The next morning air was still chilly when Newt opened his eyes. He cast a quick glance around the Homestead, verifying his fellow Gladers were still asleep. He scrambled up out of his hammock, moving swiftly and silently as he gathered what he would need.
His Runner's pack.
His apple.
His water.
His note.
He had hurriedly scrawled it on the back of a seed packet just before he slept last night, knowing he couldn't leave without saying something. But his brain stalled as he put the pencil to the paper, and he settled with a less than satisfying: Minho would be a good Keeper of the Runners.
He placed it under a stone on the turned-up crate that acted as his bedside table, knowing it would be found when they looked for him later.
The sun just peeked out from behind the walls, the air still raising goosebumps on Newt's arms. The air smelled cleaner than it ever did, and birds trilled in the far-off treetops.
A good last day to be alive.
He was alone when the doors rumbled open, much earlier than they usually did. It was almost as if the Creators knew what he was going to do, and wanted to help him along.
That was a comforting thought.
He ran aimlessly, turning every which way he could find, not mapping at all in his mind where he was.
It was kind of nice, actually. To run freely, not caring if he couldn't make it back to the Glade on time.
Because he wouldn't.
Finally, after a couple of hours or so of running, Newt settled next to a particularly thick patch of ivy, to enjoy his last meal he would ever eat. The apple seemed especially crunchy, the sweetness tingling on his taste buds. The water was fresh and cool, and the stolen piece of forbidden chocolate tasted especially creamy.
It was his last day alive, and he was going to eat some bloody chocolate.
It was funny, how peaceful the Maze seemed when you weren't trying to get out of it.
Newt rested his head back against the wall, closing his eyes, feeling the early morning sun on his face. After the sunlight passed him, he took it as a sign to get going, and he rose with determination. He ran deeper and deeper into the Maze, until he stopped upon a particularly good looking wall. It was tall, taller than most he remembered encountering, with ivy providing a proper ladder towards the top. With a deep breath, he ran a gentle hand over the barrier. The ivy was slightly damp, and the stone was coarse beneath his touch. Newt gripped the plant tightly and started climbing. The stone rose evermore ahead of him, the ivy an inefficient ladder, but he kept climbing. The only way to get out of this place was up, up, up. Then down. Down. Down. Why run, when you can fall?
Don't look down he thought.
He felt every second that he couldn't go higher, but he kept climbing anyway, only paying attention to the burning in his arms and legs, the rough plant beneath his hands. Finally, he stole a glance below him, and felt a rush of nausea at the distance between him and the ground.
That's high enough. Newt thought. His knuckles had turned white at the strength he was using to grip the ivy, his whole body slightly shaking. But he pulled his gaze away from the ground to direct it towards the sky. He couldn't let go without saying something to their gracious hosts.
"I don't know who you people are, but I hope you're happy," Newt's voice shook with anger as he spoke directly to (or so he hoped) to the Creators. "I hope you get a real buggin' kick out of watching us suffer. And then you can die and go to hell. This is on you."
And he let go of the wall.
For a split second, it was peaceful. Free falling, weightless, effortless.
But it didn't last long.
He hadn't pushed far enough away from the wall.
He could feel his limbs getting tangled in the ivy, the rough edges of the plant cutting deeply into his skin, significantly slowing down his descent.
He fell for maybe 3 seconds, before he landed hard on his right leg, snapping it under his weight. He yelled out in pain as he felt it shatter beneath him, and the rest of his body crumpled to the floor, his head connecting with the hard concrete.
Newt had never felt such an intense pain in his life. It felt as if somebody was trying to cut off his leg with a blunt saw, whilst setting it on fire. His head pounded, and he could feel his vision dimming as the world around him swayed.
He let out an inhuman cry, clutching his leg up to his chest, howling in anguish until he finally sobbed out a pitiful "I hate you," before falling into blackness.