I tried to kill myself in the maze. Climbed halfway up one of those bloody walls and jumped right off... I hated the place, Tommy. I hated every second of every day.

He wasn't supposed to end up like this.

He wasn't supposed to be lying bloody and broken on the floor of the maze, wishing that death could just come and take him away already- he wasn't even supposed to be alive anymore. So why was he still here? The tide should've swept him away by now, masked his vision with darkness, taken away all the pain he felt- both physical and mental. So why hadn't it? This wasn't supposed to happen, he wasn't supposed to be like this, this wasn't supposed to happen.

EARLIER

He couldn't do it anymore. He couldn't pretend that he was fine for even one more day- but what was he supposed to do? He couldn't tell the others. They'd just laugh at him, call him weak, tell him to suck it up because nothing would change unless he found a way out. They'd just tell him to work harder- because maybe if he worked harder, they'd find a way to escape, and he could mope all he wanted to after that.

But he couldn't. He felt like he was slowly being ripped apart, like a little more poison was injected into his brain each day. Nothing stayed the same for long. He knew this wasn't normal- but what could he do about it even if it wasn't? Everybody was in the same situation as he was, nobody had the things they needed. So what if something was wrong with his head? Nobody in the Glade was totally sane, complaining wouldn't help him.

So he kept quiet.

His plan was simple- he'd start off the day as he always did, grabbing lunch from the kitchen before heading off into the maze. He'd run his section, sit down somewhere and eat, and then... that's where the real plan would begin. He'd climb up the wall, he'd recite every single thing he hated about the prison he was trapped in, and he'd jumped. He'd jump off the bloody wall, he'd fall, and he'd die. Cowardly, some might call him. But to him... to him, it sounded like heaven.

It seemed like a brilliant plan, to him. Some would call him insane over it- even a part of him was telling him it was ridiculous, that he couldn't just die and not say anything. But he was too far gone to even care at that point. He was too sick and tired of waking up every day and acting as if any of them had a chance at all. The overwhelmingly fake positivity made him want to throw up.

Maybe he wouldn't even be found- maybe a griever might come across his body after he'd jumped, dragged him away into some unexplored part of the maze. Nobody would ever know he'd chosen to end his own life. Let them think he'd died bravely, fighting off a griever- he didn't want to be remembered as coward, even if even he thought he was one. Who would want to be remembered as nothing more than a coward who couldn't even deal with breathing anymore?

The day started off as normal as any day in the Glade could- wake up early, run by the kitchen to grab his lunch, and off into the maze he went as soon as the doors opened. He and the others had gone their separate ways fairly quickly- there was no point in sticking together, not in the maze. If you came across a griever, you were done- and it was better that only one person was lost rather than two.

He'd run for a little while after that, so that if he screamed when he jumped nobody would hear- or if they did, he'd be gone long before they got there.

First, he'd eaten. He'd eaten slowly- slower than he usually did, yeah, but nobody was around to scold him for it. No friends, no family, no teacher... he was alone. He lived alone, h ate alone, and soon enough he'd die alone too- but he had no intention to rush himself. This was his last day, his last meal, his last chance to truly enjoy himself, and he had no intention to cut his time short.

He'd savored every moment of the lunch- every single bite of those stupid tasteless sandwiches, every sip of the dusty-tasting water he'd brought along. Every. single. moment.

Then he'd stood up. He'd taken his time standing up, slowly rising to his feet and kicking the remains of his meal underneath the ivy- he didn't want it to be found, if anybody even looked for him. If anybody found it they might realize that he'd died of his own accord and not from an attack.

Climbing the wall was the hard part- he'd never been very strong, even if he was fast, and hauling your entire body up a giant rock wall is a lot easier said than done. That's why he'd stopped only halfway up- his arms felt like they were about to fall off, and he was scared that he'd lose his footing and fall off before he was high up enough. Yeah, that wouldn't be fun- falling but not dying, forced to lie alone in pain until someone- or something- found you.

And then he'd jumped.

He felt like he was flying- and he really hadn't expected it to be so exhilarating. The adrenaline rush, the excitement, and the sudden fear- he hadn't expected any of it. Well, maybe he'd expected the fear. If he was prepared for just one thing, it was that. It was obvious he'd be scared- flinging his body off a wall wasn't exactly something that he'd be looking forward to. The aftermath? Yeah, sure. Doing it? Not so much.

The moment before he hit the floor, everything went away. Time seemed to slow down. He felt free, everything seemed perfect, and then-

And then the pain began.

It felt like fire was climbing up his leg, like all his limps were being ripped off his body- and he knew he'd failed. He knew without question that he was alive. Maybe he still had a chance to die- maybe he would die of blood loss, or maybe a griever would come along and consider him easy prey. Either way, he was stuck there for now. He knew there was no way he could drag himself back up the wall and try and jump again, not when he couldn't even stand up.

He'd really wanted to die. He'd wanted it more than anything. But he was alive... and he hated every single thing about that.

A/N: hi my name is eren and all i do is rewrite old stories :^)