Listen to 'Only a Human' by George Ezra for this chapter.
<CONTAINS MILD GRAPHIC CONTENT>
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Sam
Winston rolls to his hands and knees, coughing up strings of black blood. He falls onto his back in exhaustion, panting loudly.
"Its getting worse." He rasps, tugging up his shirt. His stomach is covered in black and green veins, wrapped around his torso and climbing towards his neck. Black goo seeps from the exposed wound, as Winston lamely coughs again.
Slowly but surely, Newt reaches forwards, and takes the gun from a sobbing Frypan, and lays it in Winston's outstretched palm. "Thank you." He croaks, giving Newt an understanding smile.
Newt collects his coat and rucksack, before turning his back and hesitantly walking away. I slowly reach forwards and lay my hand on Winstons shoulder, "I'm sorry I couldn't save you, it should have been me, I-" I finally break down, unable to fight back the tears any longer as they now stream down my face, dripping onto my shirt.
"No, you are wrong. I deserve this, it's fate I guess." He gives me a crooked smile, eyes glazed over with tears, "now go, and take Alex from Newt, I think he is struggling." Winston lets out a weak laugh, and I avert my eyes to Newt, who is indeed, struggling to carry a thrashing Alex. He was obviously having a tantrum.
"Goodbye Winston." I croak, my tears now slightly blurring my vision. Thomas pulls me away from the dying boy and gives me a sympathetic smile.
I silently approach Newt and carefully take Alex away from him, continuing to not say a word. His crying subsides as I slowly rock him, my tears now pouring from my eyes and soaking my shirt. I begin to walk away from the small camp, my bag hanging loosely from my shoulders and on my back. I sob loudly, gasping through the tears for a breath of air. My hair fans out behind me, the warm wind drying the continuously falling tears.
The gladers bid Winston goodbyes one by one, each walking away with trembling lips and puffy red eyes. Newt catches up to me, trying to remain strong for the rest of the group, he is followed by the other gladers. Silence remains over the group as we take small steps away from our friend, bestfriend, brother.
Although Winston was quite a strange boy, that didn't mean that he meant nothing to each and everyone of us. He was one of the breadwinners of the Glade, without him, we would not have been provided with meat, a main part of our diets. But that was not the only reason everyone loved him for, he was caring for a slicer, a playful, cheeky teenager. And he was too young, too young to be put in the glade, too young to have to have a job, too young to be dead.
A ripple of pain slices through my heart, as if a chunk of it had been ripped out. The same pain I had felt from the loss of Chuck, the loss of a child. A fucking child.
WICKED will pay. Pay for the losses of the teenagers, children, thousands of people. The boys didnt deserve this, nobody did. Winston didn't, Chuck didn't, Gally didn't - even after the terrible things he had done.
A gunshot tears apart the deafening silence, like a pack of hungry dogs finally pouncing on a meal. Time freezes and loud sobs fill my ears, I sink to my knees in the sand and let the tears fall, my heart shattering at the loss of a fellow glader. A boy from the very beginning, unable to remember his parents, siblings, lover. A friend, my friend.
WICKED would pay for the losses.
A/N:
I got a new phone a couple of weeks ago and I am still trying to figure it out (I changed brands). Yayyyyyy🖤
