Shorts

Crank (The Maze Runner)

Requested by SubjectA10
The Maze Runner

Newt POV

Turns out Teresa wasn't quite as immune as everyone thought.

Today she was dropped off here, at the Palace. The Crank home. A slime hole, more like it. I was surprised to say the least; surprised that the Creators managed to wrongly label someone as immune. Or at least, I'm assuming that's why she's here.

She wants to talk to me. I can tell. But I don't want to talk to her. Never really trusted her, to be completely honest. But then again - I can't hardly trust myself anymore.

I keep to myself around here, mostly. Try and keep my thoughts straight, which gets harder and harder every day. But the thing, the only thing, that keeps me going is that I know there is a cure for this. There has to be.

And so, I manage. But managing is all I seem to do around this place. I usually stay alone, sitting outside under the shade for as long as I can bear it then treading inside and hiding in some dark corner of the old bowling alley. That's where the most sane Cranks stay, is the bowling alley. And I'll consider myself sane until I'm too lost to realize I've stopped.

She comes up to me, still that same confident swagger in her step. It's like she's boasting that both of her legs still work as I limp to and fro. She's a bit annoying, actually. Probably why Tommy always fancied her, she's annoying like him.

Wait, no - Tommy's not annoying.

Keep it together. Think.

Tommy. . . He's smart, intuitive, brave, da-

"Hey, uh Newt?"

I glance up, washing the glare out of my eyes as much as I can. I have no desire to talk to her right now.

"What?" The word comes out harsher than I had intended. Oh well.

She smiles. That smile when you know a bloke but not well enough to greet 'em. "It's, er, good to see you again," she says. I say nothing. What is there to say? In my mind, nothing. Why bother speaking if you have nothing to say?

Apparently, she feels there is more. "You still seem. . . Ok," she stutters hesitantly, as if she's afraid of offending me.

"'Ok' being a relative term," I retort. "Yeah, then I'm ok. You seem fine yourself." I shift, tucking my feet in closer to avoid the invading line of sun streaming down above the balcony.

She laughs once through her nose. That breathy, girly laugh that all girl do. She folds her arms across her small chest, her dark hair shadowing her face almost like a thick pair of curtains.

"Newt, I. . . I'm sorry this happened to you," she mumbles, shaking her head to temporarily move her hair out of her face, but it's no use. It falls right back over her eyes.

I snort. "Same thing happened to you, didn't it?" I ask irritably. I just wish she'd go away.

"Well actually - wait, what is that?" she begins, pausing and squinting at something off to her right, but I doubt she can see anything through all that hair. It sounds like a car, but I don't bother looking. It's probably a pack of Cranks demolishing another Crank in ways I don't want to see. Sometimes they sound like machines.

But no, that can't be it. This sound is too mechanical. At first I'm entirely convinced I'm only hearing things.

But then I hear him. And I don't know how to feel.