Aphonic {TMR;Newt}

[29%]

"She's the last one...what's that mean?" I sat to Teresa's right as Thomas sat to her left. He allowed her to read the note that was found clutched in her hands when she arrived. I wasn't even aware he was carrying it in his pocket.

"We're not sure. Ever since you came up that Box hasn't gone back down. I think it's got everyone a little worried. Especially Gally," The bull himself hasn't removed his eyes from the three of us for a minute. He stood a great distance, a distance that allowed him to have the perfect view of us.

"He thinks it's my fault." A moment of birds singing in our ears injected a tranquil peace to fight against our anxiety. Thomas was nervous, it was clear, however, he was handling better than anyone else could. Teresa looked a little fazed but was curious just like he was. I felt a like an oddball between the two of them.

"Are you sure you don't remember anything." Thomas tried again. She fidgeted with the note, her eyes fluttering up to him.

"I remember water, feeling like I was drowning. Faces staring at me. I remember you," Her eyes landed on me. I adjusted in my place, my eyes softly dancing with hers. "Just pieces of you. I remember your voice."

'My voice.'

Is it strange to say you miss your own voice?

"And these voices...this woman's voice saying the same thing over and over-"

"Wicked is good." Her eyes widened as he knew what she was speaking of. I knew what she was speaking of. Thomas and I exchanged an honest glance. "Ever since I've been here I've had these dreams. Prim has them too ever since she's been here. We thought they were dreams."

I outlooked towards the Glade, feeling suddenly cold and bitter despite the warm breeze comforting us.

"You..." Thomas hesitated, looking between us. "You both were there. Teresa, you told me everything was going to change," He hesitated, even more, when he stuttered to speak my name. "A-And Prim you were...talking with someone but I could never see who. Their voices always changed between two different people."

Thomas never told me this. I knew he had dreams, but he never told me what they were about. He always kept to himself about them despite he would always ask about mine.

"What does it mean," Teresa asked above a whisper. Clueless himself, Thomas just shook his head.

"I-I don't know I just get pieces. I'm not sure how it is for you," Thomas pointed to me. I just shook my head, not wanting to bother to write it down.

"And the others don't remember anything?" Teresa asked me. Solemnly, I gestured no.

"Why are we different?" Thomas finally lets out the brewing question. Why were we different? No one else in the Glade would have these dreams. No one else would get pieces of their broken memory. So why did we? Why do we remember things?

Teresa then reached into her bundled up windbreaker that she kept between our legs. Rummaging with it, I heard the clink of glass being fondled in her hands. She pulled out two silver tubes, each containing a translucent blue liquid nearly full.

"These were in my pocket when I came up." She handed them to Thomas, who took them with care.

"W C K D...." He whispered the letters. "Wicked is good."

"What if we were sent here for a reason..."

An idea blinked in the back of his mind that reached all the way to his eyes. Thomas's eyes landed on me. The same look that always worried me, but gave me hope.

"Alby."

_

"We don't even know what this stuff is. We don't know who sent it, or why it came up here with you. I mean for all we know this stuff could kill him."