❝The Maze Runner❞ || Thomas

The Creators

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The hands of the creators began to grip my arms and torso with full force, their hands digging into my skin as I fought against their restraint. I was being pulled away from someone, someone I felt so familiar with, someone I knew mattered to me more than anything.

"Thomas!" I yelled his name, my vision blurred as tears welled up in my eyes. My sight began to narrow, my body growing numb and nearly lifeless. I looked up to the same hazel auburn eyes I had seen over and over again.

"Lynn!" He shouted, his hand never breaking free of mine as the creators continued to pull me away. I watched his face fill up with fear and terror."Don't forget about me!"

Others began to pull Thomas away, the tips of our fingers forced to separate. His face grew darker and darker as I was continuously being pulled farther and farther away—screaming, kicking, and flailing my body with all my might.

Thomas watched in agony before ripping his left arm from a guards grasp. He flipped around to punch the other in their face. He turned instantly toward me, trying so desperately to make his way towards me, but they grabbed him again.

One of the masked men had a syringe in their hand, the other pulling Thomas's head to the side, exposing the side of his neck.

"No! Thomas!" I yelled in horror, watching as they impaled the syringe into his neck and pressed down the plunger. A clear liquid was quickly injected into his body as he instantly became limp; the scream of my name fading.

"No, please! Thomas!" I hollered in agony, my chest becoming tight before I was placed into some sort of glass tank. My vision grew darker, my peripheral vision a darkened void.

Whir

Click

Shleeth

The door was sealed.

Suddenly, a blue liquid began to flood the floor beneath me. I slammed my fists against the thick glass, watching as the men dragged his limp body out of the room. My heart began to pound—faster, louder, heavier.

Quicker than I had anticipated, the blue liquid was making its way up to my neck. My whole body filled with adrenaline, my body now floating to the top as the room to breathe became almost nothing.

"Thomas!"

I shot up instantly, my chest aching, my heart pounding as beads of sweat rolled down my forehead. I looked down at my figure, quickly realizing my entire body was shaking uncontrollably. I sat up from my bed before placing my head into the palms of my hands. My head hung low as I forced myself to steady my breathing.

   I stood to my feet, walking slowly to the door of my dwelling. The sun was rising, an orange hue beginning to fill the night sky.

I took in what I just envisioned—a memory, a cursed and wretched memory. The replay of what I had just experienced wouldn't stop flooding my vision.

Thomas...

I felt as if I was still neck deep in that horrid nightmare, and I might as well been once my mind had fallen back into reality.

Newt...

"Hey, hey... lay back down," someone's voice had called out from behind me. "You banged your head up pretty good."

Dean walked up towards me from the chair hidden in the back of the room.

"Newt." It came out more like a command.

"He's resting."

I have to see him...

I had then noticed the uncontrollable pounding in my head, the never-ending throb. I felt dizzy, my feet becoming imbalanced. Dean called out my name before his hands gripped my waist, helping me stand firm as he forced my arm over his shoulder.

     "I'll take you to him."

• • •

I saw a peacefully resting Newt lying on one of the beds in the Homestead. His face was pale, sweat coming out of his pores—bruises, cuts, and bandages.

Why? Why, Newt?

Dean helped me to the chair that was on the side of Newt's bed. I shifted the cushioned seat, resting my arms against the back of the chair. I slowly lowered my head, my chin meeting the top of my forearm.

"I'll go get you some water," Dean added, sending me a slight grin of pity before walking out of the room.

I watched as Newt's chest rose up and down every so slightly. I noticed the bandages wrapped around his leg were nearly soaked all the way through with blood.

      "I am so sorry..." I finally broke the inevitable silence in the room. I could feel tears threatening to spill, but I held them back the best I could. "Why... why Newt?" I asked as a few tears trickled down the sides of my cheeks. "Why did you try to kill yourself?"

     My chest began to ache at the thought of losing my friend, losing one of the gladers. I reached out my hand to grab his, holding it gently in my grasp. My head hung low, my eyes gently closed as I tried my best to ignore the continual throb radiating from temple to temple.

     All of a sudden, Newt's hand gave me a slight squeeze, a lowly grunt escaping his chest as he began to shift his body. I lifted my head, watching as his eyes began to flutter open. He slowly turned his head toward me, inhaling a deep breath before releasing it.

      "You look bloody awful," he jested with a cheeky grin.

      "Definitely worse than you."

The corners of my mouth lifted, a sense of peace settling in the room.

     "A broken leg, huh?" His vision honed down to his injury, lifting his head slightly to get a better view. He furrowed his brows with inspection, now lowering it down against the goose-feathered pillow. He let out a heavy breath, licking his bottom lip. "It better heal fast."

      I shifted in my seat, my spirits lifting. "I'm sure you've got the best of luck," I teased, hoping the comedic relief might break through the sorrowful tension.

      He let out a snicker, his right hand reaching for the inner corners of his eyes. He squinted, his smile growing wider.

     "Too soon?" I snorted back, waiting for his Australian accent to interrupt the conversation.

      "Just a tad."