Phases (Thominho)

"Thank you, Friend"

Thomas was holding a gun in his right hand. He didn't know how it'd gotten there or where he was, but he could feel the weight of it in his hand. It felt familiar and uncomfortable at the same time.

He looked down to see that it was pointed at a familiar boy. The boy looked up, tears rolling down his cheeks. Thomas felt sick, the guilt tearing at his insides. It was his friend, it was Newt.

"Don't do this." Newt whispered. "It's not in me, I swear." Thomas remembered the last time he'd seen Newt, the boy had begged him to end his life. Newt believed the only way he could relieve himself of the flare was through death, so he begged Thomas to kill him.

Newt was staring at Thomas, waiting for him to say something. He looked healthier now then when Thomas last saw him. Some how Thomas knew that this version of Newt didn't have the flare, not like last time. He wanted to throw the gun away and hug his friend, He'd missed Newt so much, but for some reason he couldn't move. He just stood there with the gun pointed at Newts head.

"Tommy, please." Thomas felt tears pricking his eyes. He knew this wasn't real, it must be a dream, but he wanted it to be real, he just wanted to see his friend again. Thomas felt his grip tighten on the gun. He was shaking uncontrollably.

"Don't you shoot me." Newt's voice had gotten harsher. Thomas squeezed his eyes shut to stop the tears. When he opened them Newt was standing, his clothes torn, blood rushing from a gash on his face.

"Shoot me!" Newt yelled. "I'm a crank! Shoot me!" Newt was edging closer, not afraid of the gun Thomas had pointed at his face. He Shoved Thomas backwards and yelled the words "shoot me." again.

"No." Thomas whispered but he felt his finger pulling on the trigger. "No." He willed himself to stop, but he had no control over his body. Newt pushed him again, then he watched as his friend crumpled on the floor. He'd shot him, again. He killed Newt. Thomas finally regained control and He threw himself to the ground next to his friend. Newt's dead eyes were staring into Thomas' skull. He didn't have the flare anymore. Some how He'd never had the flare. Thomas had shot his friend for no reason. He finally let the tears flow. Held Newt's limp body in his arms and cried.

He felt something cold and hard pressed against his head. He turned to see himself holding a gun. "You have the flare." The replica of himself said. Thomas looked down to see that he was now Newt. "You must die." Then Thomas pulled the trigger.

***

Thomas screamed as he launched himself forward in his bed. A forceful hand pushed him back onto his mattress and he gasped for air. "Calm down dude, you're okay." He heard Minho's familiar voice commanding him. Thomas squinted at the shadow in front of him. Minho removed his hand from Thomas' chest and Thomas felt something caught in his throat. He coughed once and a horrible taste filled his mouth, it was bile.

Thomas turned over and threw up on the mattress underneath him, then pushed himself up on his weak limbs and wiped his face. "They just cleaned that yesterday." Minho sighed taking a step back.

"Sorry." Thomas replied before having a small coughing fit.

"You have to stop doing this to yourself." Thomas felt Minho's strong arms around his waist as he lifted him off his bed. Minho sat him on his bed which was right next to Thomas' and let go, Thomas wished he hadn't. He was freezing and Minho was warm. Minho ran off to find a nurse, leaving Thomas all alone. He looked around the tiny hut He and Minho had built a few weeks ago, back when he could move freely without any pain. Paradise, he thought, what an optimistic word for such a horrible place.