Visions of Gideon - Sufjan Stevens
This lovely commission was drawn by Noah Molinaro! More information is at the bottom! (I love you and she looks absolutely amazing! Thank you so much!)
__________
One by one, the Gladers jumped into the Hole.
Their sore grunts and painful groans echoed across the large concrete crevice as their feet left the floor and their bodies disappeared behind the metallic jaws of the Griever Hole.
I was the last one to jump, wanting to ensure that everybody got through alright.
Watching the last boy jump through, I had to restrain myself from looking back. I knew if I turned to look at the aftermath of the war, I will, without a doubt, burst into gut-wrenching sobs...again.
I took a deep breath.
Teetering backwards, I ignored the tingle rolling up my spine as the ghosts of the Maze eyed my retreating form carefully.
"Just one more jump." I whispered encouragingly to myself, pumping my legs in place.
I prepared for a running start, having no desire to fall to my death. How ironic would it be that after I survived a battle with actual monsters and machines that I just fell off the Cliff?
My clumsy ass would...so I did a running start.
A momentous moment really. The last time I ran in the Maze was to escape—to find freedom.
"C'mon, Ame!" I puffed out, rolling my nervous shoulders, "One...two...three!"
I pushed myself forward, cutting through the stale dark air with heavy limbs and a heavy heart. I sprinted closer to the Cliff, my arms pumping at my side as I gained as much momentum as I could.
Then, as I neared the edge, I jumped—propelling myself forwards in a strained leap. The moment my feet lifted off the concrete, I soared with an unladylike grunt.
The dull twilight disappeared with a blink as my flying form sunk into the Griever Hole, swallowed down its chilling dark throat. The whole atmosphere transformed into that of an icy cave, my body immediately shuddering as a gust of frosty wind welcomed my weak and battered form like a sudden brick wall.
My flight was transient before landing with an aching whine, my feet burning at impact.
"Son of a shucking slinthead!" I muttered in angry pain, rubbing my sore legs as a string of pent-up curses whistled out my explicit mouth, "Shucking bullklunk with this shucking Hole and the stupid shucking Grievers and their stupid shucking hideout..."
Hideout.
Glancing upwards, like I just remembered I was in a Griever's home, I was met with darkness.
Oh, the all too familiar sensation of arriving in darkness.
But as my eyes began to adjust to the rank-smelling atmosphere, I was met with the dull and sporadic gaze of moving flashlights, vaguely lighting the room up just enough for me to observe it.
My shorter frame hid behind the huddling Gladers as they fumbled to light the rest of their flashlights or simply just gather their bearings.
I should probably be doing the same, but cursing at the world seems to bring me much more comfort.
The Hole, though dark, was a circular tunnel. Its putrid stench matching the beasts that formerly lived inside. Grease and slime coated the cylinder tunnel, the bottom of my shoes sinking into an inch of gunk—it's a miracle I didn't slip. Further down the Hole, the dull glow of a computer gleamed in contrast to the dark and a fallen Griever laid dead to the side of the room.
"Smells like shit in here, too." I grumbled.
The whining and anxious murmuring of Gladers echoed noisily down the lubricated tunnel, reverberating off of the thick metal like an eerie hiss. Newt's quaint voice rang close by, counting out how many Gladers had survived. The shuffling and pacing of sore feet surrounded me like a prominent sibilance.
"Ame?" Thomas's voice came.
Lifting my head from my now wet shoes, I vaguely recognized Thomas' furrowed brows and pale face as he pushed through the gapping Gladers, searching for me.
"Thomas." I breathed, my shoulders deflating in relief.
The moment his honey brown eyes fell on me, pure relief washed across his sweaty face, looking as though he were about to cry just at the mere sight of little ol' me alive.
Warmth swarmed my chest, elated beyond belief that he survived and stood before me.
Thomas rushed over and I collapsed into his trembling arms, squeezing tightly to his sweaty shirt.
"I-I'm sorry. I heard you, I heard you. I-I tried to get the code in as fast as I could b-but the Griever—" Thomas rambled, his voice weak.
"It's okay, I know." Was all I could utter out as I buried my face into his shoulder.
I took a moment to revel in the solace of his firm grip before pulling away, a weak smile painting across my face for Thomas's sake.
"Ame." A soft voice purred.
Peering over Thomas's shoulder, I watched as Teresa scurried through the tunnel, her pale face glowing in contrast to the surrounding darkness, her midnight locks camouflaged in the pitch black and dotty lightness.
A heavy breath left my lungs, ecstatic to see my only girlfriend still alive.
"I followed the string of curses." Teresa said lightheartedly, her smile weak—never reaching her cerulean eyes.
I couldn't help but chuckle. "Glad to see I'm not the only girl left with these shanks."
She tittered, gathering me in her arms delicately while I shook like a leaf.
She caressed my back soothingly, petting my hair while holding me firm and warmly like a mother. But by the tightness of her dainty grasp, I could tell she knew.
She knew of our loss despite our triumph.
"I'm so sorry." Teresa whispered, like she could feel the heavy mist of grief and guilt plaguing me.
I nodded pathetically, snuggling into her hold as I allowed my adrenaline to numb out all my pain, including the vague but throbbing heartache.
Slowly pulling away from Teresa, I found Chuck patiently bouncing on the balls of his feet.
"I'm glad you're alive." Chuck said hurriedly, throwing his arms around my waist and clutching tightly onto my clothes.
A tired smile pulled on my flushed and dirty cheeks as I returned the embrace.
"Who me? You should know me by now, Chuckles. I'm not going anywhere. I'm like a cockroach." I smiled, ruffling his sweaty mop of brown locks.
"A cockroach?"
"Yeah, it's a beetle that has a reputation for surviving most klunk thrown their way—"
"I know what a cockroach is. But I can't believe you just compared yourself to a bug." Chuck snorted.
I deadpanned. "I compared myself to an invincible bug."
"Yeah, found in dumpsters."
"I—"
"Sh! Ame, they're talking." Teresa scolded, whacking my arm.
I was so absorbed in the riveting conversation with Chuck that I completely missed the important discussion of our escape. I also ignored the fact that Teresa shushed me and not Chuck—even while he continued to snicker at me.
"The rest?" Thomas asked.
"Half of us. Dead." Newt said solemnly.
The lightheartedness I felt a moment ago disappeared, the raw losses still so very tender to me and everyone else in this room. The room became silent, thick with sorrow.
My gaze fell, my heart aching sorely.
"You know what? Half might've died but half of us shucking lived. And nobody got stung—just like Thomas thought. We've gotta get out of here." Minho said, his voice wavering despite his encouraging words.
It felt wrong to just leave. To continue after watching twenty of our people die. But if we just stayed out of guilt and grief, then our friends would have died for nothing.
Like Alby.
Sucking in a deep breath, I croaked. "Minho's right. We're still in the Maze and nowhere near out of danger yet. We still have to deal with Creators."
From across the room, I watched Newt nod.
"Let's get out of here. Right now." He said sternly.
"Where do we go?" Minho asked, squinting at the flashlights pointed at his weary face.
Thomas jabbed a trembling thumb towards the seemingly endless tunnel, "I heard a door unlock down that way."
"Well—let's go." Minho said, taking the lead.
"Good that." I said.
Taking Chuck's hand in mine, I pulled us forwards, pacing just behind Minho, Newt, Thomas and Teresa.
After seeing the horror of the war and young Gladers being torn apart, I wanted to hang onto Chuck—keeping him close in case anything were to happen. He was too young to endure the sorrow and trauma.
Holding his hand, though it may have been for my sake only, was my way of ensuring his safety and innocence.
The twelve-year-old sent me a funny look but remained silent at my pale face, squeezing my trembling finger.
Passing the dead Griever, I eyed it warily, watching for movements or listening for the sudden roar of its engine. But we walked right past it without a problem.
I'm gonna have a heart-attack. I thought, shaking my head.
In front, I watched Newt cock his head, his gaze landing on me. His brown eyes scoured me for a moment, checking to see if I was still okay. Then, glancing to the hand that cupped Chuck's, he looked to the twelve-year-old.
An appreciative smile tugged on Newt's cheeks before sending Chuck a grateful nod.
Chuck's whole face lit up, nudging me with a whisper, "Did you see that?"
"I sure did." I smiled, arching a curious brow.
I then realized Chuck had spent quite a bit of time in Glade searching for acceptance from Newt and the older kids.
After only a few minutes of walking in almost pitch black, the tunnel came to a sharp left, resembling that of an "L".
How far is this door?
"Wait, wait...this is it." Thomas exclaimed, the group pausing with him. He stopped so suddenly that Chuck and I almost ran into his back.
I arched a brow, watching with suspicion as he gazed straight ahead at the wall before the turn.
I don't see anything aside from the grease, the metal, and the darkness.
"Where?" Newt asked.
"Yeah, I don't see anything..." Winston said from behind Chuck and I, clutching tightly to Frypan's shoulders.
Then, taking the flashlight out of Teresa's hands, Thomas drew a large circle, tracing a circular crevice—a door.
A big, black metal door with a petite handle.
Seems anti-climatic to me. Teresa thought, sending me a sceptical glance.
I scoffed. I like anti-climatic. I prefer it.
Minho moved towards the door before hesitantly wrapping his fingers around the handle. An uneasy breath left him, echoing through the tunnel like a symphony of anxiety.
Then, with a reluctant glance to Thomas, he pushed against the door.
A stream of white light sliced through the darkness, giving the pathetic flashlights a clear run for their money. It cut through the tunnel harshly, groans erupting from everyone as we had all become adjusted to the dark.
Squinting through the pain, I eagerly peeled open my eyes.
The wide door squealed as Minho continued to push on the mighty metal, revealing...a plain hallway.
No one said anything, but we all looked to one another with confusion and doubt.
This wasn't our grand exit, right? There had to be more.
Minho, Newt, Thomas, and Teresa clambered out first, before Chuck and I.
"Stick by me, Chuck." I uttered protectively, stepping in the bright hallway.
"Don't worry, I'll protect you." Chuck said, the distracted waver in his voice taking away from his lightheartedness.
Gladers began to slowly pile out after us, their anxious eyes still squinting to the harsh fluorescent lights. Nobody said a word as we observed our new surroundings, the only sound that came from us was the shuffling of our timid footsteps.
The hallway stretched out as far as I could see on either side, rectangular lights turning on above our very heads. Silver and blue pipes ran up and down the walls, tracing the hallway, carrying who knows what inside. The floor and walls were made of grey concrete but glistened with a polished sheen.
The hallway just seemed more humane in comparison to the Maze and the Glade.
I cocked my head in every direction, taking in the new area.
The first thing I recognized, aside from the obvious, was the stark contrast between us and the hallway.
While the hallway looked completely untouched—almost pristine if it weren't for the dust—we looked like actual shit.
Thomas shared a tiny glance with me, the familiar twinkle of recognition glistening in his alerted eyes.
It looks familiar, doesn't it? He asked.
Furrowing my brows, I observed the hallway with a more speculating glance, the tickle of familiarity still buzzing among my chest.
Glancing back to my brother, I nodded, Vaguely.
Which way do we go? Teresa asked, cutting into our conversation.
The three of us shared an expectant glance, waiting for the other to answer.
Visibly shrugging my shoulders, I thought exasperatedly, I was only a part-time Creator, so I have no idea.
Chuck sent me a weird look as I dramatically tossed my arms around, staring at Thomas and Teresa with a deadpan stare.
Then it clicked, a knowing smirk crawling on his chubby cheeks as he whispered, "Telepathy."
I snorted at that.
"Let's go this way." Thomas uttered, slowly leading us to the right of the hallway.
None of us disagreed or said otherwise as we numbly followed, all of us remaining silent aside from our shuffles—unsure what to say or just having nothing to say at all. But we huddled close, fear still grasping us like the cold clutches of death, shock and trauma coating all of us like the layers of sweat we've earned from the fight.
The machinery and pipes decorating the walls ticked and whistled as we passed. I couldn't help but nearly jump out of my jittery skin when steam suddenly shot out of an exposed pipe.
"Stupid pipe." I hissed, startled.
I jumped again when a gentle hand was placed on my back.
Twisting around, I met the comforting chocolate gaze of Newt, a weak but reassuring smile quirked on his lips.
"You're fine, you're fine." He cooed beneath his breath.
I smiled weakly in thanks, facing forward with his warm hand still pressed protectively against my back and my hand still clutched in Chuck's.
Then, after fifteen minutes of walking, Thomas came to a slow and uncertain stop in front of a plain blue door embedded in the left wall—the only thing odd about it was the rusty handle.
Our wide eyes then crawled to the taunting green EXIT sign just above the door, and I couldn't help but scoff.
"Seriously?" Frypan deadpanned, summing up this entire scenario.
Dropping my gaze to Thomas, I watched as he crept towards the door, his hand lifting like lead beneath all the trepidation before slowly clutching the rusty handle, his fingers trembling like the air was frosty.
Then, he pressed down on the handle, the door opening with a shrill screech.
I wasn't sure what I was going to see on the other side.
Maybe a stream of genuine sunlight? An excited welcome party with streamers and cake? Or maybe just another boring old room full of solemn and sadistic—very sadistic—scientists?
However, I was definitely not expecting the shit show before me.
Behind the door lead another, smaller hallway. Except this one was filled with smoke and shards of glass shattered along the floor, the potent stench of gunpowder practically staining my lungs with their poison as sirens wailed repetitively in the background.
But what caught my attention first was the three dead bodies laying scattered and limp across the hallway, stagnant in a pool of their own blood.
Holy shit.
We moved slowly, raising what weapons we had left as we crept into the eerily silent room together.
Turning to Frypan who hovered behind Chuck, I demanded in a quiet voice, "Give me one of your knives."
Wordlessly, Frypan slid a long kitchen knife into my free hand, his raw and bloodied fingers trembling with mine.
I don't know what happened here. For all I know, the people that killed them may still be here. Though I don't have my bow, I need something to protect the remainder of my friends—which may be hard with a kitchen knife, but it'll do for now.
Chuck's grip on my fingers stiffened, his wide innocent eyes glued to the gun wounds inflicted on the bodies as we teetered past. Bile rose in my throat as breathing suddenly became extremely difficult.
"C'mon, Chuck." I breathed, quickening our pace to walk with Thomas.
"What happened here?" Winston choked out, as we came to the end of the hall, everyone watching as Minho kicked a gun out of one of the bodies' limp hands.
No one answered. No one knew.
Thomas exchanged a wary glance with Minho before pressing further into the destroyed room.
And boy, I thought my jitters of recognition were bad before.
We entered a wide room riddled with advanced technology, computers and holograms lining the glass walls—or what were once glass walls. Some computer screens were completely shattered, punctured by perfectly round bullet holes; while others were untouched, playing detailed pictures and videos. Holograms flickered in and out of existence, illustrating x-rays of brains and their activity and changes. Offices and workstations surrounded the wide room, coated in a layer of broken glass, blood, and scattered paperwork. In the centre of the room stood a massive black platform to observe, which also seemed to act as a large workstation telling by the several black chairs placed around it.
The room seemed to be a lab. An observation and study room.
It seemed quite elegant...despite its demolished condition and the several dead bodies laying about.
The Gladers slowly dispersed, tip-toeing around the bodies and across the glass, searching for an explanation for this disaster.
Chuck released my hand hesitantly before edging to the black platform.
Letting him wander, I stood in the doorway with my head spinning and my heart pounding aggressively against my chest.
Too much was happening. We just came from a battle and now I have to figure out the clues to a murder mystery?
I feel lost again. Overwhelmed. These people...the lab....
"Is this what I think it is?" Minho muttered from within the room, climbing the black platform.
I suddenly paused. Realization washing over me.
"The Creators..."
I trailed off, my eyes skimming over the dead, feeling ill once again.
This is the Creators' lab. Where everything was controlled.
Gazing around the lab, careful to avoid the trauma of seeing anymore dead bodies, I found Newt leaning against the table before a wall of monitors, his brow knitted in concentration as he studied the images on the screens with Frypan standing to his left.
As much as I wanted to leave, there are answers here. Answers about me and answers about my friends.
And who's going to stop us? The Creators?
Gulping, I slowly roamed towards the wall of computers and televisions.
Halfway there, I lifted my foot to take another step forwards.
However, my foot wouldn't lift.
Frowning with a small stumble, I looked down to my boots and noticed—for like the millionth time—that my shoes were untied...again.
"Ame, how many times do I have to tell you to tie your shoes?" Thomas sighed, moving past me.
I frowned again, staring after the irritating boy as he explored the demolished and abandoned lab—his eyes no longer even on me.
"Don't tell me what to do." I grumbled childishly.
Then, stepping off the shoelace, I continued my pace to the wall of computers in spite of Thomas telling me to tie my shoes.
There are bigger matters to deal with than shoes. I thought stubbornly. Asshole.
Standing behind the pair, I peered between their shoulders at the screens. Past and present videos played on repeat, displaying the homey images of Homestead and those that wandered around it.
One computer portrayed a lonely Glade with ten or so Gladers aimlessly wandering beneath a bleak grey sky and torn land.
Another one played a recording from a few weeks ago when the sky was still blue and Gladers happily worked off the land, laughing with one another as they flooded into the Homestead for dinner—it suddenly made me very nostalgic.
"So they were watching us," Newt said. "This whole time."
Standing at the computers, I frowned.
I had a dream of this spot.
Slowly crossing my arms, I recreated my stance from the dream, my brow knitted with anxious confusion.
Like hundreds of confusing times before, voices from my dream echoed across my consciousness.
"This doesn't feel right." My voice.
"It's the only way. You should know. You were the one that was out there." A girl's voice said calmly.
Teresa's voice.
Apprehensively, I twisted around searching for the raven-haired girl.
Teresa stood at the black platform, her gaze focused on a workstation across from Thomas. Like she sensed my stare, she peered upwards, her confused and perturbed gaze melting into mine.
As I studied Teresa, a nagging feeling poked at my mind.
Would she still feel the same if she remembered?
From across the room, she sent me a weak smile, as if to tell me that everything was going to be okay.
I quickly turned away in shame.
What am I thinking? I thought to myself, shaking my head.
"Hello," A refined voice welcomed.
The sudden voice made me jump, my head whipping in the direction it came from as I latched onto my knife threateningly.
All the screens that survived the bullets flashed to a recording of a seemingly elegant and sophisticated woman in white pristine clothing, her voice soothing as she spoke to the camera. My brain hummed, her round aging face seemed so familiar. Scary familiar.
Quickly, twisting to face Thomas and Teresa, I saw the same look crawl onto their expressions.
Briefly, we shared a tense glance. We all recognized her.
"My name is Dr. Ava Paige. I'm Director of Operations at the World In Catastrophe Killzone Experiment Department." The woman continued.
Gladers stalked towards the largest screen in the room, their eyes and ears ready to absorb any and all new and important information. Slowly, I followed, wanting to understand. To know.
"If you are watching this that means you've successfully completed the Maze Trials. I wish I could be there in person to congratulate you—" She paused, a distinct alarm sounding in the back as people in lab coats frantically gathered their items behind her, a grim shadow falling across her collected expression. "But circumstances seem to have prevented it."
From the corner of my eye, I watched Newt come to stand next to me.
"I'm sure by now you must all be very confused, angry, frightened..."
"That's an understatement." I muttered.
"I can only assure you that everything that's happened to you, everything we've done to you, it was all done for a reason." She said, the doctors and scientists racing around in a scattered panic behind her.
Chuck came up beside me, his big brown orbs glued to Ava Paige as her tone—though remained even with a level of professionalism—grew dark.
"You won't remember, but the sun has scorched our world." Her voice proceeded to narrate as images popped onto the screen, depicting a large scorching sun, cities and forests on fire, and mass graves full of charred and mangled bodies.
"Billions of lives lost to fire, famine—suffering on a global scale. The fallout was unimaginable." Her voice stern as appalling and morbid images flashed before our very eyes.
A thought then struck me, a memory from that very morning.
"Burnt land." I croaked, remembering Alby's words from the Gathering.
"What came after was worse. We called it the 'Flare'."
A hand slid into mine delicately, their gentle touch and calloused fingers immediately telling me that it was Newt's. Peeking a glance at him, he watched the screen with a steely and focused gaze.
But told by the tremors in Newt's fingers, I knew he was frightened by the information—terrified, even.
I squeezed his warm hand firmly, giving what little comfort I could offer.
"A deadly virus that attacks the brain. It is violent. Unpredictable. Incurable."
Blackened brains and violent bacteria flashed across the screens.
Then a man was shown.
Dark red, blue, and black veins swelled from his sickly pale skin, his eyes almost completely black with blood oozing from his gnashing mouth. He thrashed violently against the medic table as doctors held him down.
It was a horrifying sight.
Newt squeezed my hand again as I grew more and more pale.
"Or so we thought. In time a new generation emerged that could survive the virus. Suddenly, there was a reason to hope for a cure. But finding it would not be easy. The young would have to be tested—even sacrificed inside harsh environments where their brain activity would be studied." Ava articulated every horrible syllable.
My jaw hung loose, holding back a mortified breath.
My chest was flooded with mixed emotions. I was furious. Absolutely appalled by these people. Not only were they sacrificing my friends but they were sacrificing a whole generation. But they were doing it for the greater good? To find a cure. So...they are trying to help...? Yet...they were killing kids.
Despite the woman's explanation, I still trembled with hate. They wasted so many lives, so many kids that had potential. And they murdered them.
"All in an effort to understand what makes them different. What makes you different. You may not realize it but you're very important. Unfortunately, your trials have only just begun. And as you'll no doubt soon discover, not everyone agrees with our methods. Progress is slow, people are scared." Her voice remained steady, even as the people behind her were shot to the ground, sparks flying as bullets flew through computers and machinery.
The distant sound of bullets echoed behind Ava's calm voice as men in ski masks and bullet-proof vests stormed the room holding machine guns, raining fire on anyone with a lab coat.
"It may be too late for us." Ava paused, her gloomy eyes sloping with sadness. "For me. But not for you."
More men filed into the room, their guns high as they fired at anyone or anything that moved. Air caught in my throat and I suddenly forgot to breathe as I watched these men mercilessly shoot at the people we considered the Creators.
"The outside world awaits. Remember..."
The chaos pursued but Ava, with an elegant and steady hand, pulled out a small handgun.
The glass wall shattered behind the woman, but her blue hallow eyes never left the camera, piercing through the screen and staring at my quivering soul.
Pressing the barrel to her temple, Ava stated powerfully with a haunted echo.
"W.I.C.K.E.D. is good."
Then, the Director pulled the trigger.
The same woman who tormented my nightmares, visions, and memories for weeks.
I flinched away the moment Ava took her last inhale, a heavy gasp leaving my chest.
Speechless.
I didn't know what to say or think. I felt beyond confused. Mortified. The video created more questions than answers. I increasingly became more and more overwhelmed the longer we strayed from the Maze. I had too many questions that no one could answer and no direction.
It felt like the first day in Glade, all over again.
Sensing a pair of eyes on me, I looked up.
Thomas stared in my direction, his gaze focused on something just behind me. Furrowing my brows, I followed his observant gaze curiously.
It landed on a dead body.
But this person—this woman—was cloaked in white.
Is that....
Thomas brushed past the eerily silent and scared Gladers, his ever-curious gaze glued to the body of Dr. Ava Paige.
My eyes and lips fell open at the realization. I released Newt's hand, trailing after my brother who slowly teetered closer and closer to the body.
I want to see. Is it really her? My curiosity edged me closer to the corpse of the potentially late W.I.C.K.E.D. Director, wanting to confirm if the woman who led all of this was truly dead.
The woman who plagued my mind with that wretched phrase. Who haunted my dreams. My fingers curled around my knife, a chilly layer of fear taking hold of my terrified and weak soul.
Gladers followed in suit of Thomas and I. Chuck stayed close to my side, his curly head of hair barely brushing the goosebumps on my left bicep as he nervously gulped.
We all slowly stalked across the room, no one really knowing what else to do.
Questions continued to fester and badger our poor studied minds. The one that echoed across my cranium like a fretful alarm was "what do we do now?".
Suddenly, an abrupt alarm went off to our right.
Snapping our gaze away from the corpse of the woman that ruined our lives, we watched as two thick doors slid open revealing a long uphill corridor.
At the end of the hall, stood a garage door with brilliant yellow lights beaming from the tiny gap at the very bottom—natural sunlight.
My lips fell apart, a fire of hope erupting throughout my chest and spreading across my body in waves of goosebumps.
"Is it over?" Chuck asked.
Nobody responded, too afraid to fracture this seemingly mediocre happy-ending.
"She said we were important...what are we supposed to do now?" Newt said slowly, his rumbling chest pressed against my tense back.
That's a great question. I thought.
What are we supposed to do? Where will we go?
My gaze immediately went to Thomas, as did every Glader in the room.
He was our leader. We depended on his say. He led us through the Maze and we got out.Wherever Thomas went, wherever he will go, the Gladers will follow. I will follow.
"I don't know." Thomas uttered, speechless.
After a single beat passed, a moment of reveling in our win, Thomas glanced around to the friends and family we have made on this long and terrifying journey, feeling our loyal eyes shine on him.
Gulping at the pressure of our faith, Thomas' gaze fell onto me.
Thomas searched me for an answer, for reassurance.
And as I stood by Thomas's side, physically and metaphorically, I smiled.
"It's your call, T."
Mulling over the simple words and analyzing the confidence and devoted stares from the Gladers, Thomas faced the exit with an assertive gaze.
"Let's get out of here."
Excitement and terror tore at my insides as our sights fell to the tiny hopeful lights gleaming through the tiny gap at the end of the hall—freedom.
Though the world may be in shambles right now and a virus plagues the earth, we have a chance.
The Creators are dead and the exit is right in front of us.
We did it.
We are free.
Pushing forwards, we took our first step.
Our first step towards a new life. Our first step to growing past our trauma. Our first step to learning who we are. Our first step to freedom.
Then, a dejected voice stopped us with a single word.
"No."
__________________
welp.
There is one chapter left. Holy shit.
I do not want to spoil anything for you, however, I love giving out spoilers. So, if you all are like me and have no patients or you want to know what my plan is for Ame in future books (yes...I plan to write a sequel!), message me and I will gladly tell you. Please.
Aside from that, at the top, my good friend, Noah Molinaro, drew an absolutely phenomenal picture of Ame. I literally cried when I first saw it and I love it so much! He is such an amazing and talented artist! He does commissions for any character you want, even your own!
Check out his Instagram: @noahmolinaroart
His Twitter: @noah_molinaro
And his Tumblr: Kihuntr3ss
His commissions are open, so feel free to send him a message!
Gif and song are not mine.
Thank you to everyone who has been supporting me, I truly appreciate all of your support and encouragement. Without it, I would've given up on this story a long time ago. You all are so wonderful!
Thank you.
-xoAwkwardDiamond