Her

Epilogue

(Dialogue italicized are excerpts from "The Maze Runner," and were written by James Dashner)

The air was filled with life as the Gladers gathered like moths around the giant bonfire. Through the tall orange flames Newt could see the confused face of the most recent arrival. He reminisced to earlier that evening in hopes of remembering the Greenie's name. The memory quickly returned to him,
Thomas.
Newt made his way to the seat next to him, slightly dragging his now partially healed leg behind him as he did so.
Newt took a seat and a sip out of the jar he was holding, keeping his eyes on the burning light before them.
Throughout the night Thomas continued to ask questions about the Glade, and how the maze worked. Newt didn't mind; he enjoyed helping to ease the fear of the first night.
However, a slight uneasiness arose in his chest as Thomas brought up a new topic,
"So tell me about the Runners."
He was taken aback by the Newbie's interest, mostly because the curiosity sent his mind back to the moment he had first met her. For it had been that very same curiosity that Newt had saved her from that day, that very same curiosity that made him fall in love with her.
Newt's mind snapped back to the present and he questioned,
"The Runners? Why?"
Thomas replied shrugging his shoulders,
"Just wondering."
Still wary about the Greenie's odd interest, Newt explained,
"Best of the best, those guys. Have to be. Everything depends on them."
He picked up a small stone and mindlessly tossed it to distract his mind from wandering back to the past.
However, his throat tensed up as Thomas continued,
"Why aren't you one?"
And that one phrase seemed to cause Newt to relive every single moment of when she was there, relapsing to every glimpse of her that his eyes had ever taken, and to the last time he had been into the maze and given himself that limp.
He gave Thomas a harsh look, somewhat frustrated that he caused him to rethink the whole thing,
"Was till I hurt my leg few months back. Hasn't been the bloody same since."
Newt brushed his fingers across his ankle as he longed to say her name out-loud again; God knows it had been constantly on his mind since the last time he said it.
Unconscious to the pain he was causing, Thomas questioned even further,
"How'd you do it?"
Desperate to dismiss the subject, Newt quickly lied,
"Runnin' from the buggin' Grievers, what else? Almost got me."
He paused, the image of her bright eyes and rose-colored cheeks were so vivid in his head that he feared Thomas could see it. And for that moment time seemed to stop again, as her name pounded against his forehead, mirroring the beating of his heart.
Rosalind. Rosalind. Rosalind.
But suddenly he was overcome with a feeling of serenity as he was taken back to the very night he learned it.
"I don't know what I'd ever do without you, Newt," she said as that rebellious strand of hair strayed onto her face.
And it was almost as if that same sweet taste of her lips returned to his for a couple seconds. But like her, it quickly slipped away without warning, and he was hurtled back into the present, where a subtle pain constantly remained.
A pain he wouldn't trade for the world since it came with memories of her.
A pain that would linger until the day they were reunited.

Fin