Night Visions (TMR) (Newtmas)

08

Ben's Banishment wasn't a pleasant spectacle, and would unfortunately stay with Thomas for the rest of his days. Beside him, Chuck let out squeals of excitement, as if he were watching some interesting film, and wouldn't stop looking. Thomas, on the other hand, made the hardest of efforts not to look, or, at least, not to stare.

The sick boy's feverish eyes gleamed as he was dragged to the center of the circle, and his thick, dark veins palpitated, as if his fear were running through them. He wouldn't stop pleading for understanding, for another chance; Thomas had to resist the urge to cover his ears and run away as fast as his legs let him. As the Keepers closed the collars around his neck, wind blew, messing the Gladers' hair smoothly, like a mother who comforts her children after a fall.

"I swear I'll do anything! I swear I'll never do it again! Plllleeeaseeee!" Ben's cries wouldn't stop, and everyone jerked their heads away.

Unable to keep on watching the grotesque spectacle, Thomas looked away when they started pushing him into the Maze, further and further away from the place that had been his only home. Ben's begs intensified, but were useless; when the doors began closing, the boys held the poles still, keeping him from running back into the Glade. When there were barely some inches left before the titanic slabs finally met, they all pulsed a button, which released the collar, and left Ben out there, sick and alone.

Thomas closed his eyes, the final blow to his sanity having been given with the sound of the doors closing; and he was surprised to feel something warm running down his cheeks.

Rumours didn't take long to come. While the crowd dispersed, everyone hissed and whispered to whoever was immediately beside them. The quiet atmosphere that had ruled vanished, and gave rise to a thick, foul air, even though they were out in the open. Ben's Banishment hadn't only left him out; it had also left out complicity and spirits. It must be hard, Thomas thought, to live with someone for months and suddenly see him being exiliated to the Maze. Out there, alone in the darkness, the only company being the infamous beasts known as Grievers.

As if one of them had read his mind, a distant distorted roar echoed through the Glade. Imagining the monster getting any close to Ben made Thomas sweat with fear. Ben was sick. He had been stung. He needed help, he deserved attention, and he definitely wouldn't get those from a Griever. The beast would kill him, and Thomas would then have to carry that burden with him for the rest of his life. Because Ben was there for attacking him. Not anyone. Him.

"We ain't losing ya."

And instead, you're losing Ben.

Over and over, those same thoughts repeated in Thomas' mind, the Banished Glader's dark eyes chasing him as he remembered his shaky voice, his dirty hands together begging another chance, tears rolling down his cheeks. Like a vicious circle, the more he tried to avoid those images, the stronger they impacted on him; it wasn't long until he finally gave up.

Clenching his fists, his hamstrings tensed, and started running so fast that he felt as if he were flying. The grass was slippy under his feet, though he had no problem using the small trips to accelerate even more. Steps weren't hard to take, and all he could think of was escaping from the memories, from the voices. From himself.

Had you asked him, he wouldn't have been able to tell when did he get to the riverbend. He crouched over, his knees against his chest, his crossed arms hiding his face, and let his mind break loose. Everything, everything seemed to hit him with all it had. Ben's black eyes shining. Ben's weight over him. Ben's strangely warm skin as he tried to strangle him. Ben's fists trying to punch him. Ben's voice insisting that he was bad. Ben's veins stretching through his body like an intrincated tribal tattoo. Ben's cries during the Banishing. Ben, Ben, Ben.