{immititis (adjective) - a state of cruelty or harshness.}
y'n's pov:
My hands resided in my lap, my eyeline drawn to the floor.
He is not real. I am dreaming.
I've had so many dreams like this in the past; I would drift away, and somehow find Newt waiting for me. He looked older than he did before – my previous dreams had been those that made him seem exactly how he was all those years ago. The same ruffled blonde hair, same eyes, same smile.
It wasn't him.
"How is this possible?" Thomas asked from beside me. We were sat around the council room, most of us facing the table, examining those around it with wide eyes.
I kept my head to the floor.
The man spoke from across the room. "I'm not entirely sure. All I know is, the bullet missed my heart, and once cured of the flare, I began to recover as a regular person again. It took me a long time, but I re-learned how to walk, how to eat and even how to go to the toilet."
Minho sat to Thomas' left. "I just... can't comprehend it. You were laying there, bleeding out on the floor- I was there, I had to-"
Minho stopped and looked at me. He didn't continue his sentence.
Newt cleared his throat. "I'm sorry I put you all through that. None of you deserved to see that." Newt lifted his head and turned to me.
"I'm sorry I couldn't get here sooner."
I said nothing, looked at no one. He turned back to the table. "I think the reason I didn't die was because of the flare, funnily enough. It was definitely the reason that gun shot didn't kill me – I got lucky, in many ways."
Brenda was seated to my right. She spoke softly, "We had a funeral- you... you were dead. You died that night, and we buried an empty casket to remember you by. Everyone was there. There wasn't a single person who didn't show."
I could hear him clear his throat, just how he always did. "I'm so sorry. I didn't want- I didn't want any of you to have to experience that."
He was falling over his words, fiddling with his fingers like he did when he was nervous. How can this be him? It makes no logical sense.
"Newt, you don't have to be sorry. It's not your fault, you didn't want any of this – you did everything you could." Thomas exclaimed, as he stood from his chair, and hugged the boy tightly.
Newt embraced him, his face expressing how he had missed his closest friend dearly. As they began to separate, Thomas took a step back, and placed his hands on either sides of the boys face. "We are so happy to have you home, Newt."
Thomas, with the biggest smile on his face, grabbed hold of the boy's hand, and raised it high into the air. "To the boy who lived!"
On cue, the others around him began to smile, their faces all replicating each other, before they stood, and congregated around Newt. Gally jumped beside him, engulfing him in a tight embrace, just as the others joined around him, and started doing the same.
I couldn't move. And then all of a sudden I could, and I was jumping out of my seat, and running out the door. No one caught me in time to stop me, I don't think anyone even noticed.
I stumbled over the threshold, and out of the door. I stayed quick on my feet, not remaining in one place, and sprinted to the area which encompassed the only few remaining trees we had left. Some of them were rotting away – the life had been sucked out of them a long time ago, as they stood they with hunched shoulders and their fraying leaves as it began to whittle away.
