The First Runner

Glad I'm not alone anymore

rewritten

It had now officially been a month since I arrived in the Glade. One full month. Thirty days without another real human soul—just the Gladers and the ever-present hum of unanswered questions. No warm beds, no electricity, no familiar voices. Just stone and sky, routine and survival. Every sunrise marked another day stuck in a place that felt more like a forgotten dream than reality. A month ago, I'd woken up in a metal box with no name, no past, and no idea where I was. Now, I was Jess—whoever that meant—and this strange patch of grass and earth encircled by towering stone had become my world.

I stood at the edge of the Glade, my boots sunk slightly into the dirt, staring up at the mammoth grey walls that loomed like ancient gods around us. Moss clung to their base like forgotten ivy fingers, and the sun cast golden slants across their rough surface, lighting up cracks and crevices I knew by heart. The walls were like silent sentinels, ever-watching, ever-threatening, and yet, weirdly comforting in their permanence. They hadn't changed. Not like the Maze beyond them. That place was a shifting beast.

I'd spent almost every other day over the past month sprinting through those cursed corridors. Yes, a maze. An honest-to-God labyrinth straight out of some twisted myth. From what I'd figured, the Glade was smack in the middle of it—a green heart encased in a body of stone and confusion. The Maze itself never stayed the same for long. Doors shifted. Corridors sealed shut overnight. It wasn't designed to be solved. It was designed to break us.

And yet, I kept going back. Over and over. Something in me—something I didn't have the words for—kept pulling me into it. Like it was calling my name in a voice only I could hear. Running felt as natural as breathing. With every mile, I grew faster, lighter. Each footfall through the winding passages was a reminder that I still had control over something—over myself.

Bark's paws padded softly through the grass as he trotted up to my side, snapping me out of my thoughts. The scrappy dog had become my shadow in the past few weeks, always trailing just behind me, tongue lolling out and eyes shining with unspoken loyalty.

"What do you think, boy?" I asked, crouching down to scratch behind his ears. "We've known each other a whole month now." His tail thumped against the ground in response, as if he understood every word.

Normally, I would've already been gone—lost in the Maze's winding arteries, racing against the walls before they slammed shut again at dusk. But today wasn't about speed or maps or even solving the Maze. Today was about memory. About permanence. About making sure that no matter what happened, I wouldn't vanish like the others who'd come before me.

I headed to the Homestead and picked up a pickaxe, the handle worn smooth from years of use. Its blade caught the light and gleamed like the edge of a silver coin. Nearby, I grabbed an old wooden mallet, its surface dotted with faded red stains I didn't want to question. Bark followed close as we made our way to the southern wall, weaving through the Glade's patches of wild grass and crooked fence posts.

The ivy clinging to the base of the stone parted easily beneath my hand, revealing a quiet, empty patch of wall. This was the spot. No one ever came out here. It was still, like the Maze was holding its breath.

I took a deep inhale, the air sharp with stone dust and green leaves, and raised the pick. The first strike sent a shock up my arm, the clang ringing out into the silence like a bell. The wall was tougher than I thought—unyielding, stubborn. But I was stubborn, too. I kept going, bite by bite, carving away at the stone until a faint groove took shape beneath my hands. Each letter I chipped away took effort, the vibrations numbing my fingers, but it was worth it.

J
E
S
S

My name. Four letters. It didn't look like much, etched crookedly into stone, but to me, it was everything. It was proof. A flag planted on unfamiliar land. If someone found it one day—whether it was a month from now or a century—they'd know I existed. That I'd been here. That I fought.