When We're Older- The Maze Runner (Newt)

seperation anxiety

MAE

   Running seemed like a normal thing for us now. Something we would never escape. A deed that would always find a way to catch up with us, no matter how safe we were.

   I used to love the feeling of running. The wind flowing through my hair while my legs worked by themselves to get me to where I wanted. It used to feel like I was flying. Despite having asthma, getting exercise was something that I looked forward to. When there was simply nothing to run from. Now that we are basically the prey of a much larger, scarier, and more organized predator, I can't enjoy the feeling as much as I used to. Every time I move my legs, it's either running away from some sort of natural disaster, or from the guards that attempted to capture us with every chance they got. Sometimes I wondered why they didn't just get over it and get new test subjects, but whenever the thought seemed to cross my mind, I remembered that video that we watched the day we escaped the Maze.

   The day everything started to fall to pieces. It's funny how you don't realize what you're doing until you've done it. We thought that life outside of the Maze was going to be better than it had been while we were invaded by the four concrete walls. But the truth is, they're about equal. The sun flares—or whatever that woman called it—reminded me of the start of the end of the world. How many lives were lost. And then, the Flare. The disease created these disgusting creatures...almost like zombies. I hated them more than I think I've hated anything in my life. Besides WICKED. Those creatures have been the stars of my nightmares and my daydreaming, making me so paranoid to the point where I sometimes have to look over my shoulder to assure myself that we were safe for the time being.

   It's torture.

   The same thing goes for WICKED. Sometimes, I can still feel where the needles penetrated my skin, and the harsh stinging sensation that I couldn't get rid of even if I tried. It was almost like an itch that I couldn't scratch.

   But every time I think that we might've escaped their grasp, they show up again. Proving me wrong.

   And that's what I felt as my friends and I ran up a flight of stairs to the room where we had previously met Jorge, the person who seemed like he was going to get us out of here. The sound of a strange song echoed throughout the whole building, making Brenda run faster towards her mentor.

   Newt had his hand on my back, pushing me along as though I would freeze up again at any moment. Little did he know that I wanted to get away from this place more than anything.

   "Brenda! Hurry!" Jorge suddenly appeared at the top of the flight of stairs, holding a large brown sack over his right shoulder. He ushered us forward, turning around and shouting words of haste at all of us. He turned a corner and stopped at a large set of windows that strangely looked blurred. I furrowed my eyebrows as he placed his hands on the glass, and the windows flung open.

   "Right this way!" He shouted back at us. He moved back, allowing us to finally get a good look at what laid ahead.

   "Oh, you gotta be kidding me." Frypan muttered as he looked out at the crumbling building that obscured our view. The clouds that loomed ahead were now dark, making it hard to believe that we would make it to the other side without getting struck by lightning. A large line connected from the top of the room we were in, all the way to the building in front of us.

   But the drop was what scared me. There was nothing below us but concrete. What he was basically asking us to do was a suicide mission. Swing all the way to the other side without letting go or slipping? Forget running, this seemed like the scariest thing I was going to have to do in my life.