Thomas Imagines (The Maze Runner)

After Everything

Thomas doesn't know that he can take much more of this. Of hiding, running, losing. Of anything. Some part of him despises the fact that his only known memories involve complete and utter terror; other voices in his head whisper that he should hate himself instead, because he had the choice to get more of his history back and he decided against it.

Is it Thomas' fault, then, that his world is composed solely of fear and anguish? Is it his fault that he grew up the second they took his memories away and he stopped thinking that 'at any cost' was a worthwhile justification for all the pain he has experienced and still will?

No, his head whispers back, no, it isn't. Someday Thomas will learn to stop second guessing any thought of his, to go a day without wondering if his own internal monologue is truly his or just the work of some scientist up in a lab plotting out the inner wirings of Thomas' brain like a circuit board. The Gladers might have removed the tracking chip in the back of their necks, giving WICKED that much less sway over what he can and cannot do, but that doesn't mean Thomas will ever stop being quite so paranoid.

He supposes he's been getting close to a point in which he can lay down his armor. They're really in for it now, tearing through the streets of the Last City like there's no tomorrow, because in all honesty, there might not. The Last City was the final stronghold against the Flare, and now it's about to come crashing down. The fireworks have already started, the tide of danger lapping against the buildings. The inhabitants may not know it yet, but their lives have already ended.

Thomas can feel no sympathy for them. He tries, fleetingly knowing that they should, but the fact that these people got to be safe while Thomas and his friends suffered under WICKED's thumb robs him of the last bit of his emotional connections. Surely they knew what was going on in those labs, and yet they never tried to stop it. Turning a blind eye did as much help as joining in on WICKED's side, and so Thomas watches the entire city go up in flames without feeling a single thing.

He doesn't feel anything for them, at least, those nameless masses. Thomas feels plenty for the people right here in front of him. He has lost Newt, he has lost Teresa, he has lost and lost and lost again. At some point, he would like to have something without having it taken from him. After all this, hasn't he done enough to deserve it? A fate better than death, for once in his remembered life?

Thomas is on a Berg right now, flying away from it all. His arm is still stretched out in front of him from where he failed to catch Teresa. Thomas lies flat on his stomach, staring as the aircraft pulls away from the wreck of the city, wondering why he thought he would ever be able to take all of the anguish that has overcome him.

At one point just a few months ago, Thomas was so desperate to escape the Glade that he almost didn't know what to do with himself. Now, Thomas lies as still as death, wishing that he could be there still. Four walls keeping him contained, keeping him safe. Grass that was always green, never charred or burnt by the solar flares. Friends that were still alive, who could still smile at him without that thread of agony woven throughout everything.

Thomas lets his vision go hazy. He's exhausted from their run through the city, but at least now he is out of it, alive if not well. The last thought he has before he closes his eyes is of that space within the Maze again, how it felt to come out of the stone corridors every evening after a successful run. He swears he can hear the cheerful voices of his friends calling out to him one last time, and then he hears nothing at all.

Thomas wakes up slowly, in a place he cannot recognize. There's a faint sound playing at the edge of his consciousness, and it is this unfamiliar noise that wakes him at last. After a moment, Thomas realizes that it's the crashing of waves against some distant beach. He doesn't know that he's ever heard it before, at least not since his memories were taken. Perhaps he had been there all the time when he was younger, back when he still took such things for granted as a blue sky and a family he knew.