The Warrior (A TMR Minho Fanfic)

(Chapter 22) I accidentally sign my death certificate on purpose.

Tamara

A warm orange glow surrounded The Glade, shrouding it in the light of the setting sun as I flipped my final fried fish fillet. This was me attempting to make something a little less American, and more Cultural for these boys to try. So far, I haven't burned anything, but I almost fell right onto the grill not too long ago.

I set the fried fish fillet onto the 5th plate, each plate holding 10. That is right my friends. I made 40 fried fish fillets. My arm was sore, my eyes sting and watered from all the smoke from the grill, and I honestly wouldn't be surprised if I pass out for a few years as soon as I crawl into bed.

Not that I would mind sleeping for many years like some kind of Sleeping Beauty. By the time I woke up, someone probably would have found a way out of this wretched maze.

All of the boys filed in one after the other, grabbing their food and saying their thanks before sitting down at a table. One of them had actually called me mom. He sure looked bashfully afterwords and he apologized, but him calling me his mom actually warmed my heart. God knows these boys need a mother figure in their life.

I had to legitimately stop myself from shedding a tear. My glader boys were finally straightening themselves out, no ones shoving anyone out of the way, there's an actual line... It sure was a glorious sight for sore eyes.

I leaned up against the wall, shoving food into my hungry mouth, looking around at all of the gladers. My eyes stopped when they reached Gally, who was shoveling food down his mouth as if it was absolutely necessary to finish 3 fried fish fillets in 10 seconds.

He sure has changed since I first met him when he was the acne infested, pig faced, hormonal teen, that loved treating people like klunk. Well honestly he still is, you know, the breeding ground of acne, pig faced, and a hormonal teen, but he no longer treats anyone like klunk.

I taught him long ago that if he ever disrespects anyone without a genuine reason to, he wouldn't get any breakfast or dinner. (I mean the boys gotta eat something,) That poor boy can barely live without breakfast or dinner, so that punishment works out well for me.

Anyway, Gally has grown into a slightly respectable man, and has grown to be a worthy keeper of the builders, but that boy has spend too much time rebuilding the walls of the homestead and such, he never noticed that he built a wall around his heart and soul in the process. And by the grievers in the maze, I plan on breaking down that wall.

One of the gladers, Henry walked up and smiled slightly at me before setting down his plate by the sink. That one plate turned to 4, and then to 22. I gazed wearily at the piles of dishes as they grew taller? And taller. Suddenly, an idea sparked in my brain.

These boys thought of me as their mother. Why not start acting like one? Enforce some rules... Some chores... See what I'm hinting at here? You see my plan is for each group to take turns each day, doing all the 120 dishes that needed to be done each day.

For example, let's say the baggers were first on dish washing duty. I would make them three beautiful meals, only on the days I cook of course because we all still love and appreciate frypan. (I mean, even I can't beat his French fries.) and then the whole group would work as a team and wash the dishes. They would rotate each day, so the next day it would be the track-hoes turn for dish duty, and then the Slicers, then the Builders, sloppers, runners, My work load would be lifted, that easily! I'm a genius!

My mind drifted off as the word runners resonated through my brain. Minho, he hasn't returned yet. It was way past 6, when he usually gets back, and all of the other runners have already returned. It was 8:00 And the doors close at 8:30. My heart rate picked up as I made my way to the maze doors, squinting my eyes to see if Minho was turning the corner.