I do not own this amazing franchise know as the Maze Runner. All rights go to James Dashner, the author of the Maze Runner, and his publishing company whom he probably sold the rights to. This story is written purely for my entertainment with nothing to do with profit or recognition. "I write what I want to write, I write what amuses me, it's totally for myself."- J.K. Rowling
Harriet looked up from the place she was working at to gaze at the Lift. Berta, a British girl, had named the bizarre elevator in absolute refusal to call it anything else any by driving the other Valers absolutely mad with British words.
"Oh dear," the brunette next to Harriet said. "The alarm has gone off."
"No freaking duh," Sonya muttered as she and Harriet began to work their way over to the Lift. "Hopefully we'll get another Runner. I've been needing a Runner recently. But damn, the Lift is late today."
"Uncharacteristically so," Harriet agreed cheerfully as they reached the edge of the Lift, the large, metal doors atop it sliding open. She gazed down into the deep abyss that was existence for the first half hour of life. The dark-skinned girl crouched down, gripping the upper edge of the Lift before lowering herself into the dark elevator. Despite Berta's best attempts, the Lift was an elevator and nothing would change that.
The sight within the Lift would have caught anyone off guard but the Valers were not just anyone. Pressed into the corner of the Lift was a small boy rocking back and forth and mumbling ferociously. "No, that's not write. Need to write a drabble, gotta drabble for Ned- he needs by drabble. Looking upon? No, staring at? Gazing to? Don't fit, none of it fits! Doesn't fit, doesn't fit, doesn't fit! Gotta find the word, find the word, find the word. Gotta find it, find it, find it! Gaze, glare, stare, look, goggle, ogle, peer, gape, gawk. They don't work! I just need a list a words, list a words, list a words. Cause a lift a words is all I need! Just need a list of words, a lift full of words."
"What is it!" One of the Valers above shouted. "Come on, Harriet, tell us!"
"It's a boy," Harriet whispered. She glanced up. "It's a drabbling boy!"
Silence reigned supreme over the Valers.
Berta burst out with a crazed laugh. "You're joking, Harri! Now get the 'drabbling boy' up here!"
Harriet shot the girl an unimpressed look. "I meant that quite literally, Berta. He is a boy talking about drabbles, the literal, short, funny story type drabble. Not the curse. I'd be amused if I weren't concerned for this guy's sanity before my amusement took over. Speaking of which, I should probably laugh and leave the drabbler to drabble. Literally! Goddess, Berta. We're not just leaving him." Harriet turned her attention to the trembling boy in the corner. "Hey," she said softly, "can you tell me your name?"
"Drabbler, drabbler, drabbler, drabbler. I'm the drabbler, drabbler, drabbler," the boy replied with a peculiar expression. He looked as though a duck had been thrown at his face, hit him square in the nose then done on his head. It was a very odd expression indeed.
"Right, when I figure out what that means, I'll let you know. For now, stay there and don't drabbling panic."
"No panic, panic is bad. Drabbler must kill panic, all I'm meant to do, drabble and kill panic."