Past Gone --- Maze Runner Fanfic

New Boy

"Get your bloody hands off of me!"

Rabecca nudges me and whispers. "He's british. Should be fun." She smiles and flashes her blood encrusted teeth. I nod intently, but my focus is still on the boy. He looks about my age, tall with blond hair and brown eyes. Distrustful, frustrated eyes. A crank's eyes. You can tell a lot about a person from their eyes, I've noticed. For example, some people have seeing eyes, and others don't. Like when they're looking at you but they don't really see you. Or maybe that's just the bugs in my brain. But when the blondie looks up and stairs at me, in the split second we make eye contact I can tell he has seeing eyes. Maybe they were once sane eyes. But now his attention is on the floor again.

At least he's stopped screaming. That'll save him some trouble.

The guards throw him to the ground with such force it should have put him asleep. No one goes to his aid. It's against our nature.

"What'd you want now, munnies? Our clothes? Our food? Our goddamn hair?!" Albert, an older man who claims he's the devil, yells at them. Me and a few others have our bets on him being the next sent to the scorch. He's close. Very close to gone. I can tell. We all can, and he knows it. But that never stopped anyone.

The guard to the left grins. "We got a new arrival here, and he'll be staying with you for a day. Just get him used to the place."

"Why don't you just put him in the Fisher?" askes our leader cautiously.

"All filled up. Plus they're not as forgiving as you." The man replies coolly. An insult.

"Maybe we should scalp you right now, show you how forgiving we are, huh?" Darius says calmly. I can see he's doing his best not to lose it, and the others are excited at the mention of violence. They've begun to bring knives and rusty pieces of sharp metal from their pockets and belts.

Fear flashes through the guards eyes and he turns to his companion. "I think our job is done." His friend nods and they both walk out briskly.

Laughter. Rabecca is kackling insanely. I begin to giggle. I don't know why, but it's nice to get it out. Others join in and soon we're all on the floor, struggling to breath. Laughter seems to be the best substitute for the Bliss.

The newcomer is sitting on the dirty ground examining his new home. Confusion sedates his expression and he looks at Darius for an explanation. Clearly can tell he's the leader. Darius ignores him though and goes back to his corner to feast on who knows what.

The laughter has died down by now, and everyone is back at it. Sulking in the shadows, tending the fires, or listening to Jim play his banjo. I realize I'm still standing there.

He's looking at me.

I'm looking at him.

He attempts a smile, and I see his teeth are sparkling clean. Strange.

"You must be hungry." I tell him, not bothering to return his smile.

He shakes his head.

"Don't talk much?"

He shrugs.

"Why am I still standing here?" I ask myself mostly, but I'm curious to see his reaction.

He shrugs again.

I shrug back.

He smiles. A real one this time.

I still don't smile back. I walk over to Jim and sit down, spacing myself from the others. I tell myself not to look back, not to let him know that I'm still thinking of him. I shouldn't be. I'm a crank.

But I'm still pretty much human for now, and I can't help but look back to see where he is. The strange new boy with sparkling teeth is sitting in a darker part of the room, staring at the fire at the end of his lane. Luckily he doesn't see me staring, and I turn back as quickly as possible.

"Delaina!" I whip around and find Darius staring at me from the shadows. "Get. Him. Out." he growl-whispers menacingly.

Knowing exactly what he means, I nod solemnly. It's also best not to get on his bad side. I stand, my hip bones cracking loudly. I'm not exactly in the best of shape, I'll admit, but I can look scary enough when I want to. Turning my attention to the British boy, I begin to stalk over to him, adding a sway to my step. As I walk I pull a dagger from my belt. I'd never actually used it on anyone, yet, but I'd covered my own blood to create the illusion of a predator.

I throw myself down onto a pillow that's on the ground next to him. He hardly recognizes my arrival, his gaze unwavering. Mesmerized by the way the fire's bright orange flames lick at the walls.

Dancing.

Before I know it, I'm stuck there. Just like him. I know I need to stop looking, do what I came here to do, but the beautiful captivating inferno hypnotizes me. I tear my gaze away and stair at the crank. I speak, my eyes unblinking.

"What's your name?" I ask him.

He looks at me, probably just realizing that I'm here. "Newt."

"Newt?" I raise an eyebrow.

"Newt." he assures me. I can tell he's starting to get a little pissed at me. Good.

"Well, Newt," I use the tip of my knife to pick at the grime underneath my fingernails. "I think you should know something about this place. It's not exactly... the safest."

"I had no bloody idea." he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Exactly why I'm telling you this." I go on. But he cuts in again.

"I don't want to be here, you don't want to be here. Who the shuck would want to be here? I get it, okay? I'll leave in the morning."

Mildly surprised but still unfazed by his outburst, I decided to take on a new tactic. I bat my eyelashes at him stupidly. "Newt, hey, listen." I snap my fingers in his face rudely. Anger flashes through his eyes. So much hatred and vexation that it almost scared me. But I retrieve myself and continue. "I'm telling you this for your own good. You don't want to anger us, Newt, It's not gonna treat you well later."

He growls at me. "I'm about two seconds away from bashing your head open with this."

"With wh-" but then i see it. A Launcher. I raise an eyebrow at him, impressed. "Well aren't you... resilient."

He points the gun at my head; finger on the trigger. He'd really do it.

I sigh. "Whatever. Just let me tell you something; We don't really like newcomers here, Newt. They make us... quite mad actually. Food's already so scarce, it's hard enough as it is. We don't want any more... trouble."

Newt's face contorts into sorrow and he lowers the launcher. Tears sting his now glossy eyes. "We're all quite mad actually."

Shock. That was not at all what I was expecting him to say, but it's painfully true. We're all mad. Crazy. Insane. Whatever you want to call us, it's all the same. We're cranks.

So I put my knife away, and I scoot closer to Newt.

And together, we watch the flames dance.