He couldn't do this anymore. He couldn't stay in this godforsaken place any longer. It wasn't happy. It wasn't safe. It wasn't even natural. Two years and not even a single drop of rain, that just wasn't right. Were they even outside? He didn't know. He was starting to wonder if this was even real. Maybe he was having a nightmare, or maybe he was in a coma. He reminded himself that he would find out pretty soon because soon this would all be over. Soon enough he would be free. Free from this place, free from the running, and free from the monsters.
Newt stood on top of the wall of the maze. He had made it until his dead end so no one would notice or run into him. He was alone. He was going to die here and no one was going to be able to find him because they Grievers would take him away before they could. There was something about that last thought that filled him with relief. No would ever know that he killed himself, that he was responsible for his own death. No, Newt thought to himself, the creators made you do this, it was the creators, they made you this way. It didn't matter. Newt had nothing to worry about anymore. He looked down; it was at least 50 feet. His muscles ached from carrying himself to the top. He looked back towards the direction of his "home" knowing that he would never return. Even though he had been living there for two years, it didn't feel like much of a home.
Newt thought about his first day in the Glade. He thought about the fear and confusion that had consumed him. How disoriented he felt after climbing out of the Box. No friends, no family, they even took his memories away. In the first week the only thing that Newt could think to do was panic and sob. After a while he accepted his new life and started to help out around the place. But no more. Soon he would be gone and no one would think twice about it.
Except Newt. Right now as he stood on the edge of the wall he couldn't stop thinking. About the Glade, about the life he might have had, and most notably he thought about his friends. Alby, Frypan...and Minho. Newt cared about Minho more than he'd like to admit. Hell, he loved him. But he'd never tell him that, and he would never have to. He could see Minho's face now in his mind. He wondered what it would look like when he realized that he and Newt would never meet again. Tears formed in Newt's eyes. His friends, the people that helped him, guided him. He was leaving them for good. Abandoning your own friends he thought. It almost made him climb down. But he couldn't, because it was time now. Time for it all to end. He was so sick of the other Gladers saying that "we'll find a way out" and "only time will tell". He heard those phrases so often and they didn't mean anything anymore. Time hadn't told him shit in two years and he was done waiting. Newt hoped to god that there was something better out there for his soul. Somewhere he didn't have to live in constant fear, panic, or worry. He could only hope as he closed his eyes…and jumped.