SHE FELT LIKE THE LONE SURVIVOR, ONE THAT HAD LIVED TO TELL THE TALE ABOUT HOW THE WORLD HAD COME TO AN END. THE TALE OF A STORY WITH MEMORIES THAT HAD BEEN ERASED FROM HER EXISTENCE
status: on hold/work in progress
the maze runner - the death cure...
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They were led into a hall, a spacious area and each group separated by the appointed safeguard. There was utter silence amongst them all, no longer the chatter and laughter that had been during dinner, only the shuffling of their steps and their shoes squeaking past the floors every now and then. It was eerie, every kid they had seen upon arriving had been following the rules, enjoyed the freedom they had gained upon being rescued by whoever these people were, celebrated the fact WICKED would not be able to bring any harm upon them anymore. And yet, none of them dared to say a single word around the adults that run the place, the men that kept order and safeguarding.
A group before them turned a corner, the only group to do so, and another following swift to the other side. But they and another group continued moving up the hall, watching as the others vanished deep into the side paths. That was until they themselves were led away from the five other groups continuing their path ahead of the hall, group A being the one to turn a corner and vanish into the abyss of white. Their destination being a room all the way at the end, a wall with a single steel door.
She tried to look past the shoulders of the boys before her, trying to catch a sole glance of the room as its door opened ahead of them with loud screeching. But her physique was petite, toes too short with teach step, to reach above shoulders of the Cook, the Runner and the Slicer before her.
Frypan had clapped in his hands as he turned to the first bed he saw, enthusiastically announcing he got a top bunk before anyone else could, only for Minho to rush past him and pull himself onto the top bunk in a swift motion, as she and the boy before her moved into the room. "Too slow."
It was nothing more than a joke the usual they had seen plenty in the Glade, one that always ended with a smile on the other's face and for them to move on, just like Frypan had moved to another. Her own feet guiding themselves to the middle of the room whilst Winston heaved himself down on one of the bunks. Hands resting beneath his head he mentioned how he could get used to it, the feeling of a soft bed that no matter how used they were to it, was a much better feeling than the rough material of their hammocks.
Her eyes wandered over the place, clean sheets, plumy cushions, and a pack of fresh clothes at the end of each bunk that parted the metal structures. Elizabeth noticed a table at the other end of the room, several chairs accompanying it, lockers lining the wall. Fingers brushed past the metal of one of the bunk beds, feet moving to the table to find what had been behind one of the separation walls. Newt's agreeing voice flowing through the room, "Yeah it's not bad."
