My Best Friend
There he was, standing in front of me.
He seemed trapped between two worlds.
Sane.
Insane.
Sane.
He was begging me, wanting me to end his misery from the Flare.
The Flare.
WICKED.
I helped them create the program.
I helped them build the Maze.
I helped send people in for testing and variables.
I helped them do this to Newt, my best friend.
He gave me a note when we were in the building with WICKED.
I can never forget those words, those simple words that tear my heart to shreds:
Kill me.
If you were ever my friend, kill me.
I did it.
I shot him in the head.
I granted his last wish, and now he is dead.
He was only a boy, someone so young, taken from a home with a loving family.
WICKED stole his memory.
They stole him from his family.
They stole his friends.
They stole his life.
He was so sweet, harsh in words, yet kind in actions.
Newt was the glue.
He kept everyone together.
When he gave up, he got back up.
He would never harm us, ever.
I did it to him.
I stole his life.
I killed my best friend.
