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his time isn't finished ben (angst) synopsis: ben is banished to the maze and needs to figure out how to survive word count: 1.2k warnings: suicidal thoughts, cuts, bleeding, part one
"NO!" Ben charges at the maze doors, his eyes locking on Minho, "MINHO! Alby! Don't do this!"
His voice rattles Minho, Ben's eyes wide with betrayal written in every tear. Pupils sharp, Minho stares right back at him, unable to move his attention. "You can't do this to me!"
Ben reaches the towering doors; however, they're too tight a fit for him. Loose bits of concrete fall to the ground as he lets out another scream. Nothing, not the changing, not even a griever's sting, could cause quite a scream to rip from his lungs. Cause him to want to rip his vocal cords out and hope that something may give him a saving grace.
He pounds against the maze walls, writhing in pain as the concrete bruises his hands. The mossy vines rub against his forearm, the only thing sending a calming sensation through him. His lungs fill half way before he needs to let a breath out, panic now setting in. "Please!" Ben's voice becoming too hoarse for his pleads to pass through the wall.
It's quiet, his arms and feet growing tired. "Please..." his eyes water, body sliding against the concrete doors until he's on the floor.
Tears drip onto his hands, the dirt on his hands finally showing as it mixes into a muddy substance. He brings his hands up to his face, laying down against the concrete flooring. Bits of rocks poking into his back and legs. When he lifts his hands from his eyes, the sky has started to grow dark. Shadows merge with the rest of the emerging darkness and Ben's situation truly dawns on him.
No one has ever survived a night in the maze, nor found a way to escape. How could he possibly be the first? His heart beats quickly as he grabs ahold of the bag that they had thrown to him. While sitting up, he opens the bag and starts digging through the items. There's some fruit, veggies, and granola wrapped up. A couple bottles of water hide behind the bundle of food. Rope and other materials make an appearance alongside a note in an inside pocket.
Ben scrambles to open it, looking at the lined paper like it's the last thing he'll ever see. The feeling of the thin paper between his fingers is the only thing keeping him grounded. The feeling of the glade. Of every time he's flipped between the pages of a notepad, talking to Minho about his time in the maze. He stares down at the note, lip trembling as tears fall onto the paper.
His name is written at the top as if it's a decree for his head on a spike. The signature style of the sloppy b only leaves him to believe that Minho wrote it. Ben furrows his eyebrows, thumb running along the paper as he reads. The lines of pain and torture hit his heart harder than anything any of the other gladers could've written.
The mini map at the bottom of the page, uneven and poorly designed, is what sends the ink blurring. There are small notes etched alongside the locations, showing how the maze will appear the next day. Minho used a pen to write what Ben had already knew, took the time to sketch something out in the case that his mind can't think straight.
Ben leans the back of his head against the concrete doors. Letting the paper slip from his fingers and lay against the ground. He finally looks up at his surroundings, watching as the darkness over takes the maze. The only lights in sight are the ones somehow carrying over the maze doors. Flickering from a supposed bonfire. However, the shadows of those dancing and playing aren't there. It seems, there's a somber feeling inside and outside the maze.
A clicking noise echoes down the maze halls, Ben's breath hitching as the sound carries through his ear drums. He hurriedly grabs the paper, crumpling it in his hand before stuffing it into the backpack that the gladers supplied. Ben throws the straps around his shoulders, clipping the clasp across his chest. His shoes slide a little against the slick spots of the concrete flooring as he runs forward.
"Oh shuck," Ben whispers to himself, reaching a spot in sector two that he's not totally familiar with.
It branches in two directions, one left, one right. Click.... Click... The noise grows louder as Ben pulls the paper from the backpack, looking at the locations of the walls. Ben's jaw clenches before taking a right, hand stuffing the paper into his front pocket. His heart beats quicker with each step and each turn he takes.
He takes a turn quickly, stopping in his tracks as he spots a griever a ways down. Its body moves unnaturally, the fleshy parts thick and overtaking the space of the hallway. His eyes can't seem to move from it and the stingers that carry the same venom that sent him through the changing. Air audibly leaves his mouth, body stuck like a deer in headlights.
Ben swallows a thick ball of mucus, lips trembling at the sight of the thing. He takes a step back, staring the griever down. When he takes another step back, he steps on a dried out ivy branch, a thick crack resonating in his ears. However, he isn't the only one who heard the nauseating sound. The griever's body moves in his direction, spinning like a ball.
He breaths heavily, spinning in place and running down the hallway he had just come from. With every noise it makes, he loses track of where he is within the maze, every turn he takes contradicts his knowledge of the maze. Especially with the thought that every turn he takes to escape will reveal another griever ready to rip his head from his shoulders.
He takes a final turn, one that should've carried some forethought. When he looks up, all he can see is a hole in the ground and a large wall blocking him from running elsewhere. He looks back, listening to the sounds of chittering and clicking getting ever so closer. Even the sounds of the sloshing, gummy body sticking to the walls and flooring echo through his ears.
Ben's always been a runner, always on the balls of his feet. Even if it's just a bonfire night, he still jumps back and forth between his feet. Now, though, he feels stuck to the floor. His body weighing down at his senses overwhelming him. The sight of the distance of the hole, the sound of the griever taking another turn, the smell of dirt and vines.
Even for a second, he wonders if this is where he's meant to be. If he's meant to die on this hill, if he deserves it. Something in his mind clicks though as he hears the paper crinkling as he turns to look towards where the griever is coming. Minho made a map for a reason, left a note for a reason. This isn't the end of Ben's story, he isn't going to let it be the last chapter.
