'Be so good, they can't ignore you.'
- Steve Martin
231.12.12 | 11:26 A.M.
"Right shank, let's get to talking."
"Aye, shank."
"It's 'bout that Running business. Newt was talking to me last night. Begging me almost. Sayin' that you'd never forgive him. I mean. Dang, if you saw his shucking face," Alby rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding eye contact with me at all costs. "He was distraught. It was a good idea. Keeping you safe. But, he made good points that I'm guessing you stated first. Said you had an argument of some sort. Which… I can believe. You two are almost complete opposites. Looks like you've made up though," He paused. I didn't say a word, not wanting to mess anything up again. I still had kicking him to apologize for. "Anyway… yeah. He's probably already told you. I couldn't hold my guard up against him. You can run. You'll be running with Minho in a few days, maybe a week. It depends how long all this… stuff goes on for. Hopefully it'll end shortly," I had no clue what 'stuff' he was referring to and I honestly didn't care, at least he was talking. "Right, back to the shucking point. Mess up once while running, you're working with the next best-fitted job for you. Now, go in there and blow them away with your medical skills." I snorted. If I had any skills at all, medical assisting wasn't one of them. I laid my hand on the doorknob of the shack, Alby's back pointed to my face. I wasn't thinking when I called out-
"Hey… Alby,"
He whipped around so smoothly it looked – for a millisecond – as if he were doing a dance, I forced myself to stifle back a laugh. "I'm… uh- sorry for kicking you on my first day. I panicked. Won't do it again." He nodded, taking my apology. When his back turned once more, I grinned to myself. I didn't panic, I wasn't sorry. I have no regrets, and I would do it again if I had to. Really.
I turned the knob I held.
"Hey, it's my favorite Glader. Shank, how's your foot?" Jeff was beaming, Clint sitting next to him. There were boxes of piled stuff everywhere. None of the boxes were labelled, just stacked and messed together. It looked like what would happen if I ruled the world. "Wouldn't you like to know." Clint nose-laughed, putting down a strange instrument down on the pact-table that barely fit in the room.
"Thank you for bringing me to my version of heaven. Always wanted to meet God, tell him I'm sorry for killing that guy once… then putting his dog in a tutu. It was- a strange situation."
"I bet. Right. Yes, slint-head. This is bugging heaven. We're here because there are people in the homestead that are actually injured. And the instruments in there are far too complex. Let's be real. Not a single one of us in this tiny room think you're going to be very good at this." Clint made a good point, I had a distant memory of me patching another girl up. We'll leave it at it didn't end well.
"Hey! I can… help people just as much as you can. In a very different way, of course. I mean… if they want to me injured, I'm your girl." I said, jabbing a thumb at myself
"Yeah, don't, though. Gives us more work to do. We just want to sleep." Jeff stretched out his legs as much as he could in the miniature room, reaching over Clint for a block of wood with a calved face and body, half-finished. It looked like it's features had been melted clean off.
"This," Jeff slammed the thing down on the table that was squeezed so tightly into the room, "this is Bobby."
"Oh. Poor Bobby. Is it okay if I call him Boobie? It's a prettier name."
Clint rolled his eyes as I kneeled next to the table. The block of wood had a hole in its chest, all of its organs had been scooped out of the ditch and placed on the side. Although, the organs didn't look much like organs. I knew what they were only because of the labels. "It's a shucking slab 'o' wood. Do we need to name it? Seriously, I'd rather we practice on other people." Clint straightened himself and curved his chair and him around, laying it next to me.
"Fist: It's not an 'it' it's a she. And, second: I would happily practice on you, Mr. Cranky."
"It's a she? Bobby is a boy's name, slint-head." Jeff rubbed the tip of his brow to show his dissatisfaction in me.
"I don't want to get lonely, ya'know. Being the only girl and stuff" I frowned and raised on myself, now standing on my knees.
"Alright, you two. Stop being pieces of klunks, falling in love an' all," I frowned harder, "we got work to do. Now, first off, you gotta put all these buggin' organs in place. In the right place".
Shit.
I remembered learning this, I knew I learnt this. But, it is most probable that I tuned out, as I do with most things.
"Okay. Well I know the heart is slightly to the left? And the lungs go around it. Right?"
"Oh, wow. Genius. Shucking genius. Stick it in then," Clint threw me three chunks of wood, me, catching them all.
"Jeez shank. Might not be that smart, but you sure are physical… for a girl."
"You sure are closed-minded for a human being. Wait- no. All humans are closed-minded."
"That's very true." Jeff hung in the back. I guessed it was his break as he wasn't contributing very much to the session. I doubted he had to be here in the first place.
I chucked them into the wood piece, not caring where they landed. I didn't see the point of me trying out for the Med-jacks when it was factual that I'm terrible at helping people other than myself.
"That's exactly where they go. You're a natural."
"Clint, what's the point of this? She knows where they go. She doesn't have to put them in the correct place."
"It's fun! Yay! Whoopdy-shucking-doo," Clint replied whilst fixing my mess of organs I had lobbed in.
"Now," he handed me two other hunks, "where do these go?" One was labelled 'kidney' and, next was the stomach. I could care less.
"These go in a tree," I said, throwing the two back at him. "Put them back where they belong. They miss their parents."
This gained a laugh from Jeff and cold-eyes from Clint.
"You're jacked in the head, girlie. Look, Alby's making us do this. We don't want to do it, either. Just work with us here. Put them in the correct place." And I did. Strangely. I got it right. Luck of the draw, though. Got the next couple completely wrong. But it picked up the pace a little, I started to work with them more. Clint made a fair point, not any of us wanted to be in there. So, I came to the conclusion that it would be best for me to listen and do whatever they told me to. The session was coming to an end, I guessed. I estimated that I had been in the crammed room for around fifteen minutes. But I couldn't be sure.
"Well, now that we've done the naming of instruments. There's nothing else to do but sit here and be shucking happy that it's over. We'll wait for Newt to come and get y-"
"Clint, we need you. Now." The door swung open and clashed with the wooden wall by its side. It was Ably. He jerked his head to the homestead and scurried away, almost at a running pace.
"Ah, well. You two have a nice chit-chat. I'll see you around, Amelia." He nodded his head once before leaving the room, forgetting to shut the door behind him.
"What do you think that was about?" I ask the only person left in the room, Jeff. He shrugs and moves to close the door, nudging boxes out of the way with his foot. I heard a click and something bolting in place. Did he just lock the door? "No clue. But I'm glad we're alone now," he lowered his eyebrows, "sorry that sounded shucking creepy… but I need to talk to you about something." I copied his facial expression and slid from the floor into the chair Clint was originally sitting on.
"Okay. Shoot." My hands started fidgeting, I looked askance. Had I done anything wrong? Again? He shuffled to his seat and sat, swiping the 'body' off the stand. He then grabbed his coat that laid across a lowered shelf and placed it on his lap, fumbling for something in his large pockets.
"Don't freak out. I can't have a buggin' crazy pigeon in the room," I smiled, although it wasn't real and waited for him to find the right pocket. "Ah!" I guess he found it.
"You oka-?"
He pulled out his hand, showing a bleeding index finger.
"I'll be fine. It's nothing." He sucked on the blood, causing his finger to go a pale shade of yellow where the wound was. After, he emptied the coat by flipping it over and shaking it. And out fell knives. About seven of them.
"These are yours, shank."
"You what?"
"These knives," his voice lowered, "these are yours. Found them in your jacket when you passed out. Thought I'd keep them for you. Forever. Why do you have these?"
"Why do you have these? What gives you the right to go through my stuff? If those knives are mine, as you say they are. Give them back." They were mine. I can commemorate feeling them in my back pocket when I walked around the Glade.
"Look, I'm sorry. But these could kill-"
"That's the point"
"Kill. No one knows a lot about you and so many of the klunks in the Glade still want to take out your guts. Almost everyone doesn't trust you. Yet I still do. Even with these knives I found. You're going to help us. Right? And these could be for defense. You should be happy I didn't tell Newt or Alby. I can't give you these back. Sorry." But I was already sneaking them back into my pocket by flipping them under the table.
"It's okay, I understand. But I don't know if Alby and Newt will be happy when I tell them you have a lotta knives about you…"
I took the last one from the table. He surely would've noticed by then, noticed that the seven that were once there disappeared.
"You can't tell Alby that I have knives when I don't. Hand em' back over shuck-face."
Oh.
"Damnit. Thought you didn't see"
"would've been a miracle"
"yeah…"
I passed him the blades one by one, sarcastically glaring at him as I did. Then, my eyes darted to something silver coming from Jeff's coat that still lay across his lap. Another knife. There were eight. So, I could get away with keeping one if I played it smart.
It turned out I didn't have to, Jeff was already loading the knives back into his pocket, and if he thought there was seven knives, he just made it so much easier for me.
"Hey, sorry, but how many knives were there?"
"I counted seven on the table." He replied. Perfect. I held the last four blades in my hand, the ones I hadn't given over. Practicality was what I was originally going for, but then I saw what was dented in to the shortest, prettiest dagger. Marnie.
"Here you are. That's all of them. But if I die, you're the one to blame." He nodded, taking my statement seriously and counting how many knives there were in his possession.
"I'll give these to Minho, tell him that Gally used them for his building or… I dunno. Shuck this man. If I can sneak into the Runners Shack, these will go in there. Newt should be here soon anyway."
And right on que-
"Bloody slint-head. Why's the door locked?"
"To keep shanks like you out." Jeff reached over to unlock the door when I realized I still had Marnie's dagger in hand. I quickly shoved it in my back pocket before Newt busted into the room, shaking the whole building. Speaking of buildings-
"Alright, love. The builders next. Where's Clint?"
"Alby wanted him."
"Ah, yeah. Right,"
I had no clue what either of them were talking about, I didn't question it, though. Once they started talking, I'd stop listening.
"How'd she do?"
"Actually, better than I thought. So, terrible." Jeff responded.
"Oh well. There's plenty of fish in the sea."
"That's definitely not how that saying is used." I chuckled, standing up, reaching for the door as it fell, very close to landing on Newt.
"It's not? Tell me how, then."
"Newt, let's say you have been in a relationship with Minho fo-"
"What?!"
"Stay with me. You've been dating Minho for a while. Then, you two have a huge argument and split. You come to me for comfort, as everyone should, I have a very gentle soul," Jeff snorted, "and I say 'there's plenty of fish in the sea.' It means that there're other people in the world that you could love besides Minho."
"Oh… but I love Minho."
As soon as that had processed, none of us could hold the laughter that had been rising for a long while.
"Gally'll teach you 'bout the shucking ways of the builders. Cope with him, he hasn't gripped the idea of a girl yet." I smirked at my own thoughts, half listening to Newt, half in my own head. I couldn't blame Gally for thinking I was the spawn of Satan, they've never seen anything like me before.
"Amelia!" There was a banging of footsteps and a tap on the shoulder coming from behind me. As I was drifting, I didn't react at first, but I couldn't ignore it when, what I assumed was Jeff's clenched hand, slid into mine. "This belongs to you-"
"Hey! Back the bloody hell up." Newt shoved Jeff, leaving whatever was in his had to fall to the tiled ground, split with grass.
"Dude! I was giving her something! What's your problem? You're jacked, you are," Jeff bowed down to pick up the thing that lay in the grass. I hadn't looked down when it fell, only glared at Newt. "Here. Take this. It's yours. Found it in your pocket with," he closed his mouth before he said any more. "Never-mind."
I broke my gaze from Newts and softened my face as my eyes landed on Jeff's.
"Thanks." I took the thing he had so urgently wanted to give me and he started to walk away.
I held the object in my hand and only looked down when Jeff and left for the Homestead. It was a wooden airplane, painted with red streaks and to perfection. And, on the other side it had the initials J.A. messily written on it. I had no clue who any 'J.A.' was, and I couldn't be bothered figuring it out.
"Newt, what was that about? Why did you lash out?" It wasn't his right to act like that, I don't need protecting and he should have had a clear idea in the situation before jumping to conclusions. "What did you think was wrong with that? He was giving me something. He wasn't going to kill me. I don't need protecting, I'm perf-"
"I'm not protective," I beg to differ, "Or… I'm not protecting you. I thought… well… since the door was locked, it gave the impression that he was doing- stuff… to you." The crunching of our footsteps heightened the discomfort of the circumstance. Was he trying to be pessimistic?
"You'd think I would've told you. Or acted wired? If he had done anything to me, he would turn up with two black eyes and a broken leg."
"Yeah, but then he put his hand in yours… it seemed bloody sketchy to me..."
"He was giving me something. Newt, why're you stressing? I'm not shucking dead." I didn't even know I had said it, 'shucking'. I'd heard it so often, it came naturally.
"You're using the Gladers slang!" His face lit up and the previously non-existent smile shone.
"Oh, shoot. Yeah. I did. Ignore that. Um-"
"I can't ignore that! You're growing up, small one"
"Okay, I am definitely taller than you, small one."
"No, you are not! I'm getting Clint to measure us after this!" -
And the conversation continued somewhat similarly.
"Right, shank. You're going to build something simple. A stool. Outta wood. Since you broke the last one we had in the pit" Newt had left me with Gally, the Keeper of the Builders, and gone off to do whatever it is protective people do.
"A stool? Okay. To knock another 'man' out with?" I saw a hint of a grin flash across his face before it stiffened to the regular coldness.
"Slim-it, Greenie. I got the wood out, it's o'er there," he dipped his head to his far left, where two clods of wood sat. I doubted I needed that much for a simple stool, but I nodded in response. "Your chopping it with the axe that's next to it and 'en you'll sand it down, finally fixing it all together. The sand paper is in the shack. Sound good?"
"Sounds like a chore, GalPal."
He flashed me an irritated look whilst I plodded over to the stack and hoisted the axe up and over my shoulder.
"You can call me Captain Gally. Nothing else."
"Aye, aye. Captain." He rolled his eyes and started to a bench near where I was working, to observe my actions and how I did. No matter what, I knew he was going to down-talk me. I wasn't completely sure how I was to cut the wood if there wasn't a base, the grass wasn't stable enough. There was a tree stump not too far from where I was supposed to be cutting, so I lobbed too many planks of wood over and placed them, one at a time, on the log, the rings pointing to the sky.
"That's smart, Greenie. Didn't know you had it in you." Gally raised as my position was blocking his view, and wandered over, his hands deep in his jean pockets.
"It'd be insanely difficult to cut the wood on the grass, it would fall over and when you finally slice it… not precise."
"You seem to know quite a bit about building. Most Green Beans suck at this. You might not be as bad as I first thought you were."
I positioned the plank to be exactly in the middle, then picked up the axe and flung it over my head, bringing it down and wedging the piece wood thoroughly in half. "Yeah. Many people underestimate me. Mainly because I'm a girl. And- most of the time I act like a horse's tail." The cylinder of bark was now two standing-semicircles. Two legs, down. Gally chuffed and folded his arms, the edges of his mouth creasing to the floor. He stood pigeon-toed with worn-out shoes and his shirt, just about as dirty as mine. "That's shucking ridiculous."
"Hey, horse tails have feelings too!" I shoved the two logs off the stump and onto the ground, in a pile on the floor for picking up once I'd finished.
"No, you shank. People thinking down on you because you're a girl. I think both genders can do the same if they spend a certain amount of time set on something. To not trust you because you're a girl is stupid."
"…You don't trust me. You said so yourself in 'the gathering'. I don't understand you, buddy boy."
I chucked down another trunk in the spot of where the old one covered.
"No. I don't trust you. But not because you're a girl. Because you know things that no one else ever knew before. You're a game-changer."
"You don't like things going out of routine, do you?"
I raised the axe.
"It's not like that. It's the fact that I don't know if you're telling the truth because I've never been through what you have. When we first came up to the Glade, none of us remembered anything, and I knew all Greenie's from then on were being truthful. Not you. Never you. You know too much."
I cast the axe down, splitting it straight in the middle.
"Funny thing is, I don't."
"What?"
"I can hardly remember my old Glade, whereas, when I first came up to this Glade, I could remember almost everything. Now, not so much. I can only remember the Maze and one relationship with a certain girl. The rest are gone. No memories. Does that make you feel any better?"
Another plank was picked up and placed down, a larger one this time for the seat of the stool. I sat it on its side this time, with the rings pointing to either side of the walls. I only had to chop two sections of it, the ends, to make a wide circle.
"Not one bit, as that information you had could've helped us. Thanks."
"You strike me as a man who has never been satisfied."
"I'm sure I don't know what you mean. You forget your- shucking -self."
"You're like me, I'm never satisfied."
"Is that right?"
"I will never be satisfied."
Hash
"It's strange" Gally began.
"Hmm?"
Hash.
The last edge gone.
Now I was left with a thick-ish slab that was in dire need of sanding. I lobbed the axe into the stump and gathered the five segments I needed, kicking the excess timber away.
"How we're so similar, yet we despise each other." I pouted, starting to drowsily walk to a small shack that Gally had pointed out earlier.
"I wouldn't say I despise you. I also wouldn't say that we're similar. Just never appeased."
He shrugged his shoulders and followed after me, keeping his distance.
"You don't see it. We're more similar than you think."
"How so?"
I placed my foot on the door, as my arms were full, and kicked it open, releasing the wood from my grip on the free workbench in the corner of the room.
"Well, for one, you did the exact same thing I did when I first came up in the shucking box."
"And what's that?"
"You refused the request of the rope. To prove that you're stronger than anyone standing around you. Right?"
I hadn't thought about it comprehensively. But maybe it was to prove something.
"I guess. But didn't you come with the rest of the boys? How could you refuse when there was no rope or guy to refuse to?"
"The rope was already there. In a supply box. A kid named Nick picked it up and climbed outta the lift. He tied a knot at the end of it and passed it to everyone. Me, last. And I declined."
I opened my mouth, about to ignore his explication and ask where the sander was, but he was on it before I could even dispense a word from my mouth. Gally lobbed the sandpaper across the room. And I caught it, of course.
"Cheers,"
He was sitting on a wooden crate, emptied and used as something to sit on, presumably. I knew it was hollow, he was tapping on it with his bloody knuckles and splintered palms.
"What else? It can't only be that if you want to make an acceptable proposition."
I began to sand one of the four legs, scratching the bark off on the outside of the log and rounding the four edges and two ledges.
"There. You did what I would do. Ask for more evidence. Like you said, never satisfied."
"I suppose."
My hands established splinters, but it was nothing compared to the one I had caught in my foot. It was feeling better, I could walk a lot easier. But I still had no clue how long I had been asleep. Could've been years. I somewhat remember waking up and walking around, drinking and eating daily. But, only faintly. Nothing interesting happened.
"Your hands are splintered."
"Thanks for that, Einstein. And yours aren't?"
He rolled his eyes as I dragged the rough paper down the bark.
"You're bleeding, though. And my hands are covered in plasters. I have some,"
He started to reach for another, smaller crate. But I cut him off, throwing whatever was in my reach at him. It turned out to be a varnish brush.
It hit him on his shoulder, not where I was aiming for. I was going a bit lower than that. But, hey ho. Got his attention.
"Ah. Bitch. I was being nice?"
"Eh, I don't need anything. If I am going to cover something, it'll be at the end. What's the point building something up if it's going to fall again?"
"Inspirational, slint-head."
"I try." I kidded. It was only a dot of blood, nothing I couldn't handle. We sat in silence, him watching me sand and me watching me sand. The bark had completely destroyed the paper by the time I had scraped all the bark off, and I hadn't even started on the corners.
Luckily, there was a whole box of grit paper that I brought down from one of the lower shelves.
"So… how's your foot?"
I frowned.
"Why are you trying to be kind?"
"You know, small talk?"
"I hate small talk."
"Me too."
I was rounding the corners of the beige log, picking up a sharp tool and dinting a three-inch hole into the top of it. Silence, again. For another two minutes, before Gally spoke. Again.
"Minho told me that you're a funny girl. I thought I'd give you a chance. I don't give many people chances. Think yourself lucky."
"Oh, I'm the luckiest, funniest girl in the world." I gave him the largest, most sarcastic smile I could, then chucking my plain-but-finished leg to the side, beginning the second of the four.
"Tell me a joke"
"Hm?"
"If you're so funny, tell me a joke. Make me laugh."
I paused, no jokes popped into the front of my head, so I gave up trying to search for one.
"Why did the boy drop his ice-cream?"
His eyes flicked back
"God knows."
"He was hit by a bus."
He frowned for a while, trying to conceal his smile. Though, his dimples told another story. Gally glared at me, daring himself not to crack a grin. I did the same. But, eventually we both busted into fits of laughter. The awkward silence dragged on for too long, neither of us could take any more. Gally wasn't as bad as I first pictured him to be, if I pictured him as anything at all when I first came across him.
"That was brilliant. I'm klunking myself." He sighed.
The second leg was done quicker than the first.
On to the third.
"That was one of my best. Won't get another one like it."
"I bet."
He got up and messed around with equipment while I was advancing on the third leg, then returning to his seat minutes later to watch me get on to the last.
"My foot is grand, by the way."
"What?"
"You asked about my foot earlier… I can hardly feel it."
He passed me a crooked smile that I seized from the corner of my eye and held in the back of my mind as I shaved away.
"Lunch after this Greenie. Suppose it's your first one with the whole Glade, huh?"
That was true. First came my day in the pit, then I stuck a buncha sharp things in the soul of my foot. I felt almost relieved to be 'back to normal' again.
"Oh, yeah. Unfortunately, I probably won't make it. I'll stumble over my feet on the way there and die."
"Wouldn't put it past you."
I didn't notice how hungry I was until he mentioned food. So, I moved quicker, yet less efficiently. I rounded off the last corner and threw it aside with the other three, picking up the final piece of timber for the seat of the stool. And, once again, I assembled a new clod of grit paper and started to scratch the bark from the outside ring. The tedious act sustained another five minutes. Me rounding the corners, erasing the bark. My arms were throbbing and aching from the bobbing of my elbows. But I was almost done. The last thing I needed to do was smash four holes in the top section, exactly above where I wanted the legs to go. And puncture four locking metal-rods in place of those eight craters. The click of the rods let me know that the leg was securely sealed in place. I repeated that three other times.
It was done.
Finally…
"Mission accomplished. What to do now?" I picked the stool up and shook it around, to make sure it was stable before plonking down beside Gally.
"Dunno. You did a good job."
"Thanks?"
I sat on the newly-made stool and fiddled with the knife in my back pocket, skimming my fingers along the blade.
Gally was doing the exact same thing, but with a chisel.
"So, How'd she do?" I stood outside the door of the Builders and Bricknicks shack. Only Gally and Newt were inside.
I didn't want to listen in, but there was really no other choice, no other thing to listen to.
"Well… incredible," Gally said, using no expression. "I didn't even have to tell her anything. She did it her shucking self. If she ain't fit for the running business, Building will be one of the valuable choices."
I smiled to myself. I never thought I would be good at building. Nothing that concerned me. Come to think of it, the feeling of familiarity didn't waft past me. Did I ever try for jobs? And how did I gain the role of a Runner?
God knew.
If he existed.
I never wound myself up in tales and stories. They seemed pathetic, to me. Meant for children. And although I was a grown child, I wasn't one that needed a bedtime story every night.
I jumped as I was snapped back to reality with the opening of the door.
"Alright, I know I'm unpleasant to look at, but I ain't scary." Newt laughed in the process of clambering out the room, Gally at his heels.
"Think again, you horror." He slapped me on the back and kept his hand there, just below my shoulder-blade, guiding to wherever it was we were going.
"Food?" I asked. My stomach had been aching for it ever since Gally had brought it up, my mind wouldn't go that far to remember the last time I ate. Not to mention I desperately needed a shower. My stench blended in with everyone else's, though. I could last another day.
"You bet, Greenie," Gally had begun to stroll in the completely opposite direction, his hands shoved as far in his pockets as they could go. I didn't question it, he was a weird kid.
"You sound hungry."
"I don't know what you're talking about," I assumed we were walking to the askew wooden building placed just beside the abnormal gathering hut.
"So I guess I'm doing two more after whatever meal this is?" It was too late to be lunch, too early to be dinner. I had woken up late, though. By the sun, I would say it was four-thirty to five.
"Yep. Tomorrow will be the buggin' same. Two in the morning, two in the afternoon. Then sleep."
"The day after?"
"Running. The trials, anyway,"
He must've seen the look of pure joy that spread across my face, because the expression copied itself on his. I didn't know how much longer I could live without the Maze. I was going insane, If I wasn't enough already.
"You look like you just got granted a million wishes all at once. What is it with you and that Maze?"
What was It with me and that Maze?
"Ask the Maze that. You'll get a better answer outta it. Because I honestly have no clue. I like running, I guess."
"Why don't you just run around in circles?"
"It's not the same feeling. Running around the Maze, testing your brain. Figuring which way is which, asking yourself 'have I been this way before?' Oh, and of course hanging with the Grievers." Newt chuckled.
"You make it sound like the luxury it isn't,"
It was a luxury, for me anyway. It's nice to get away from people and challenge yourself, free of questions and the squabble of realism.
"Here." He let his arm drop from my back, only to open the door of the building and usher me in.
"Look, I know I may not be the smartest, but I understand how doors work, kiddo." He flashed me a cheeky grin while I stepped through. The room was full of table-benches surrounded by separated boys. It smelt like the Devils shit, but I was used to it. I'd only ever met Frypan at the gathering, so I didn't get a proper chance to talk with him. And I was so hungry, I doubted I would then. My stomach would speak for me instead. The darker-skinned lad, Frypan, stood behind a poorly made counter, handing people mountains of slop that looked ridiculously edible in my state. "Welcome to the best shucking place in this Hellhole," Newt cautiously dragged me to the line of boys, waiting for their food to be delivered in the metal plates and bowls that they held. "There ya' go." Newt said, tossing me a 'plate'. By the looks of it, Frypan was offering green mush, red mush, brown bush and some stale bread to go with it. I could care less. I was hungry. And when I'm left hungry for a long period, I start to get testy.
The cue lasted two minutes, maybe three minutes, my stomach gnawing and scratching more by the second.
"Ah, it's the buggin girl everyone's still taking about!" The boy behind the stand half-shouted as the kid he just fed waddled along.
"And, hello to you, Frypan, whom I've been waiting to get food from personally for about a week."
"Well, you lucky shank. Now whatca want? We have-"
"Just- give me a mix of everything you have… please." I didn't need to persuade him further. Frypan began to slop the substance on my plate, and at that moment they couldn't look more appealing.
"My kind of girl. Knows what she wants." He wasn't being serious, there was a look in his eyes when he handed me the plate, a glimmer.
"I'm not anyone's type of girl. Trust me on that one." Frypan raised his bushy eyebrows at me while I took the plate, splashed with food. Newt grazed my arm when I started to walk away, sending shivers down my spine, causing me to freeze up and stand in the spot in which he touched me. Was this normal?
"That table over there." More chills flooded through me as he whispered close to my ear and flabbily pointed his arm to the bench in the centre of the wooden room. I nodded and muttered an 'okay' back, unsure if it was even intelligible.
Alby, Minho, Clint and a few others ate there, already engulfed in the mess in front of them.
"Welcome to the outside world, shuck-face. Glad you joined us. Took your time." Minho said. I sat across from him, almost throwing my tray down. Then myself.
"Hungry?" Clint asked, almost maliciously. I had no interest in answering, only set on defeating the beast of hunger. So, I dug in.
"Careful, shank. You eat that fast and it'll all come back up." I rolled my eyes at Minho's statement just at the point when Newt dumped himself in the seat next to mine. I slowed, nevertheless.
It didn't taste as bad as it looked, but I wouldn't care if it tasted worse.
"You're starving." No shit, Newt, you genius.
"I'm not hungry. I just like eating at an extremely fast pace." I kidded, my mouth already full.
The conversation during the meal consisted of mocking and jokes. Nothing serious came out from anyone besides Alby. But that was unfamiliarly rare. Some jokes about Sloppers and slint-heads. I wasn't fully tuned in to the mothers meeting. But I'm sure their gossip was thought-provoking.
Although nothing exhilarating happened, the meal was enjoyable. And my stomach stopped rustling after I'd devoured everything on my plate.
"Next job." In the middle of an immature debate, Newt raised. Pushing his plate forward in doing so.
"Fuck" I breathed out and lowered my head rapidly to the table. Boys laughed around me, pats on the back and sarcastic words of persuasion and inspiration. So, I got up, slumping just behind Newt, unready for anything to come next. I had only been awake (double) a couple of hours, and I was ready to crash-out on the layered sheets in Newts room. But, evidently, that was not how things were going to plan out.
I headed for the door when Newt got caught up, talking to some lanky shank. Damnit. I said it again, 'Shank'. Although it was against my old Glade, which I rarely thought about, it was quite fun to say. I opened the egress, about to wait outside for Newt to come and collect me, as I had done for most of the day, and put my foot out.
"Bloody hell, are you trying to escape? We're in here shank." Newt blatantly threw his arm towards the door behind Frypan's stall. So, we're cooking. Brilliant.
"No, but now you say that…" I effortlessly kicked the door open wider, raising my eyebrows to tease the blond boy.
"There's nowhere to go, unless you find an exit to the shucking Maze. Which seems impossible. Come on." He walked as he spoke, wrapping his hand around my wrist and practically heaving me across the floor to the back room.
Frypan was already there, cleaning the cutlery in a tub of dirty, food-filled water.
"She's cooking in here, yes?" Frypan said, without looking up. He tossed a bundle of metal eating instruments across the counter to his right, clashing with the others he had already thrown.
"Yes," Newt confirmed, releasing my arm and turning for the exit, "don't break anything. Food is the only leisure we get." I nodded. Although, it wasn't a promise, because the probability of me breaking something was high. More than high.
The door closed itself after he left, leaving only me, Frypan and the greasy plates.
"Here, can you finish these? I'll observe."
"Because washing does need observing. It's a very dangerous sport." He let loose the metal plate he was scrubbing and wiped his hands down a filthy towel, with holes and chunks of god knows what in.
"It's not a game, girl Greenie," Frypan leant against the back wall, furrowing his brows for me to take the place he was in a few seconds earlier. I did.
"Oi, you're not getting away with no apron. Take mine. We don't have a spare one."
In a matter of seconds, it was in my hands and I was scrubbing away at the dishes. I struggled to comprehend how Frypan did this all day. For three meals a day. It seemed exhausting, yet he was looking as alive as ever. Or would be if it weren't for the cold face he had set on. He appeared to be very serious about his job.
The clumped food got under my nails, stuck to my skin. It itched. But I knew if I didn't complain and did it hastily, it would be over before I knew it.
The last bowl.
Finally.
I lifted it out the brown water and dumped it to the side. They looked clean enough.
"I've done." I sighed, mopping my stained hands down the front of his apron.
"Dry them."
"What?"
"You heard me."
I caught the cloth Frypan threw me, the same one he had used previously. It looked as if it was the only one he owned.
It wasn't as tedious as washing, but it was a waste of time. The boys weren't going to be eating until tomorrow, so why not let them dry on their own accord?
"What's your real name?" I asked as I cleaned. There were some solid, tacky pieces of slosh that I hadn't managed to brush off when in the water, so I picked at them until they fell.
"My real name? What do you mean?"
"Surely it can't be Frypan. I haven't met a lot of people, from what I can remember, but I assure you, none were called Frypan." I stacked the plates, bowls and bundled the utensils together, making it easier for me to tell which ones I'd dried.
"Siggie. I came to the Glade knowing my name was Siggie. But I got the nickname Frypan when I started cooking."
"Still sounds silly." I muttered, adding another bowl to the pile.
"Excuse me? Well then, your name isn't any better."
I frowned, whirling around and shoving the towel to one side.
"How so? Amelia is… common."
"Exactly. You're common. Typical. I bet all girls are like you, no different."
"I'll have you know that in my old Glade, all the girls were individual and had unique personalities. Mine being the best." But I didn't know that, did I?
"I'm sure. Common. You're just normal. You have to use nicknames to cover up your blandness. Lee. You could have Amy," I stuck my tongue out at that one, not to him but at the name. I've never liked it. "Mia, Milli, Elli, Ami," he paused to think. "Mel, Mila, Lia," I was smiling up until that point. He listed many other names, but I had neglected his words. My eyes stung as I failed to remember Marnie's face and features. I had left the paper with her portrait on in Newts room. But I could still remember her nurturing voice that sung to me when I was angered, upset or tired. I wanted to reach out in my mind and touch her and let her touch me. But now we were apart, and I wondered for a millisecond if she was even real, if she was ever there in the first place. If my mind was playing tricks on me.
I was snapped back to reality with the feeling of cold water on my face and arms. Frypan cowered over me, his once moisture-less hands covered in the water that sat behind me.
"Shank, did your mind go for a stroll? It looked like you were contemplating life behind those eyes. Seriously though, are you okay?" I bowed my head slowly and turned my back to him to finish the job he had set me.
"Yeah. I'm fine. Sometimes I tune out. Sorry."
"It's… alright?"
Something cold trickled down my cheek. A tear. I hadn't felt the sensation of crying in an extensive time. But did it count as crying if only one drop came? I didn't wipe it, just let it fall into the soapy water beneath me. Letting it be with the grime. And out of the corner of my eye, I saw Frypan staring blankly at me, with some sort of pity dangling over him.
Pity that I didn't deserve.
"So, last event of the day."
"I wouldn't call it an event. Events are supposed to be fun." We were walking to the woods, near the 'Deadheads'. Or whatever they called them.
"You're not having fun?" Newt questioned. I couldn't tell if he was being genuine or not. Of course, I wasn't having fun, the only thrilling part of the day was lunch. And… maybe chatting with Gally.
"Oh, no. Where did you get that impression? I'm having a hoot,"
He rolled his eyes at me, sighing.
"Keep rolling your eyes. Maybe you'll find a brain back there."
"Sarcasm is the bloody last refuge of the imaginatively bankrupt."
"No, sarcasm is the brains natural defense against the less intelligent."
"Alright, alright. I'm not going to argue with you over something stupid. We're nearly there anyway."
"Oh, yeah. What is it I'm doing?"
"The Slicers. Winston is Keeper of 'em. Because Frypan is a wuss, the Slicers get the meat for him."
"So, I'm going to slaughter some animals? For food?" He nodded and shot me a smile. I couldn't recall ever killing an animal in my life. But it shouldn't be that hard. They're mostly all smaller… weaker.
"Frypan said you did well." I was washing and drying dishes, how hard could it be?
"Don't, and I mean don't make me a cook. I can't cook. I know I can't. I was doing the washing-up, not cooking. Anyone can fibre things barren from water."
"Alright. I'll keep that in mind,"
Although I couldn't recollect cooking in my old Glade, I just felt the ghastliness taste in my mouth of something I'd created. The Slicers 'base' was across a small stream in one corner of the Glade. Luckily, me and Newt could easily step across it, as we both had long legs. It got wider as it flowed down, I was just thankful we didn't head that way. I had never been a big fan of water, especially open-span lakes or streams.
"There." Newt pointed through the trees to a boy, Winston, who I had only seen once. At the Gathering. Fortunately, he didn't give the impression of another Alby, though. Nothing could be as tiresome as Alby.
He waved and gave a warm smile, which Newt returned.
"Hey!" He shouted. There was a tied-up chicken by his side, the rope leading to a rusty brown pole shoved into the ground.
"I'll leave you here. Good luck, don't go too hard on the killing." Newt slid around the logs, the crunch of the leaves under his feet getting further and further away.
"I'm guessing Newt told you what you're shucking doing then?" I gained on him, my hands buried deep into the pockets of my ripped jeans. When I came up in the box, I'm sure they weren't torn. My feet were covered in the mud and splinters as I hadn't bothered to slide my shoes on that morning.
"You guessed right. I just want to get it over and done with, then I can sleep."
I stopped when I attained the patch of scythed grass where he stood. There, laid sharp equipment. Most silver and some stained with blood. Coops settled behind us, full of chickens, pigs and one or two cows. None of which were separated from the other. And it smelt… extreme.
"Okay then, Greenie. This is the victim. His name is Alexander, Hammy for short."
"Oh, why do you have to give it a name? That makes it all the more harder to kill the poor thing." My voice groaned itself, cracking in doing so.
Winston kneeled, picking up a brown, blood-stained tool. The edges showed that they used to be sharp, but the bluntness made me cringe a little. Picturing the animal being slowly sliced to death with a rusty instrument shook me.
"It's called a Burr. Amazing instrument, really. Shove it in the top of the head, and bam! It's out. Then you can cut into it. Shuckin' pleasant, ain't it?"
I grinned, taking the appliance and fidgeting it around my fingers. It was unusual to hold, thin and spread-out. But still small.
"I'll hold it still." Winston picked the brown chicken up and held it on his lap once he had sat on a stump to the left of him.
"So," I exhaled, "I just, um- stab it in its head."
He nodded.
"As deep as it can go without you losing it in the shanks brain,"
I kneeled to the side of the boy and hovered the weapon above the animals head. He flickered a reassuring look, enough to give me the momentum to quickly insert the thing into the tip of the chicken's body. It wrestled in Winston's arm, but his hands were in all the right places to keep it fixed. I didn't close my eyes, I forced them to stay wide, so I didn't cause the flightless bird any more pain.
It gave a last wheeze before the thing went limp.
And instead of feeling bad, like I thought I would, it gave me feeling of hysteria. I tried to conceal it, yet the smile, I couldn't hide.
"Not a wuss, I see. I've had Green Beans cry at my feet before. No one's ever smiled." I did grasp an inch of sympathy, not because I killed the thing, but for smiling because of it.
Winston raised, his fingers wrapped around the chicken's neck and wandered towards the barn. I followed shortly after.
"Now, we skin it," we were then sat in the coop, at a long bench near the back. The lifeless chicken delicately placed on my lap. "You can pluck the feathers off it, but that takes time. So, let's just cut the top layer of skin off." Prior to the skinning, Winston made me axe the head and bottom quarter of it, leaving it for the bonfire that night. Which seemed to spring up randomly.
I gripped a cleaner tool and began to part a thin layer from its decapitated body. It made me feel sick at first, the way the apparatus cut so smoothly. But it was the only one that would do the job.
Soon enough, the task that was set had been achieved. A pile of skin rest behind me, bundled with feathers and spotted blood.
"What now?" I asked, giving him back the thing I had used to cut the chicken with.
"No, you keep it. You need to turn it over and make a line down it's middle. Then take out the shucking organs one by one."
It wasn't engaging, this activity, but better than washing up or making people feel their best of selves. Jamming the sharp silver into the animal, I found out its chest wasn't as thin as I thought it would be, so it took some digging.
"So, I just… stick my hands in?"
"Yep."
Its skin stretched around my fingertips as I slowly bore into it. The chicken was cold and contrasted with my warmth. My left hand was now fully submerged in the clean-cut I had made. It encaged something ovular, and as my fingers skimmed to the right, I found it connecting to another, same-shaped organ. Lungs, I thought. Lucky that I'd worked with the Med-jacks this morning, then. I tugged at them, but they wouldn't let loose. Releasing my hand from the chicken, I reached for a smaller knife that Winston had brought in and threw my hand back into it, chopping the cord thing holding them together, then I was able to bring them out. I was covered in blood. My shirt, ruined. And I didn't have any other clothes. I'd have to borrow some from someone.
I repeated this multiple times until it was uncluttered of everything it once had. Winston looked pleased, which is what my objective was. I think.
"I'll give this to Frypan tonight, dinner tomorrow. At least we won't get the normal mush we get when I don't do my job correctly."
"Then do your job correctly." I brushed myself free of feathers and drops of blood that still hadn't set. We both got to our feet and left the body of the chicken behind, along with the blood-stained instruments.
I exited the coop to the open air, where Newt was trudging his way up to collect me. I knew I was going to have to wait for him while he was talking for Winston, but I couldn't do any more lingering around. I needed a shower and new clothes before I got any more uncomfortable.
Setting off, I let Newt know where I was going. He allowed me. Even if he didn't, I'd go anyway.
The Glade was pact full of sweaty boys. It looked like the Runners had just made it back. Must be near six, I thought.
"Oi, it's girl Greenie," Minho shouted, bouncing up to where I ranked with a smirk plastered on his face. "Oh," He stopped in front of me, flashing his eyes down to my shirt, "I knew it was only a matter of time before you killed someone. Who was it?"
"A chicken. But I wish it were you. What do you want, youngster?"
"Can't a guy just talk to one of his buddy's? How'd the jobs go?" He shrugged his pack off and dumped it on the ground.
"I pray for it to be over, now. But I still have four more to go until I'm in the Maze. Anyway, can't stay for long. I need a shower."
"I'll gladly have one with you. I need one as well." He winked, the grin remaining. Made me wonder if it ever took a break.
"No thanks. Pretty sure I know how showers work. Thanks for the offer, though. I'm guessing they're with the toilets?"
"Yeah. Just behind. Towels are already there. Oh, and don't go in the end ones. They don't lock properly."
"Thanks." I left to set off for the place Minho had pointed out. Then I spun on my heels, he hadn't moved, thankfully. I forgot I needed something, and he was there, so-
"Do you have a spare shirt? Mines covered in blood and I don't want Gally to accuse me of stabbing a 'man' to death." He laughed, picking up the pack he only just set down.
"I'll see what I can find, Greenie."
We then parted, running to wherever we each needed to go.
The water that came from the shower-head was cold, freezing almost. My bear arms intertwined, but it did nothing against the chill. Hair was knotted and stuck to my neck, skin was grimy. But at least I began to feel more complacent than I was. I managed to wash off most of the blood, but some of it still hung around. Mainly because it belonged to me and a small scab that lurched somewhere on my body. The shower eventually stopped without me telling it to, so I raveled myself in the comfort of the towel and turned the stiff lock on the door.
My clothes lay just outside. There was no table-top I could put them on, so they were dumped on the ground. I rustled through my clothes, because, as from above, I couldn't catch the glimpse of my white, bloody shirt. I untensed when I lifted a cotton blue tee out of the jumble of clothes. Minho must've snuck in and left it there for me. One of the only nice things he's done for me so far. I simpered at that fact. I attempted coming my hair down with my fingers and nails, but it wouldn't do much swiftly. I stood there, dragging my hands through my hair for about five minutes. Not completely satisfied with it, once I had done. But it was better than nothing. And the world knew how little I cared about my looks or how people perceived me.
Before I knew it, I was out. The fire already lit, and the scattered boys were now huddled in one area.
And as I strolled to join them, I began to feel more and more at home in each step I took.
Hello Friends!
I've been working on this chapter for six days! I don't think I've ever gotten a chapter out this fast.
School is dawning on us. ARG!
I'm not excited...
Plus, is it bad I'm making Amelia Chloe Frazer from Uncharted and Newt Nadine?
This chapter is for all my Hamilton fans out there! I know your there. I included a few sneaky lines from 'Satisfied' when Gally and Amelia are chit-chatting. And I called the chicken Alexander, with the knife that killed him being named 'Burr'.
I FREAKIN LOVEE HAMILTON.
It's amazing.
I learnt to rap guns and ships a week ago now and I amaze everyone with my talent.
I'M TAKIN THIS HORSE MY THE REINS MAKIN RED COATS REDDER WITH BLOOD STAINS
LAFAYETTE!
If you don't know what is, I'm terribly sorry. But you should listen to the soundtrack because it is the most amazing thing known to man.
Seriously.
Anyway, I'm going to go watch Lost and scream Charliieeee.
(P.S. Charlie and Claire are the best characters and the best couple, end of.)
Buhyyy!
(P.P.S. Ben you creepy old man, get off my fanfiction XD. I'm joking, of course I love you.)
