Lizard's Running

Angst

After weeks of training, Newt was allowed to take runs in the maze on his own, though it was protested by Minho who'd grown rather protective of him.

Newt didn't know how he felt about going off into a monster infested cage all by himself to map out the maze, but someone had to so that he and the other Gladers could possibly find a way out of the hell hole they were placed in.

As he ran through the twists and turns he'd come to be familiar with, he'd got to thinking. Why were they put in the maze? Were they being punished? He wondered if maybe he'd murdered someone in an awful way and that's why he'd been sent here.

He shook his head, feeling silly. Just last week the boys had reprimanded him for not killing a beetle that had wandered into his hammock. He captured it and walked out into the forest, releasing it when he felt confident that it wouldn't return again.

Of course I didn't kill anyone, Newt thought to himself.

He rounded a corner of the maze. This part looked unfamiliar to him. He strangely took comfort in that. It meant that, just maybe, he was making progress.

Or getting horribly, dreadfully lost.

He'd been having thoughts like this lately for the past few weeks. Being sent into the maze alone had left him to dive into his mind, though most of it was boarded up under lock and key. He didn't quite like it.

He just felt off, like his body was not his own. His name tasted flat when he said it aloud to himself. It tasted wrong.

Glumly, he tried to push the feelings down. It felt hard to swallow, literally and figuratively.

What if the grievers catch me?

The thought came to him, not in fear, but pure wonderment. What if they did? What if he was killed? Would it be such a bad thing?

Newt thought of Minho telling him how proud he was that he wasn't a Greenie anymore. "It really takes guts to sit on your ass for a month before another Joker is sent up the hole," he'd said. Newt knew Minho had warmed to him, he could hear it in his voice. Pride. Though his words didn't always show the affection he felt, Newt could see it in Minho's eyes.

Alby had taken to Newt as well. Newt talked with the boys at dinner and thanked Fry Pan for the meals he prepared for them all. He laughed at the same jokes all the other boys did.

Something felt wrong about it though. Like, he laughed because he knew he was supposed to, because that's what the lot did. He laughed and felt like he was the joke.

Newt didn't feel like them. They had a -well, this sucks- attitude about the entire situation whereas Newt felt incredibly pessimistic, though he didn't let that part of himself show.

He did what he was supposed to. He ran the maze, he copied down what he could remember, and he laughed at the stories told by their leader.

Newt realized he had gotten lost in his thoughts yet again.

Focus, he encouraged himself. The sun was just starting to set over the tall stone walls, causing them to produce menacing shadows.

Newt felt queasy, he didn't like the threatening darkness the walls cast. It made him feel like they would swallow him hole. The vines would come right off its surface and wrap around him, squeeze, and leave only dust behind.

He shook his head. He should head back or he wouldn't make it. He wasn't exactly sure how far he'd traveled, so he began to retrace his steps.

-

Newt stepped off of the cold stone surface and into the warm, green grass a half hour before the walls closed, sealing everything inside and out.

Minho walked towards him in long, confident strides, but his eyes held a hint of concern and almost anger.

"Where were you?" he scolded.

"In the maze."

"What's that?"

"What's what?" Newt glanced at Mihno in confusion. Something was up. Minho rested his hands firmly on his hips, legs apart. A power stance.

"What's what," he mimicked. "Your tone, that's what."

Newt could see where Minho was coming from, he was in a broody mood.

Newt contemplated the question Minho asked, and his demanding tone. Newt wasn't sure he wanted to give him the satisfaction.

"Shove it, mate," he said and pushed passed Minho towards the line at Fry Pan's. Some boys stood by, lighting fires to compensate for the setting sun.

Minho stood with his eyebrows raised in surprise, gaping at Newt.

His entire expression dropped into a scowl, glaring at Newt's back.

"Oh, hell no," he breathed and set off after his moody friend.

Newt was pulled back by the collar of his shirt and onto the ground.

"Bloody hell!" he exclaimed. He didn't have a chance to say anything else before Minho's heavy knee bore into his back, pushing the air out of him.

"You know what," Minho said calmly. His tone made Newt more nervous than if he were yelling. "I don't like your attitude, kid."

"Shove off," Newt coughed. Dirt pressed against his ear and his lungs begged for more air. He could only breathe in dust.

Minho's weight shifted forward, pushing Newt harder into the ground. "You know what, man? I like you, you're a good guy-" Minho started his speech.

"You've got a funny way of showing it," Newt interrupted him.

"As. I. Was. Saying," Minho breathed, enunciating each word through clenched teeth. "Whatever you're dealing with, whatever this goddamn mood is, you need to get over it, and soon."

Newt had had enough. His anger fueled his movements, lifting himself off the ground and essentially bucking Minho off his back, over his head, and into the dirt.

Minho cursed and glared up at the now standing Newt who turned and walked away from him.

Minho wiped blood away from his lip where he'd bitten into it when thrown off of his friend. Gladers came to his aid but he pushed them away, standing up and in a rage and heading for the Homestead and away from Newt who went into the forest.

--

"Get over it," Newt said to himself, kicking a rock.

He had walked into the darkening forest, letting it swallow him.

What was there to get over?

He had hurt his friend, he knew, but he didn't regret it. He'd been a real git and his playful put-downs were starting to wear Newt's patience thin.

He stopped his angry stomp through the forest. He was facing a tree head on, the river to his right.

He could feel it mocking him, the tree.
'Look how big I am, above you all,' it mocked. 'Look how strong.'

Newt clenched and shook out his hands restlessly. "You don't know me," he whispered angrily. He cracked his neck and cocked his fist.

Before he could release the fiery pressure rushing through his veins, hard wood struck the back of his head and he collapsed.