twelve

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"She cares, so I don't have to." - Twelve, Doctor Who

~

"Greenie. Wake up!"

A loud, but not unkind voice came from somewhere near her right. With a groan, she opened her eyes, blinking in the light.

Sunlight filtered through the leafy canopy above, casting small rays of light in the air. Scratchy leaves bit into her back, and her cheek was pressed into what seemed to be a sharp rock.

"What the hell," she groaned, lifting an arm to shield herself from the light.

"Because sleeping in the Deadheads is such a shucking good idea. What kind of klunk were you thinking?"

She sat up, rubbing her eyes. Once they adjusted to the brightness, she was able to take a proper look at the boy standing next to her.

He was wearing a pair of trainers and a backpack-like harness across his back. His dark hair matched his eyes, which were filled with confusion.

"Minho?" she asked, raising an eyebrow, "aren't you supposed to be running the Maze?"

"I was going to," he shrugged, "but I found you here on my way to the Map Room. It's five in the morning."

Elizabeth made a frustrated sound at the back of her throat. "You should've let me sleep!" she whined.

"Yeah, and leave you here so people thought you were dead? Sure, I'll keep that in mind for next time."

He glanced at his watch. "I better get going, Maze doors are opening in a few minutes. Go back there and get your hands bandaged. I heard they're Choosing you today."

"Choosing?"

"Choosing you to compete in a weekly game of fighting to the death," he said sarcastically. "No, shuck-face, it's for your job. Anyway, see you."

With that, he sprinted off, deeper into the woods.

Elizabeth stared at her hands, now caked with dried blood and scabbed all over. Trails of red reached to her forearms and coated her palms.

A job? Amidst all the excitement, she had completely forgotten about work. She wondered briefly on what job she would receive.

Builders? She wasn't good with hauling things around, that was certain; she'd dropped the wooden plank she had been ordered to carry an embarrassing amount of 9 times, swearing a lot in the process.

Sloppers? Alby had personally made sure she wouldn't be chosen for the least desirable job. One of the perks of being the only female.

Track-hoes? She supressed a shudder. 'Never in a million damn years,' she thought, as her mind conjured up a picture of Ross.

She flexed her fingers, feeling the dry blood crack and pinch at her skin. She didn't feel anything... Just numbness.

She pulled out splinters as she walked towards the Homestead. The sun was well up now, the pink hues in the sky replaced with clear blue, dusted with white clouds.

"There you are, Greenie!" Alby's deep voice called from the distance. Quickening her pace, she hurried towards the Glader.

"Where the shuck were you, Greenie?" he demanded, "what happened to your hands?"

"Nothing," she muttered, "just... What's happening?"

She looked around, and was surprised to see a little under a dozen of Gladers clustered around the entrance to the Homestead. She raised an eyebrow at Alby.

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