Bleeding Out For You
If I owner TMR Newt would still be alive. Song credit to Imagine Dragons. Again, FF isn't working, and once it is I'll fix the lyrics! :)
When the day has come that I've lost my way around, and the seasons stop and hide beneath the ground. When the sky turns gray and everything is screaming, I will reach inside just to find my heart bleeding.
Shucking dark.
Shucking berg.
Shucking Flare.
Shucking-
He blinked rapidly several times in a vain attempt to clear his mind.
Complaining wasn't going to solve anything.
A little voice nudged the back of his mind. But what IS going to help? You're going insane, and complaining is the only thing you CAN do.
Newt set his jaw. "Snap out of it," he said aloud.
Being alone on a Berg with nothing to do gives a person quite a lot of time to think. Too much time to think, in fact. Interrupted by an infrequent sleeping schedule, occasional breaks for food, and the increasingly frequent headaches caused by the Flare, Newt was fairly certain that he had analyzed his personality enough to write a book. Or three.
He kicked his shoes off and stretched out on the sofa, staring at the ceiling.
He tended to keep the lights off, because at least that way he couldn't accidentally look in a mirror.
Newt had already considered running away several times, but two things held him back.
He was afraid. No-he was terrified. He was already scared, but venturing into the unknown with his sanity disappearing was a little too traumatizing, as much as he wanted to escape.
And, secondly, Tommy. Newt hadn't given up on him yet. He could still pull through.
Gradually the boy had fallen into an endless cycle.
Sleep.
Stare at the ceiling.
Think.
Think some more.
Eat.
Stare at the ceiling again.
Think again.
And again.
Sleep.
After a while Newt lost track of the days. Frankly, he didn't care anymore. Knowing the days of the week wasn't exactly going to stop the Flare.
When the hour is nigh and hopelessness is sinking in, and all the wolves cry to fill the night with hollering. When your eyes are red and emptiness is all you know, with the darkness fed I will be your scarecrow.
The cycle was shattered by a crashing noise from the direction of the door.
Newt shot up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes in time to see a group of people dressed in red enter the Berg.
Two men and a woman, baring weapons. His heart plummeted, and he immediately thought of his friends, desperately hoping that nothing had happened to them.
"What are you doing here?" One of the men asked suspiciously, peering around the Berg. "You weren't granted permission to land here."
Newt snorted. "How is that any of your business? The question is, what are YOU doing here?"
He watched with cocked ears as a woman with a brown ponytail nudged the man.
"He could be a Munie," she hissed.
Newt smiled bitterly at that comment. If only.
"Think of the money," the woman pressed.
Having already spent far too much time considered as a lab rat, as the critical glares of the men and woman raked over him, Newt resisted the urge to flinch.
"You! Come here!" the man snapped.
Newt looked at the floor, his mind racing, which, of course, started up the bloody itching again. "You sure you want me to do that?" He met the eyes of the woman. "I'm a Crank."
She laughed uneasily. "Nice try." At a snap of her fingers, the third man took a step closer.
It took every ounce of willpower for Newt not to back up.
The man whipped out a machine and held it up to Newt's eyes. After a beep he flipped it back to face him and read off the results.
He knew it was irrational, but some part of Newt hoped that maybe the Flare had all just been in his head, and that he was perfectly healthy.
The man leaped backwards.
Newt's heart sunk. Still a Crank.
"He's has the Flare," the man's voice shook.
The woman eyed him dismissively. "We're immune you idiot."
"I'm not!"
The woman brushed off this comment, facing the first man. "What do we do with him?"
Newt shifted, supporting his weight on his good leg. He had two options as far as he could tell.
Make a desperate bid for freedom, or-
"Take him to the Crank Palace," the man said shortly. "It's our civic duty to exterminate the threat of any beasts."
Newt swallowed, running his hand through his hair. The buggin' headaches were starting up again.
Being called a monster didn't help.
With a final blink, he had made up his mind.
You tell me to hold on. Oh, you tell me to hold on. But innocence is gone, and what was right is wrong. 'Cause I'm bleeding out, so if the last thing I do is bring you down, I'll bleed out for you.
"Can I at least leave a note? This Berg belongs to my friends. They're in the city and I don't want them to worry." The words were weary sounding, and once he had uttered them, Newt sat back down on the sofa.
His mind was made up. He was leaving.
This solved everything.
His friends didn't have to watch him go insane and try to kill them.
He didn't have to worry about hurting them.
At least with the other Cranks he would fit in.
He couldn't wait forever. He had to acknowledge the fact that Tommy had failed him.
Tommy had failed him.
The words sunk in, and a sense of betrayal gripped Newt, his eyes beginning to sting.
Tommy was a traitor.
A buggin' traitor.
"Hurry it up," the man snapped.
Choking down the lump in his throat, Newt grabbed the pen and paper and scrawled a note.
They got inside somehow. They're taking me to live with the other Cranks.
It's for the best. Thanks for being my friends.
Goodbye.
He placed the paper and pen back on the table before standing.
"Let's go," he said, facing the door. "I don't have all bloody day."
Newt walked out of the Berg, a numb and hollow feeling engulfing his senses, broken only by the itching of the growing Flare, and the footsteps of the woman leading the way and the two men behind him.
He didn't look back once.
So I bare my skin and I count my sins, and I close my eyes and I take it in. I'm bleeding out, I'm bleeding out for you.
