Thomas Brodie-Sangster Imagines

Part 18

THIRD PERSON P.O.V.

Just as every other day, the sky started to darken at the same exact hour, triggering dark feelings in Newt's chest. 

Something didn't feel right about the way that everything seemed to fade in the evening. 

The sky didn't melt in the multitude of colors that one would expect.

 Warm pigments of peach and rose didn't kiss summer days goodnight. Rays of gold didn't pass through the trees, welcoming autumn sunsets. Wisps of cotton candy did not coat the evening sky in the spring. 

Each and every night, the sky would simply fade, darker and darker until black covered the Glade. 

There were no beautiful hues to look forward to at the end of each day. Moments where oranges and purples fluttered around the sky did not exist.

There was simply no beauty in the sky. Only the reminder that another day had passed, and they were still stuck in that ever-changing puzzle.  

This evening, just like any other, Newt stilled. Blades of over grown grass tickled his ankles. The second-in-command was alone in the middle of the Glade, just over a hundred yards away from those massive walls. Deep brown eyes were trained on that ever fading sky. 

Something felt off about it. For the past year, right as the day would end, Newt's eyes would wander up above. The ever turning wheels in that boy's mind would chew on the thought of that fading sky. 

That dull ache in ankle throbbed the smallest bit harder right after the doors closed. Pain would work up his legs, clawing it's way up his bones. It would rattle around Newt's chest, finding it's way into his heart. It would burrow into the organ to whisper message's into the blond's fragile mind.  Messages that reminded him of how shattered his reality was. 

The older boys that had been around a while noticed that, when night fell, Newt's steps seemed to be a bit heavier. It could have been his more serious aura, but that limp seemed to be all the more prominent. 

"Ah..." An unfamiliar voice startled the second-in-command. Newt turned around, his eye's meeting the pair that belonged to the kid behind him. 

Having been lost in his thoughts, the shock of the voice surprised the blond. Although his eyes had been wandering around the Glade, Newt's mind had been somewhere else.

The kid in front of him was a bit shorter than Newt, all limbs. A massive pair of navy eyes widened at Newt's sudden turn around. Messy, brunette curls flopped across the boys head, falling towards his eyes. The boy that ogled at Newt stood frozen, rosy lips apart. 

The unfamiliar kid couldn't have been a day over 15. A flutter of anger trickled through Newt. 

Why would a kid like this be sent up here? 

"You need somethin', Greenie?" Newt asked, his chin up. Ignoring the pity that lingered in his chest, the blond kept his posture looming. There was no room for rebellion in the Glade. Newt  felt that he had to show this kid that he was in charge. 

"Greenie?" the kid repeated under his breath, his eyes falling to Newt's shoes. "My name is Pres." 

"Well, Greenie," Newt responded, "What do ya need?" 

The younger boy looked up at Newt, a nervous look on his face. For a moment, those massive blue eye's were searing into Newt's, and the second-in-command dropped his 'big guy' façade. 

Pres pressed his lips together and dropped his gaze. A pale hand slipped into the large pocket of his saggy cargo pants. 

The boy pulled out an envelope.