Befriending Constellations [tmr] [completed]

1

Thomas sat on my chest, pinning me against the hot, filthy concrete. The gun quivered in his shaking hands, despite the firm grasp with which I held it against my forehead. There was no way Thomas could make this decision on his own. He needed pressure, and because of that, I gripped his hand and the gun within it even harder.

Even in these few, simple moments I could feel the disease bubbling in the back of my mind, the boiling waters of madness seeping through my mind. Every last thought sent my mind spiralling into deep, hot abysses from which I had no hope of returning from. I couldn't tell the heat of the Scorch from that of my own mind, and it was impossible to decide which of the two could possibly be worse.

A dreary sense of finality hung in the humid air around us as I continued to press the gun in his hands to my own forehead. My clothes, ragged and stained with dirt, hung from my thin body with the moisture of sweat. I reeked, and was in no way immune to my own stench. Each raspy swallow of air down my ever-drying throat brought a new soreness to my lungs. My body ached, my brain boiled. I couldn't imagine any worse torture.

And then there was my Tommy: still so brave, still so sane, still so alive. Sure, a heavy burden was soon to be placed on his shoulders by myself, but I still couldn't help but envy him from somewhere in the deepest, sanest corners of my mind.

Sweat dripped down his face, drawing lines through the caked-on dirt. "I can't!"

Even then, I knew that my croaky voice provided nothing but empty threats. "Kill me, or I'll kill you. Kill me! Do it!"

"Newt..."

"Do it before I become one of them!" (If I'd been even slightly more sane, I would have realized that I already had become my worst fear: a crank.)

"I..."

"KILL ME!"

The burning in my head subsided for a brief moment, and I felt my eyes clear as I looked up to the boy above me. He'd provided more hope than anyone else had. He'd changed my life in so many ways. I knew, of course, that only he could be the one to end it.

I could feel the scorching pain seeping back into my mind. If these were my last moments, I needed them to be sane ones. I met the dark-chocolate eyes that I'd grown to love so dearly, and watched as a few tears began to escape from them, slide down his cheeks and over his moles. These were my final, sane moments- and they were with him.

"Please, Tommy, please," I whispered, cracking voice hardly above a whisper.

Thomas pulled the trigger.