So I watched Death Cure yesterday and it has rekindled my love for this fandom, and I have reread two of the books since I saw it twenty-four hours ago, and then I wrote this thing. Enjoy. Kudos to my pal Sarah for the title.
Bloody well done, Newt, I think to myself as I cast a glance over my shoulder, gazing at the ground that seems to be kilometres beneath me. What have you gotten into now. A wave of vertigo comes over me, forcing me to turn away from the ground and focus on my slow travel upwards. I haul myself another metre into the air, hands twisted in the thick ivy.
Being this high on the walls of the Glade would be amazing, the only world I've ever known spread out before me to see, as though I'm a bird soaring above the Glade, insignificant to the people just the same as the people are insignificant to the bird.
I twist back to face the corridor beneath me, nothing to see save for the vines stringing between the two walls, and far below that the cold floor of the Maze.
For now, I'm in no danger of falling.
My arms are twisted in the thick ivy, feet with firm footholds, so that even if I do lose my grip I won't fall until I'm prepared to face the end. From some messed up part of my mind, it occurs to me that, even with a wall just a few metres away and my view obscured by the vines, this place is beautiful. It's quiet in the Maze, no one to bug me about starting work or finding my place in the Glade, not even the sounds of the busy Gladers at work to ease the silence. Even having what I want, a quiet place where I can be unbothered by the rest of the busy world, a sharp stab of something cold permeates my heart.
A tear pricks my eye at the sensation, goose bumps racking up and down my arms as I squeeze my eyes shut.
"It's time, Newt," I say to myself, but whether it's because I need encouragement or because I don't want to feel alone any longer, I don't know. "You're going to jump off this wall in a minute, alright. And I'll be with you the whole way down, and I'll be with you wherever we go afterwards." A thought popped into my mind, of a place called Valhalla, where the warriors of Norse myth lived on forever. My voice cracks when I speak again, hands now unwound from the vines. "I'm scared." I take another deep breath. "I'll be with you," I say again, voiced steadied. I let myself cling to the vines for another long minute, fingers digging into the ivy.
Then I push off the wall, and enter freefall.
I know somethings wrong the second I feel the vines brushing past me, dropping me from one to the next like a sack of potatoes, or a bag of dead meat.
Then, and only then, do I impact the ground.
The world goes blank.
When I wake up, the first thing I do is scream.
The second thing I do is muffle it into the crook of my elbow.
And last of all, when I think I can breathe and release my teeth's grip on my forearm without screaming, I look down at the source of my pain. As soon as I do, I regret it.
A pulse of pain shoots up my leg, rampant as a raging Griever and I bite back another scream, my entire leg burning with a raging fire that consumes my senses, builds off my pain to grow larger and larger yet. My vision fades, leaving me in a world of darkness and pain.
Time blends together, seconds melding to minutes and minutes to hours as the blinding pain of my leg forces me in and out of unconsciousness.
The light changes as I fade in, one moment the sun's rays not reaching me, and the next with them blazing in my eyes.
A hand at the side of my neck. Callused fingers, pressing on my pulse point. A whine forced from my throat, and then a voice.
"Ah shuck. What have you gone and done, Greenie." The hand shifts to my hair, brushing it out of my face.
I force my eyes open, and am greeted by the gentle smile of a Runner. I don't recognize him, but he has gentle, sloping features.
"I'm Minho," he says. "I don't think we've met, but you're Newt, right?"
I nod as best I can.
"Alright," Minho continues. "It's nice to meet you. Can you tell me what happened to you, shank?" As he speaks, he pulls me into a sitting position.
I take a shuddering breath, and Minho runs a hand up and down my back. For the first time, I look him in the eye, and when I do I'm surprised to find the intensity in his gentle brown eyes. "I was scared," I tell him, and his gaze softens. "I, I thought that if I jumped I wouldn't have to live with it." Minho lets out a long sigh, and hauls me to my feet.
"Ain't one of us that hasn't been there, Greenbean. Right now we just need to get you back to Jeff so we can get that leg of yours fixed up." Minho pulls my left arm over his shoulder, supporting half of my weight for me. "Your legs going to hurt like hell once we start moving, but I need you to keep going for me. We have to get home before nightfall, and there's no way I'm leaving you out here."
I force myself to nod, left leg suspended above the ground, forcing me to walk in tiny hops, relying entirely on Minho to keep me upright.
"If you don't want me to, I won't tell anyone how you got hurt. I'll just say I found you and that you don't remember. Blame it on a concussion or some such."
He pauses, letting me catch my breath. "Thanks," I whisper, with as much gusto as I can manage."
As we walk, he keeps talking, telling stories from the early days of the Glade. "We were all scared," he says. "But we got through it together. And so long as we have one another, we don't have to be afraid anymore. Without one another, we're all just scared Greenbeans."