~ one • the arrival | sarah and reagan ~

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~ one • the arrival ~

∞ HOPELESSNESS IS FORGETTING HELP ON THE WAY ∞

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∞ HOPELESSNESS IS FORGETTING HELP ON THE WAY ∞

A girl found her back against a metal grating. She seemed not to notice the way the rectangular patterns pressed against her skin, surely leaving imprints. She seemed oblivious to the screeching, earsplitting sounds of something resembling a cart in desperate need of oiling.

She was panicking, her hands trembling in her lap as she tried to figure out why she was in total darkness, and where she was, and what she was doing.

What did I do yesterday? How did I get here?

She couldn't seem to call the memory of even the previous days or hours to her mind, and she suddenly felt even more frightened. That's when she realized she couldn't remember anything but one name that floated aimlessly in her mind.

Reagan.

That had to be her name; and if it wasn't, she'd be using it anyway.

"My name is Reagan," she whispered to herself, trying to concentrate on getting the feel of her new name rather than the adrenaline rushing through her spine, making her feel dizzy despite the darkness. She had a slight accent.

I'm an American, she suddenly thought. America had to be a country, right? Was it the country with the Southern accents? And why did Reagan have a slight accent from . . . somewhere else? Reagan felt glad that she could at least remember that about herself.

"Hello?" called another girl.

Cold metal touched the exposed skin on another girl's back. She was in complete darkness with no idea where she was or how she got there. Movement. She began to feel movement. She was moving upwards. Suddenly, a thought appeared in her mind.

Sarah.

Her name was Sarah. Or at least she thought it was. If it wasn't before, it was now. She suddenly began to wonder — who was she? Where was she and how did she get there? What happened yesterday, or the day before? What day was it today?

She reached her hand out into the darkness, and moved her fingers, as if she had never seen them before. She swatted the air, as if trying to part a curtain. She pulled her hands back and touched her face. She was real and uninjured, or at least that's what she thought.

Her eyes began to adjust to the dark, and she saw she was in a metal box. She was, in fact moving upwards. 

A strange feeling arose in her chest — panic; panic with a strange familiarity about it. Sarah tried, and failed, to calm down.

She heard a quiet whisper from somewhere in this cart she was in. She wasn't alone. She studied the whole box, looking for a shadow that seemed even darker than the darkness itself; that would point her to the source of another person. Another girl was in the cart with her. She pushed down her panic and spoke to the figure, the girl, on the other side of the cart.

• out of time ∞ the maze runner au •Where stories live. Discover now