Past Gone --- Maze Runner Fanfic

Fire Dancing

Nauseous humid air. Shattered glass. The broken cries of sick humans flying out from behind locked doors, alleyways, everywhere. Psychotic, crazed laughter. So much laughter. But not enough to drown out the hopeless feeling of insanity slowly seeping its way into everyone's brains.

This is my home. Our home.

Most of us live alone on the streets, or in houses if you're lucky. But some, like me, live in packs. Only the people who are less Gone are able to organize groups. It's either the safest or most dangerous way to live here; It'll kill you immediately or grant you protection. Just depends on who you are.

I've lived here for a few months now, and I can already feel the Flare working its way into my brain. I can feel the air quiver sometimes. Sometimes things are funny when I know they shouldn't be. Sometimes everything feels distant, like I'm looking through the wrong end of some binoculars. Everyday it gets worse.

But I can only wait. That's all anyone can do anymore. Wait and wait and wait and wait and wait and wait and wait and wait. Sit here day after day, feeling yourself go insane, turn into a wild animal. But it's no good telling yourself that, 'cause stress only makes it go faster. And once someone is past the Gone, you're set out to the Scorch, to live with the others. It's not so bad here though. They give you food, and a place to stay until it's over. At least that's what they tell us.

And we all know it's a lie.

My group isn't very well known, we mostly stay to ourselves. Unless someone makes us angry. But other than that, we like to stay in the shadows. We live in the bowling alley. There are about twenty of us, maybe thirty. Not that any of us can count anymore. Can't concentrate for long enough.

The bowling alley.

Fires, pillows, dim lights, smoke. Tapestries pinned to the ceiling and walls, carpets draped over the bowling lanes. Pillows cover the floor. Bundles of burning willow incense the air. Fires are lit and kept at the end of the lanes where the pins normally go. If you ignore the wasted bodies that mill around, it's really a beautiful place. We pride ourselves on having the best looking spot. Most of everything was stolen, but nobody has to know that.

Darius is the leader. He's the boss. Anyone messes with him, and they're as good as dead. The only person who can convince him of anything is Jim, Darius's husband. It's really quite a sad story. They both lived in Denver already before everything went wrong, so it started out okay. They had a nice house, were planning on adopting a kid, and Darius had a pretty stable job as a bartender. But then Jim found out he had the Flare. Then Darius tested and they were both sent here. At least they have each other. I have no one.

Jim is the soft one. He's a hippy. At least that's what the old lady whose name nobody knows says. He wears shirts with so many radiant colors, you'd think he was a painting. He smokes cigarettes and plays the banjo and talks with a southern twang. Sometimes I forget that he's even a crank. The only way you'd even be able to tell is by the songs he plays. I love Jim's songs. I always have as long as I've been here, though if i had heard them before i caught the Flare, i know i would have never gone anywhere near him.

The day everything changes is a strange one. Full of twists and turns, blood and smiles, laughter and screams. But most of all, the arrival of a new crank.

I'm sitting by a fire in the bowling alley singing with Jim and Rabecca and Lillieth and a few others I can't remember the names of.

Jim softly strums his banjo and from it comes a silly, melancholy tune that everyone in the pack knows by now. But we changed the words long ago.

The children are green, dilly, dilly.

This can't be right.

The children are green, dilly, dilly,

Ghosts in the night.

We sway gently as we sing, possessed by the lugubrious lyrics. I know the words should be something about lavender, but I've never been sure. I hear shouting in the distance, more than usual, but think nothing of it.

Their bones are so frail, dilly, dilly.

I wonder who.

The children are blue, dilly, dilly.

I see them too.

In a way, it's a song of reassurance. That you're not alone, we can see them too. We're just like you. Insane.

Hung from the walls, dilly, dilly.

Strewn 'cross the floor.

Eyes open wide, dilly, dilly.

I can't take more.

The shouting in the distance is getting louder. It only gets this loud when someone new is here. The other cranks usually go wild.

Mouths all sewn shut, dilly dilly.

No body heat.

The younger the age, dilly, dilly.

Sweeter the meat.

The doors to my home are thrown open as two guards dressed in red march in. They're holding something in each of their arms, a boy. He's thrashing around and screaming psychotically; biting at the guard's fingers. Whoever he is, I can already tell that he and I are gonna be real close. Don't know how I knew it, but I did. It was a gut feeling. Probably the last bit of rationality left in me.

What I didn't know was that that boy could have been the one who saved me. Saved everyone.

If only he had lived longer.