Pasty's story [The Maze Runner]

8

 Pasty felt like she was walking on air. She stood alone in a room of white, surrounded by lots of white doors. She felt like she shouldn’t be there, but her legs moved slowly towards a door, no matter how much she resisted. Her paper white hand reached out and grabbed the brass door knob, turning it carefully as though it might snap off at any moment. She was led into another white room, with only a desk and a small toilet in it. No shower, no chairs.

 Nothing. The walls and floors were white. No windows. No other doors.

 Pasty found the place odd, and even more chilling. She closed her eyes briefly, wondering if she would wake up at home. Or in the Glade. But when she opened her eyes, the only change was that in the middle of the room stood Newt.

 The sight of him shocked her for a moment, but then she grinned.

 “Newt! Hey, Newt!” she cried. Or she tried to. Her voice didn’t seem to be working, and although he was seemingly staring straight at her, he didn’t acknowledge her presence. It was only then she realised something wasn’t quite right about him. His hair flopped in a greasy mess on his forehead. He wore all tattered clothes, drenched in sweat and smelly, and if Pasty looked carefully, she could see scars on his face and arms even from a distance.

All of a sudden, he snapped into action. It was like he had come out of a freeze frame. He was pacing the room, his hands stiff at his sides, but his hands fidgety, moving constantly. He was muttering under his breath. Pasty, now in control of herself, moved closer to hear what he was saying.

 “Just another test, just another test…” he murmured, over and over.

 Then, with an invisible force, Pasty was thrown from the room, back to where she started. The door shut and she heard the click of a lock, leaving Newt alone.

 She walked through many more doors, the whole process repeating, but with new people, some she knew, some she didn’t. She was surprised to see some of the people were female, having grown used to living with a bunch of boys. One particularly caught her attention, a stunning girl similar looking to herself, who muttered the word “Thomas” quite a lot, massaging her forehead as if it was helping her to communicate with the boy called Thomas. She later entered a room where she found a boy named Thomas, and wondered if it was the girl’s Thomas.

  Some sat and did nothing. Some screamed manically. They all looked troubled in one way or another. Most of them spoke. Half of them cried. But every time she tried to get close to any of them, the invisible force threw her back to where she had started. It was frustrating, especially as she always heard the click of the lock keeping her away from the mysteries concealed behind the closed doors. She felt hungry for more.

 There were two doors left. When she entered the first, it broke her heart to see Minho sat on the floor, hugging his knees. His eyes had huge bags underneath them. His face thin, his hair longer than it was in what Pasty supposed was “real life.” But to her, this wasn’t the most depressing thing. The sight of him gripping something in his hand.

 It was the shoelace from the boots Pasty had worn on her arrival in the Box.

 She watched him for a long time. His eyes moved around distractedly like he was crazy. The shoelace stayed in his hand the whole time. He wound it around his wrist. He made knots in it and untied them. He examined it at arm’s length once or twice. But never did he let it go.

 At one point, he stood up abruptly, shaking, and started punching the wall. His fist began to bleed and seemingly the bone shattered, but he punched it over and over. Pasty screamed, but no sound came out. She ran to him and grabbed the hand he was punching with. And like a whirlwind, she was sucked into darkness.

 “I don’t know why I’m bothering with this to be honest…I know you can’t hear me, and I feel like a shuckin’ idiot, but oh well…”

 Everything was black. Pasty was stuck in a world between death and consciousness. She couldn’t move at all, but all her senses seemed to be working. She could hear the voice, feel the hands covering hers and the tickly breath of the speaker. She could smell the smell of lemons and men’s deodorant.

 Minho…

 “Umm…I guess I should tell you how much I miss you talking to me. You did a good thing, saving Gally. Not quite sure why you did it, but it doesn’t matter. You…just come back to us OK? We all miss you. This isn’t the way most people behave during the Changing, and I’m scared that you ain’t ever gonna wake up. Newt says hi, I guess,” he gave a shaky laugh. “I don’t know what it is like where you are, or whether it is worth coming back, but if this isn’t too selfish of me, will you come back for me? Since I met you, you’re…all I think about. You’re my best friend and perfect girl rolled into one. I really…like you.”

 He paused for a few seconds, lost for words. Pasty was bursting with happiness inside, hoping that perhaps it was real. But when Minho spoke again, her heart shattered

 “It’s probably a good job you can’t hear anything. I don’t even know why I’m talking to you. You won’t be able to hear me. Forget it, forget it…”

 No, Minho, don’t go! Stay with me, I need you! Pasty screamed to him. Her lips didn’t move, and no sound was made. He let go of her hand and before she could blink she was back in the white room.

 She had a cry for a while. Why couldn’t he hear her? Why couldn’t he understand that she liked him too?

 When she finally calmed down, her first thought was that her journey through the white rooms wasn’t over. Maybe after the journey, she could go home.

 She stood up and faced the final door. As she stepped inside the room, the door quickly slammed behind her and a small golden plaque appeared on the desk, like in every other room. It read:

 Pasty. This is your room.

 “No,” she whispered, making no sound as usual. Her head exploded in pain and she was dragged into a pit of darkness as the white world crumbled around her.