Good That

Thomas' POV

I had seen some pretty disturbing things the first two days of my life in the Glade. There was the scary picture of the lady in the Homestead. Ben with his weird skin and the word 'changing.' That monstrosity Newt called a griever. Yet the thing that disturbed me the most was my sudden passion to be a runner, and the strange sense of familiarity I felt. I hadn't noticed it before, due to my confusion, but the waves of familiarity crashed against me again and again. I wanted to go in the Maze with all my being and be a runner. Chuck had told me about them a little, and so had Newt. But why would I want to be a runner after seeing what lurks out there? I had no clue. I wanted to ask Newt some more questions, but Newt had disappeared somewhere. Something told me he was done with my questions for the moment. I kicked off my blanket and sat up. I resolved to wait out my time.

At dawn, the screeching of the doors opening awoke most of the Glade, and the habitants went to Frypan's for breakfast. Chuck yawned and attempted to make a joke. I smiled at him. He tried hard, but no one really liked him. I suppose I was the closest he had to a friend. The runners were picking up some packaged sandwiches. One of them, the Asian one, Minho, looked at me. He winked at me and I looked at him, wondering if he really winked at me or if he had just had something in his eye. I swear I heard him tell me "looking at you, shank." I chewed thoughtfully on my egg sandwich. Today I would be doing butchery, killing the pigs and chickens and so on. "Chuck, how is the keeper of the slicers?" I asked. "Winston?" Chuck asked, taking another bite. "Yeah, him," I confirmed. "He's sort of brutal, keeps a grudge, but he's a good hardworking shank," Chuck shrugged. "Hmm," was my reply. After breakfast I hurried down to report to Winston of the Slicers to start my duties. While learning which parts of a cow makes the most nutrition in a steak, a loud clamor rang out. "What's going on?" I asked, glancing at everyone's confused face. Soon people were running out, so I followed the flow. Newt went by and I grabbed his arm. "What's going on?" I asked, panicked. "It's the box alarm," he looked confused. I had barely known him for a day, but I could tell he was not accustomed to being confused. He struck me as a calm and collected kind of dude. We arrived at the box to look down there. The doors opened and light poured in. No movement. Newt jumped in and stood up. "It's a girl," he announced. The gladers murmured to each other. "And it looks like she's dead," Newt added. Everyone immediately got louder. "Shut it before I throw the lot of you sorry shuckfaces off the cliff!" Alby roared. The noise immediately receded. He called Clint and the med-jacks to pick her up. Her dark hair fell from her face, and I swear I saw glassy blue eyes fluttering. As she was lifted, a paper fell. Newt picked it up and unfolded it. "She's the last one," he read, his accent thickening. He looked up at us. "Ever."