A/N: SO... New chapter, i know its been a while, but I've mainly been focusing on Through Her Eyes and since no one really responded to my author's note, I didn't think anyone was reading this.

SarBear:

You, dearie, are fantastic. Absolutely amazing and I'm so so so flattered that you love my writing. However, school is almost up and that means finals and annoyingly large projects are occurring and I will be pretty booked, but once summer starts, I will be free and clear and I'll make up for the long-ass gaps between chapters. Thanks for being amazing and prompting me to write.

~CopperMax

MaC:

I hate my life. Say that I don't mean it, say I shouldn't think that way, but I do. I hate my life.

I'll sum it up for you. I was dropped into the center of a maze which had no solution while boys were dropped in every month. I was the only girl. For over two years. Then, we get out and almost half of us die. We think we're saved, but it just part of te 'tests'. We starving for a few days, and then are forced into a desert death trap where even more of us die, Tommy and I are dragged through the mountains and almost killed by some bat-klunk insane chicks and then mentally tortured. Then, we get out of that battle some more freaks of nature. (More die) More mental torture. And after after finally, finally get through all of that... I find out that the boy I love is not immune to the flare and he slowly goes insane... as we try to find our way in a world we know next to nothing about.

My life has been one near death experience after the other. One emotional trauma after another. Loss after loss after loss.

And I'm tired of it. I'm tired of losing things. Loosing people.

I want to run away. Me, Minho, and Tommy. Maybe Brenda can come... if Tommy wants... And it can be quite and peaceful and Minho can drop the act for a minute and I can tell him everything. Everything about why I care about him and everything about why I shouldn't and why I'm terrified of caring for him the way I do. But the truth is I do care. And he can tell me the truth. And we can take it slow. And we can help each other. And we can help Tommy.

And we'll take care of one another and we won't have to worry about outbreaks of illnesses and sun flares and worldwide corporate organizations that think torturing us will somehow save the human race and shucking cannibals who show up out of bloody nowhere in a place where we're supposed to be safe… We'll be alone. Alone and.. and it'll all be fine.

We won't have to hurt so much anymore.

I'm tired of hurting. And I'm not talking about the throbbing of my leg. I'm talking about the empty chasm in my chest where a heart should be.

I wonder if I'm the only one so broken…

Maybe it is just me though. Maybe the boys are tougher. Or the other girls. Maybe I'm over reacting. Maybe loving Newt softened me up. Maybe he broke me apart. Maybe I get too attached to people. Maybe I'm too soft.

Maybe...

Maybe Minho's hurting just as much as I am. Maybe death had affected him as much as me. Maybe he's just better at hiding it than I am. Maybe he's just better at reading me than I am him. He's always been stronger than me. Tougher than me.

Tommy, I know, is hurting as much as I am. Maybe more. He's broken too. And tired, tired of losing people, of caring for people that only end up dead, of losing everything he's fought for, of being confused and lost and unable to fix what he thinks is his fault. But it's not.

And that's what tops it off. That's what pushes me into exhaustion. Because they DESERVE to be happy. To have friends that won't get sick, or die, or be killed off. To be safe. To laugh and smile and not have to worry.

And what hurts the most is that I know it's far too late for that to ever happen.

MINHO:

The girls, John, and I creep around the back off that teepee, hoping that Tommy is still in one piece and not too badly injured, though by the sounds of those screams… I'm thinking not.

Harriet takes up the lead, Sonya following close behind and John behind her. I took up the back, watching our surroundings, making sure we weren't seen.

Harriet snuck towards the burlap like material and slowly lifted upward. Sonya was the first to duck under, motioning for us to follow. John swallowed nervously, his hands balled up by his sides, shaking. I went under next. Sonya stood a bit to the side, mouth open slightly, gaping at the sight before us.

I swallowed, consciously closing my mouth. To the center pole of the structure, was a man, arms tied behind the pole and legs stretched out before him, tied at the ankles. He was scalped, blood and the remnants of hair pouring down into wide open, dead eyes. Pieces of skin were cut off of his shoulders and legs. Blood still poured from the fresh wounds, thick and dark, staining what was left of his clothes and the ground.

There was a muffled noise, fabric shifting, a voice muffled by cloth. I shook myself and turned to the right.

"Thomas?"