For My Help (A Minho Fan Fiction) [EDITING]

The Unexpected Rage

The ringing wouldn't stop. It was incessant. The sound seeped into River's ears, driving her mad. Every second was pure torture, as it had been for the past two days. Well, she was assuming it was two days. Weeks, or even months could have passed and she wouldn't even have known.

Time wasn't the only thing River couldn't figure out. She had no idea how she had even gotten to where she was, and this angered her. A burning rage trembled in her skin as she focused on trying to remember. The solid white walls surrounding her mocked her, laughing at how she couldn't remember. How she was trapped in-between them. The last memory she had was jumping to her expected freedom after fighting with the grievers. But as the hours passed, she started doubting herself.

The memories of the Glade began slipping away from her. She tried her best to reach out and grab them, but it was no use. It began with the details. Just the little things that shouldn't have mattered, but to her they did. Like the colours of her friend's eyes, or even the names of the Gladers that she didn't know too well. At first she assumed that her memories were slipping away with time, which was to be expected. These were simply details that most people may not remember. But then it got worse. 

River began forgetting major things. The layout of the Glade was now jumbled up like a jigsaw puzzle in her head, but none of the pieces seemed to fit together. Was the homestead beside the deadheads, or were they on opposite sides? Not only that, but certain events became dimmer in her mind. How did she become a runner? And was she always one? Did she spend a night in the maze, or was that Minho?

Her whole memory of the Glade was a giant ball of string. She kept trying to unwind it, but it only got more tangled up. She kept trying to focus on things she didn't want to forget, but the ringing kept piercing her mind, making concentration almost impossible. Towards the end of what seemed like the fifth day of solitary confinement, River began to give up.

She rested her head on the wall to the left of her and picked at the white paint. She was now seeing spots, as looking at these four walls did not do her well. As her nails dug into the wall, she started to scratch. She hoped whoever was keeping her in here didn't spend too long painting these walls, as the longer she'd be in there, the worse they'd become.

Yawning and resting her chin on her knee, River sat back in the corner of the room, opposite a white door that she assumed was made of metal. She had punched the door in an escape attempt a few days ago, and heard her knuckle crack. The pain afterwards was horrendous, but she didn't think about it much. It had settled down now to a dull throb, but it was still painful nonetheless. 

Suddenly, a section of the bottom of the door opened up, and a tray with food and a cup of water was thrown under, before closing abruptly. This had been happening for quite some time and was River's favourite part of this whole experience. Not that she necessarily had a favourite part. It was all hell to her.

Scrambling forward, she sat in front of the tray, eyes darting hungrily across its contents. Steak and mashed potatoes again. She wondered why she kept thinking it would be something different. Picking up the fork, she stabbed it down onto one of the well-done pieces of meat and brought it up to her mouth. Chewing the food, she knew she should be grateful she was getting any at all. But it was like chewing cardboard. Still, she filled up her stomach with the meal presumably made hours before, as it was disgustingly cold. Downing back the glass full of water, she waited.

Every time she fell asleep, someone would take the tray from her. So this time, she wouldn't fall asleep. She'd wait until an appropriate time to fake unconsciousness and then wait for the prime time to escape. Granted, she had been trying this the past few days and it had never worked before, but River was optimistic about this time.