Day after retched day, night after frozen night, all persisting in the hopes that when morning comes, we'll have made progress in the gruelling search for the safety of the mountains.
There are only creeping memories of a fading dream, of people I once had, strung together visually, vocally, so precisely, that I fear they may not ever have existed. A manifestation of my loneliness, my sadness, my fear and anger; a constant reminder of the distant past that lives on the precipice of my subconscious.
Remnants of dreams, or nightmares; memories that are becoming foggier and thickened with doubt each night that comes to pass. On these mornings, the days drag heavier, and salvation seems impossible. But I continue, if not for me, then for little Chuck who holds his head high as though he possesses never faltering hope.
Sunsetz – Cigarettes After Sex
↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺
The relentless desert wind whipped at my eyelashes, carrying with it the grit of sand and the chill of the night. The meagre fire that we managed to coax to life offered little solace against the vast emptiness that surrounded us. Sleep managed to evade me, yet again. Every rustle of wind, every flicker of a shadow in the moonlight, sent my heart lurching.
Grief, a heavy weight in my chest, felt as though it might suffocate me. That awful feeling had lay unstirring in my gut since the moment the maze doors decided not to close, and I hadn't even had the time to process it.
Images of Gally, now fading and hollow, played on repeat in my mind. I hated that I could barely even picture him, even though I know what he looks like. It can't have been that long already. I've lost track of how many days exactly, but surely it can't have been that long.
But then, a flicker of movement in the distance caught my eye. A lone figure, silhouetted against the moonlit dunes, seemed to be walking away from the group. The stance, the broad shoulders, the height. Could it be...? No. No, it's not possible.
A sliver of hope, fragile as a spiderweb, spun in my chest. Gally. He couldn't be dead. WICKED wouldn't be that cruel, would they?
Without a second thought, I rose, my bare feet sinking silently into the cool sand. I crept away from the sleeping bodies; my eyes fixed on the figure in the distance. It moved with a familiar gait, a slight sway barely noticeable in the inky darkness of the night.
As I turned the corner of the pillar, my breath caught in my throat. The figure was gone. "Gally?" My voice was a hoarse whisper, barely audible over the howling wind. The darkness remained still for a moment, then a few more. Disappointment drowned me, so intense it felt like a physical blow. It was just a cruel trick of the light, a desperate wish my mind had conjured.
The guilt I feel, raw and unyielding, threatened to consume me. What was the point of continuing? The mountains didn't seem to be getting any closer, and by the time we make it, will there even be enough of us left to save?
Taking a shuddering breath, I stand in the wind, my feather dancing across it. I slump back to the group and collapse into a corner, squeezing my eyes tight until they finally give up.
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Light floods our sanctuary, waking us simultaneously. Without a word, we collect our gear and continue moving. The heat feels unbearable today, and we all remove any extra layers, exposing our dirty, bare skin. The sandstorm has quietened down, simply shifting stones along the ground with a light whistle.
Minho holds the final water bottle to his lips, but he's met with a single drop. We still have quite a way to go, and now we have to do it without water. He tosses it to the side with frustration.
The ground has transformed from towering dunes to cracking, flat ground. Each step adds to the tearing holes in the soles of our boots. We spend the entire day in silence, mouths dry and lips cracking.
When the night arrives, there's nowhere for us to go. We decide to sleep out in the open, since there's really no other option, and curl into balls in a circle.
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A rough shaking wakes me up. I'm pulled to my feet by my shoulders as the others shout at me. "Woah, I'm up. What's going on?" I ask, rubbing my eyes. My throat's sore and I just know my breath stinks, but it feels like an important question. "Look!" Enzo says, pointing to the mountains.
In the distance, small orbs of orange and yellow burst through the plain terrain. Lights. Electric, man-made lights. We'd found it. This has to be where the Right Arm were hiding- or at least some other civilisation.
"We made it." Minho mutters, before a loud bang causes us to turn our heads. The sky is an uneasy blue, with large black clouds scattered across it. Rumbles of thunder shake the stars, paired with spiralling dust devils upon the horizon. Cracks of white, dry lightning whip the ground, too close to us for my liking. We pick up our shit and run for our lives.
The clouds grow, rolling above us like waves. The lightning seems to be following us, barely missing us each time as it trails along. We ignore the burning in our lungs and the abundance of spit rising into our mouths as we push forward.
The lights get closer, illuminating a large warehouse, and we decide that would be the safest place to run to. I peer behind me and see Enzo with his hand on Chuck's back, pushing him forward.
We dodge abandoned cars and objects once we pass the gate, the lightning snapping quicker with the added targets. Newt, Frypan and I run inside, soon followed by Enzo and Chuck. We turn around to find the others and see Thomas and Teresa a few steps away. Minho's staring at the sky as it roars.
It hits a barrel beside him, and he flies through the air, being thrown on the ground. The bolt sent the others tumbling as well, all three of them stirring against the floor. Thomas stands, his finger plugging his ear, and runs to Minho's side. Teresa sprints over to us and presses herself up against the wall once she's inside.
Frypan and Aris run back outside to assist Thomas. They grab Minho and collectively pull him to safety. Frypan closes the door behind them, and we're left in complete darkness.
They spread him on the floor, resting his head down carefully. "Who's got a light?" Thomas asks. I pass mine forward and he swiftly grabs it, flicking it on. Newt takes it and hovers it right on Minho's face. His eyes are closed but somehow, even after being struck by lightning, his hair remains perfect.
"Minho!" Thomas screams, shaking him. "Come on, come on."
"Hey, maybe if y/n gives him mouth to mouth," Enzo jeers, laughing in my ear. I elbow him in the ribs, hard. "Not the time, fuckface."
A deep groan escapes his lips, and he opens his eyes. "What happened?" He asks, his voice slurred. "I think you got struck by lightning." Thomas replies, staring down at him. Minho furrows his brows at him for a few seconds.
"Oh," he replies with a smile, as though that was the coolest thing to ever happen.
YOU ARE READING
Seperation // Gally x Reader
Fanfiction"And when you go away, I still see you." - Sunsetz, Cigarettes After Sex Second novel in the Jealousy // Gally x reader series. Y/n and the Gladers attempt to navigate the rough terrain of the scorch in their never ending plight to avoid the selfis...
