We All Have Scars

6

My dreams were filled with terrors that night. Me being a full-gone Crank and killing everybody. No matter who they were. Brenda, Jorge, one of the Gladers, anyone really. That's the problem with being past the gone; you don't know what you're doing, you could kill everyone you love and not even batt an eye. I don't know exactly what it was like to be full-gone, for evident reasons, but I have theories. I reckon it gets inside your brain and manipulates the way you see things, instead of seeing a person, you see monsters or something. Either that or it just makes you downright crazy and destroys any sense of moral and humanity left in you. If you have any left after the flares. 

On the floor, all the Gladers slept peacefully, I envy them. I know they went through a lot in the maze, but they haven't seen some of the things we have. If they thought these 'Grievers' were bad, they better hope they never meet a full-gone Crank. The only way to survive one of them is to kill them, or be one heck of a runner. But that's unlikely. After killing one of those guys, if you survived it, that's when the guilt creeps up on you, because you only then realise that you've killed someone, a person. Someone who probably had a family of some kind, and you just killed them. It's hard to imagine. But you have to choose a torturous death, or a guilty conscience until you either die, or go past the gone. Sometimes I wonder which one is really worse. They both seem just as bad as each other. 

Sitting up, I rested my head in my hands, leaning on my knees. I let out a loud sigh. Time to start searching soon. 

Standing up, I retied my long, dark brown hair into a ponytail to keep it out of the way. I slipped my black boots back on, and repacked my bag after eating something. How could everybody still be asleep? Wait a minute, not everybody. Where was Jorge. Starting to panic, I dropped my bag and looked around frantically. I left and went outside. There sitting on the ground in front of the door, was the one and only. 

"Jorge! You scared me, I thought you'd run off, or been taken or killed, or... I don't even know." I rambled. "But here you are; safe and sound. And I feel like an idiot right now, should I just shut up?"

"You talk to much, hermana." He complained. 

"Sorry." I said. "It's just..."

"I get it. You're worried about Brenda. But don't let it show. It's a sign of weakness, hermana. Don't forget, we're not friends with these 'Gladers'. We're allies. The only reason we're helping, is to get the cure, nothing else. We're not here to get all friendly. So don't pretend we are,and keep your feelings hidden."

I was taken aback. That was so... cold, and selfish. 

"B-but, I thought-"

"Well you were wrong. Brenda understands that these people are strangers and we can't trust, why can't you?"

So that's what this was about. He wishes it was me who got trapped instead of Brenda. Because he thinks she's smarter, and better in general. So much for a father figure then. In a fury, I stormed back inside. 

Everything had been going wrong lately; new Cranks in town, Brenda getting trapped, and now this. I don't even know how this could get worse, but it probably will knowing my luck.

I heard footsteps approaching me. "You okay?" 

"Yeah, sure. I'm fine, really." I faked a smile. "But thank you Newt."

"How'd ya know it was me?"

"You're the only one that cares enough to ask." I rushed, then quickly added. "Plus, the accent kind of gives it away."

"Right." He smiled. 

"You ready yet?" I asked. 

"Think so, didn't really have anything to do."