Labyrinth

Chapter 5-

Labyrinth- C5

Time passes (okay, not 'time' in the epic-hero-story sense, per se, but just, like, three or four hours) and I begin to come to terms with what appears to be mute, raspberry-filled captivity.

For a night with a burly, thickset tribe of fluffy-haired freaks, this hasn't been too bad. Actually, let me mentally edit that: I don't even know if it's nighttime, and these guys aren't all freaks. Just normal people who've spent way too long in an artificial, mutated, underground world.

We sit gathered around a fire pit aglow with the same blue fire from the torches, watching as it heats bat-like creatures to a crisp. "I remember once, I came across a huge blob o' grey sludge, and I tried t' eat it, but then.. Then it took my arm!" recalls a tribe woman with a crudely-sewn silver rod attached to her shoulder, serving as a sort of prosthetic limb. The woman has a southern accent, and I make the assumption that judging by the scars laced over her stub of a shoulder, she's probably been in the tribe for a while. Which would ultimately mean she's been in the maze for a longer while.

I can't help pitying this as a heavyset man with a King Leonidas-style beard calls out, "I can top that story!" He then goes on to describe a run-in with another maze tribe, one of cannibals with rotting teeth and faces crusting with dried blood of former victims. I shudder, watching the ground and trying not to listen to the man's recollection.

I only look up when I feel a hand on my shoulder. A small smile crosses my face as Jake sits down next to me. "Hey," he greets me softly, thrusting a piece of mystery meat into my hands.

Heh. Thrusting.

"You know, you don't have to be completely silent," he states, looking at me. I raise an eyebrow and blow a raspberry at him in response to his comment, and he laughs. It's surprising how gentle his eyes are- I mean, I don't even really know the guy, so maybe it's not, but, like, this is usually /the/ look. In movies and stuff. When there's a love interest and stuff.

So I take a bite of the meat to try and distract myself, and probably end up ruining any chances I have with him. Truth is, I eat like a pig. The minute I bite into the mutant maze animal, I decide it has sort of a naturally salty flavor, like McDonald's food except without all the additives and unwholesome fat. Thus, I conclude I must eat. And I kind of just end up gnawing on the meat whilst breathing, resulting in a gross, animalistic display.

When I finally finish eating, I lick off my fingers and run my tongue over my mouth in what's obviously a non-sexual way. I can feel Jake watching with amusement, and suddenly I'm aware of my 'table manners'.

Why do I have to be so food addicted?

However, he doesn't seem to think anything I've done was gross. Instead, he makes a thumbs-up, then shrugs as if inquiring whether or not it was good, probably incase any of the tribe folk are watching the supposed deaf girl. I nod vigorously, and he gives a soft chuckle. Then he surprises me yet again by picking up what is apparently his own piece of meat and eating it in a sloppier, manlier way than me. I grin, giving him a double thumbs-up as he does so, and I think I see him blush, but in this lighting it's impossible to tell.

So instead of pestering myself about his opinion of me or my opinion about him or what may have possible been his attempt to un-embarrass me, I give up, deciding to just listen to stories.

The guy discussing cannibalism has, thankfully, moved on, and Storm Bringer's talking now. I don't know how I missed it earlier, considering how loud the guy is, but I guess that just goes to show what Jake does to me.

Storm Bringer's deep voice resonates through my ears, and I'm glad he's not sitting next to me, because it'd probably be like putting my headphones on while my music set to full volume. Incase you don't have headphones, I'll put it in simpler terms: that would be /loud/. That aside, he's discussing his travels in the maze before gathering the Night-Walkers and coming here.

"The river was glowing a bright green color, almost in a way that made it look radioactive. Naturally, I wandered over to it. The boy I was traveling with at the time, a rash, impulsive young man walked right over to it, obviously paying no attention to the odd coloration. The boy- his name was Thomas, if I recall correctly- anyway, Thomas dipped his hand into the neon river.

"Almost immediately, he ripped his hand out as if he'd been burned, but it was too late; whatever had been in it began eating away at his skin, rotting and stripping his skin and from his body. His screams echoed through the tunnel we'd been in, and it wasn't long before I could see the bloody bones of his hand, which quickly began blackening with whatever had been in the water. I don't know if a sort of poison had taken over the rest of his blood or if the pain had been too much for him, but seconds later.." Storm Bringer gags quietly, and it wouldn't take a genius to realize he's trying not to cry over the loss of this Thomas kid. "He died. It was the first death I'd witnessed in the maze, and I learned a great deal from it- that being always to test the water before drinking it." The tribe leader forces a smile beneath his beard, but his eyes remain sad.

I swallow hard, watching the ground. Goddamn. We're dealing with shit here that's enough to bring a grown man- and obviously a tough one, at that- to his knees. How do I plan on surviving?

Later, after everyone's finished dinner (or what qualifies as dinner in here), I curl into a tighter ball beneath the soft, wooly-feeling blanket. I don't actually want to know what it's made of, because it's probably mutant bats or something, so I'm just going to describe it as wool for now.

Dinner'd gone well. Jake was addressed a couple times, and I did my best not to be offended by the lack of acknowledgement since I'm not supposed to be able to hear anyway. The food was good (see previous paragraphs about eating, natural salt, and the like). The dinner talk was creepy (also mentioned in previous paragraphs). We'd discussed the sleeping arrangements, which hadn't been too hard since the Night-Walkers apparently have a tent pre-set for prisoners. Which, they assured us, we weren't, and that we were welcome guests and whatnot, but it'd be pointless to set up another tent for us since there were no actual prisoners at the moment. So we agreed. And now we're here.

Together.

I know, I know, it isn't that big of a deal, but I'm no longer wearing a t-shirt or my jeans in order to keep my clothing fresh- sleep B.O. really sucks sometimes- and Jake's doing the same. Leaving him in a pair of Christmas-colored, plaid boxers and me in a black sports bra and bikini-style underwear. We've agreed to keep to our own sides of the tent, but I needed no light whatsoever to know that we were both blushing our freaking faces off when we agreed to this. It's especially awkward because, though I have never been a whore or slept with a guy or anything, I kinda get the impression Jake has.

"Marty?"

Shit. I'd been hoping to just sleep in silence and not say a word to him or anything, even though I'd been dying to talk earlier at dinner. "...Yeah?" I ask after hesitating.

"What'd you think about earlier?"

My cheeks heat up violently. Well, now's my chance to possibly find out what he'd been thinking earlier and see if he really /was/ trying to boost my esteem. "I thought it was really nice of you to-"

He sighs in what sounds like exasperation. "Not that. But I know, I'm a relatively nice guy." I can hear the sarcasm that'd been dripping from his voice vanish as he continues, "I meant about the things people have witnessed in the Labyrinth."

Now I'm starting to wish he'd been talking about emotions. "I want out," I can't help the whimper that floods out. Where's my bravery? And where'd this sudden ability to blurt out my fear come from?

Thankfully, Jake doesn't seem to care. "Me too."

"So how do we get out?"

That shuts him up, basically concluding our conversation. As sleep and the warmth of my blanket pull me away from consciousness, I'm vaguely aware of a darkening sense of hopelessness.

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