The Glader

Bloody Pointless

 I couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't move.

Chuck was dead.

Then there was a scream of pure rage from Thomas.

He lunged for Gally, his hands colliding with the older boy's throat. More blood splattered the air as his fists smashed into Gally's face, again and again, and there was the sound of a breaking nose.

I shot a glare at the W.I.C.K.E.D. woman, who was watching this all with an amused look on her otherwise expressionless face. Then I ran over to Thomas, doing my best to pull him off of Gally. It took all the strength I had.

I didn't think Gally was even alive, and his face was a bloody mess.

I had been too late. Again. 

Yet I could barely feel the guilt anymore.

Tommy's fists hit air as he flailed, trying to get back to his target.

Then all at once, he fell to the ground next to Chuck and began to scream, shrugging off my hands. "No! No!"

Teresa tried to comfort him, but he pulled away from her, his face wet with tears and Gally and Chuck's blood.

"I promised him!" he yelled, his voice hysterical, "I promised I'd save him, take him home! I promised him!"

Somehow that made it a hundred times worse.

Tommy couldn't protect his friend and I couldn't protect mine.

Alby...

Finally, Thomas calmed down and clung to Teresa.

Nobody made a sound.

Nobody could make a sound.

All the death.

It had no place in our lives, but it lurked all the same, rearing it's head far too often.

Chuck...

The Creator was the one that spoke first." All things happen for a purpose," she said, her voice once again flat, "You must understand this."

There was no purpose! The Creators were wrong. Death had no purpose. 

How could anyone—

Then came the gunshot.

The woman's eyes widened, looking towards the door as it exploded inwards. The blood had drained from her face, leaving her cheeks waxy and pale. 

In a second, I knew why.

Men and women, carrying old, rusty guns, clad in dirty T-shirts and jeans, were all streaming through the door, their faces set in hatred.

The Creator woman cried out as she was tackled to the floor.

A gunshot followed soon after.

Her blood spilled across the floor.

Red on white tile.

I jerked backwards.

What was happening?

"We don't have time to explain," a man called, walking up through the carnage, as Creators fell left and right, "Just follow me and run like your life depends on it. Because it does."

Shattering glass.

Cries of pain and fury.

More gunshots.

My feet were frozen to the floor.

This wasn't the dream I'd always had, the dream of escape.

The paradise of a normal life.

This was the same as the Maze. Death.

What was this?

"Go!"