Secrets | TMR | One

3:9

Cold concrete slabs firmly pressed against pasty white flesh, connected through the layers of sweat and blood that trickle down his skin.

Like two dancers on a stage, the liquids swirl and twist around every blemish and imperfection, before intertwining and dropping from the side of his face, splitting apart as they hit the brick below.

That is the first thing Nick hears. The faint patter of his diluted blood as it drips down onto the concrete.

For a moment, the boy has no idea where he is, or what is going on.

His eyes not registering the fact that all he can see is grey as he squints them open. His ears do not perk up at the shrill sounds of the Grievers patrolling the corridors, or the crunching and grinding as the walls move within the maze. His brain, awake but inattentive, not questioning the ache in his bones from laying in the same position for hours, or the searing pain in the right temple and back of his head.

In the daze of waking up, lightly gliding along the tightrope that separates his dreams from reality, the boy feels...

Calm.

But only for a moment.

Within the space of a few seconds, his brain kicks back to reality.

As though a wall has just been smashed by a bulldozer, the bricks and cement tumble down, destroying the defensive barrier his mind had created.

Protection from the truth of where is really is, and what is really going on, now no more than a pile of dust at the bottom of his thoughts.

He tries to move, his brain sending signals down to every limb and muscle, urging them to do something - anything. But his body is not ready for such a strenuous task.

It needs more time.

Time, in which, the leader does not have an abundance of.

Not while Adeline is still out there somewhere, terrified and lonely - or at least, Nick presumes those are the thoughts that must be running through the girls head.

The boy tries not to raise his expectations too high, for she could be - and dare he even think such a thing - dead.

He hates that his brain has been tainted with such a word, but unfortunately that just appears to be the kind of situation the leader has found himself in.

Life or death.

Wishing for her to be alive, praying that she will pop around one of the corners, with a bright smile plastered on her face and a spring in her step.

But at the same time, mentally preparing himself for the possibility of finding her, laying dead on the concrete. Her orange hair contrasting with the olive green ivy that coats every inch of the maze. Her light, flawless skin shining against the dingy grey gravel.

Nick tries to force the thought away, pushing with all of his might as he squeezes it into the very back corner of his mind.

Then, after what felt like the longest time of being unable to do anything but become lost in his own thoughts, the boy finally starts to feel as though he is gaining control again.

He feels his finger twitching.

It is just a small movement, not enough for him to be completely mobile, but just enough for him to begin the process.

Slowly, but surely, the leaders body starts to listen to the commands his brain has been screaming out, until eventually, he can do more than just twitch.

The movements become so real, so sizeable, that he can feel every tendon in his arms fluttering as he wiggles his fingers.

Beginning to test his body's limits, Nick gently balls his hands into fists, then stretches them out again. Over and over, trying to get his joints used to the activity.