Just a thought that occurred to me one day...
Disclaimer: Don't own anything from the Maze Runner series.
It was just another ordinary supply day in the Glade. Guys were calling dibs on items and hauling them into the Homestead or to Frypan's kitchen. Others were standing around writing on little pieces of paper that they dropped into the Box, requests for more personal needs such as hair gel or razors and other items that they will need by the next time the box comes up.
These requests were monitored by Newt Alby's second in command, to make sure no two people requested the same thing. And also so that no one wasted a request on something they knew the creators wouldn't send them.
Five minutes after the Box came up , Alby notes that apparently, judging by the way Newt is holding a piece of paper while demanding "What the bloody hell is this supposed to be?" to Minho, the runner had once again done the later.
Jogging over, Alby is unsurprised to see Minho rolling his eyes. What does surprise him is what comes out of the runner's mouth next. "Look, we know girls exist right? I just want to know what they look like in human form instead of having this picture of a weird shucking diagram in my head."
"You asked for a girl." Alby deadpans, not knowing whether he is shocked by the request, or shocked that he hadn't realized Minho would do something like this sooner.
Minho scoffed, crossing him arms in offense. "No, General. I asked for pictures of girls."
Alby raises an eyebrow at that, exchanging a glance with Newt in silent communication. Basically, their conversation went something like this:
Alby: 'What brought this on?'
Newt: 'No idea; but now that I think about it he's got a point. Besides, what harm could it do, really? Worst case scenario, we don't figure out what girls look like. Best case, we do.'
The older boy nods in agreement, much to the confusion of Minho whose eyes were darting between the two leaders with increasing annoyance. Finally, he snaps. "Will you two stop doing that freaky silent communication thing? Seriously, it's like you two can read your shucking minds. Just say it out-loud."
Rolling his eyes, Newt turns to Minho and states: "Alright, you've got a point. But don't be disappointed if nothing turns up -"
Minho had already run to the box and giddily tossed in his written request at: "You've got a point."
Over the next thirty days Minho had eagerly waited for the Box's return, although more obvious signs of his excitement only started showing within the final week. He would come back just a few minutes before he normally did to see if the box came up. It wasn't much of a difference, but the other Gladers started to notice.
"Why's Minho so excited?" Jeff asked Newt the third day this happened.
The blonde haired boy sighed. "He asked for pictures of girls. Actual human girls."
Needless to say, by the end of the day everyone couldn't wait till the Box would come up.
When it does, Minho is just coming out of the Maze and he makes a beeline straight for it.
Jumping in, Minho instantly starts shifting through the crates of stuff and is about halfway through with negative results by the time everyone else shows up.
"Any luck?"
"When you find them, can I look after you?"
"I call dibs on one!"
Tuning them out, Minho continues his search and is feeling thoroughly disappointed by the time he gets to the last crate. Then, he looks inside to find a wrapped package with a note attached to it. Lifting it out of the crate, Minho reads:
I understand. Here are your pictures.
To make up for the fact you may not ever be able to do certain pleasurable activities, some may be more interesting.
Minho raises his eyebrow at the last sentence, but then shrugs it off and tears open the package to take out a photo.
One look and his eyes widen, a low whistle escaping his lips. "Shuck, that is interesting."
"C'mon shank, let me see!" Ben yells from above him, and before Minho can do anything his fellow runner grabs the photo from his hands and squints at it. Then, the guy swallows, a long breath of air escaping his mouth.
"Wow. Um…I think I understand those diagrams better now…"
At those words several boys rushed forward, nearly tearing the picture in the scramble to get a hold of it. Finally, Sean, a boy of the tender age of thirteen managed to get a good look at it before it was ripped from his hands. His face was a vivid shade of red, and his brain seemed to have short circuited as he struggled to say something. "Ugh…um…what?"
This was the reaction of several other younger boys as the other photos finally managed to make their rounds through the group. Most of the older let out low whistles and appraised the pictures with approval. One boy even glanced up at the sky of the Glade, and said: "I will probably never say this again to any of you sucking creators, but thank you to the crazy slithead who sent us these."
Newt, who had come to see what all the commotion was about, heard this and assumed that the pictures had come. However, when he looked over the boy's shoulder to see the photo his cheeks flushed a bright red. "What the bloody hell?" He nearly shouted, taking the picture from the boy's hands despite his protests.
After flipping over and blinking a few times to make sure he was really seeing what he thought he was seeing he began taking all the photos from the other boys, saying. "Alright shanks! Hand them up!"
"What, so you can get all of them? That's not shucking fair!" One guy yells, several shouting their approval with him.
"We were tossed in here with no memories, no girls and killer robots." Newt snaps, ticking each point off his fingers. Then, he demanded furiously: "When the hell has our lives ever been fair?"
There was complete silence for a moment; Gladers exchanging glances as they realize the brutal truth of the statement. Of course, one guy yells: "So I've think we've earned it then? Right boys!"
"YEAH!" Everyone shouted all at once. Newt, realizing the battle was lost, tossed some random pictures into the crowd before legging it to the Homestead as fast as he could. Barricading the door with all the furniture, Newt slid down to the floor and groaned. Of course, the fucking creators would make something as simple as a request for a picture of a girl into a potentially deadly situation.
'Well, at least the pictures they did get are keeping them occupied.' Newt thinks in an attempt to cheer himself up, only to fail. Was it so wrong of him to not look at pictures of girls who may have been forced to do that? He smiles warily, tossing the pictures face-down and was about to toss the large envelope with it when he felt something inside.
Brow furrowing, Newt hesitates for only a second before shaking out the contents. To his surprise, it was a smaller envelope with a name on it. Specifically; his name.
Newt picks up the envelope thoughtfully, tracing the elegant script his name was written in with one finger. Then, he shrugged and tore open the envelope to find a small card inside written in the same elegant script. Pulling it out, Newt barely pays the other contents of the envelope any mind as he reads:
Dear Newt,
You probably don't remember us, and for that we are truly sorry.
But, since we remember you, upon hearing about your friend's request we decided that we should rectify that problem.
Hope these do a good job at that. If not, feel free to ask for more. Or even a demonstration perhaps? ;)
Love,
Sonya, Harriet, Ashley, Jon…
Newt stares at all the names with wide eyes, a small smile working its way onto his lips. These girls knew him before the Maze! Although he did wonder what they meant by 'demonstration, Newt could hardly contain his excitement as he dumped out the photos (at least fifty of them!) and then turned them over.
He coughed. For some reason, it was really hard to breath. Bloody hell, why was it so hot in here all of the sudden? And his trousers felt just a tad bit uncomfortable…
He flipped to the next picture, biting his lip so hard that he drew blood. However, all caution went out the window when he saw the message written in small script.
Like what you see?
You did in my dreams.
"Fuck." Newt groaned, throwing his head back against the wall. He did like what he saw. A lot. He bit his lip, gazing at the other photos in his hand. Alby and Minho would kill him…
A sly smirk curls his lips. But the letter was addressed to him, and it would be rude to go against these lovely ladies wishes. 'Besides, what Alby and Minho don't know won't bother them.'
I'd say I feel shame...but I don't.