustion consumes me. My legs are frozen and my arms are numb and I stumble around like a drunk person. I can't think, I can't think. I don't know what's happening, everything is just so fast and I feel like a rock. I'm falling, but I'm not, and Newt won't be here to catch me if I do fall. I can't hear the screams of pain or the cries of agony. I can't see the crimson blood or the flying bodies. I don't know what to do and I don't see the spear until it is airborne and it's coming towards me like a bullet in slow motion and I'm frozen in that spot and I'm going to die, I'm going to die.

   And the cry of agony, of pain, it jolts me out of my stupor. It could not have been produced from a human, yet it was.

It did not come from me, though.

   And when I opened my eyes, my one true love laid there, soaked in blood, spear in his chest.
Newt, Newt, please don't die, please, please, please don't die, please don't die for me. My silent prayers echo through my brain as I try to comprehend the scene before me.
There is no energy left for me to scream. My eyes water and the world is still sped up, but everything's in slow motion at the same time and now I've gone completely deaf, save for the ringing in my ears. I can't think this through, he's dying, and I'm not, why am I not dead? I should be dead. Dying, in Newt's strong, gentle arms. He'd be calm and he's say he'd love me and that he'll love me forever even if I am gone and he would kiss me one last time. And then I would die peacefully, happily.

But that is not the case, in a world where fantasies remain fantasies, and reality is reality.

"Look at me."

Newt has already pulled out his spear, and manages a smile, and I'm crying like a moron and he whispers, "I love you, so, so much. I will always love you, forever and always."
And all I can do is stare at his beautiful face, he whom I fell in love with so long ago, as he dies, in my arms, for me.

"Pl-please don't cry." His voice breaks, and it's getting hard for him to breathe. "I would die for you, ever if you wouldn't die for me." With his last remaining strength, his hand brushes my cheek.

"Beautiful," he murmurs gently. I lean forward, and kiss him. One last time. And once more his lips work perfectly with mine and I'm sucked into the oblivion where there is nothing but his warmth that encircles me, his passion that burns me, his love that is eternal. And both of our faces are covered in soot and dirt, and blood and sweat, and a current of tears that drip from my face to his, and my shaking hands tangle in his hair, and his eyes close, and that was it.

Because in that moment, his hand drops.

---

he didn't know his real name.

he never did.

but they called him Newt.

and then he walked into my life.

and left.

 

i remember when i first met him.

our eyes locked as soon as the Box opened.

 

i remember baking cookies with him and Frypan.

his deformed cookies next to my perfect ones.

 

i remember taking the Tour with him

how he laughed at everything i said.

 

i remember when i had a nightmare.

how he let me into his arms to sleep that night.

 

i remember when we ran in the Maze for the first time.

and i almost got stung if not for his protection.

 

i remember when we took a walk under a thousand stars.

and we kissed for the first time in the moonlight.

 

i remember those little memories.

of us being stupid together

and teasing Minho and Alby and Thomas

and hugging and kissing when we thought nobody was looking

and how we promised  each other

that we would always be together

no matter what

forever.

 

---

 

He's smiling, eyes closed. I don't want to part with him. I want to cry over his mangled body and bury him myself. I want to stay with him forever. I want to join him in death. And then I realize something.

The last one is behind me.

Here is a chance to die, to follow my love, to feel the pain that he did.

But his death wasn't for me to die too.

I rise slowly, hatred in my eyes. Anger bubbles up from the bottom of my toes. I feel like a shaken soda can, ready to explode at any moment now. A bomb lit, a firework set, a volcano preparing to erupt. I want them to feel the pain that Newt did. What kind of stupid idiot were they, trying to attack a grief-stricken girl? I am weaponless, but I w ould gladly strange each and every one of them with my bare hands if it meant getting Newt back. Something inside me almost thought that Newt would come, and hand me something sharp, be it a knife or an arrow or a shard of glass. But of course that is no longer true, because he is dead.

He came in the end. He saved my life twice. Because when the enemy swings at me, Newt's voice echoes in my head. I'll always be there for you, I promise.

And the spear that took his life lies still bloody, still cold at my feet. And with a single stab, Newt's murderers are defeated.

The battle was won,

but my heart was lost.