The Wings of an Angel

So I needed to write a short story for school, and my teacher let me do this, miraculously, and I'm posting this before I turn it in so I can maybe get some feedback before my classmates do (because this is a peer-editing thing, oh my gosh, shudder), but yeah. Thanks for reading. :)

[[Disclaimer: I don't own The Maze Runner or its characters, that's on James Dashner; I own only this piece of word art.]]

no beta and I've been working on this for ten hours because I'm distracted af and also it's now 2:31 am so I'm too tired to find typos I'm sorry

Running was an escape.

He ran because he had no other choice. If he didn't, he would be driven insane by the shanks, practically children, constantly crying about how they didn't know what happened and where were they and who were they, "help me, Newt!"

The "Who am I?" questions wore off after a few days, but no matter how long the boys were there, the questions persisted. Newt wanted to lock them all in the pit for a few nights, but Alby said that "wasn't conducive to a calm atmosphere."

Newt couldn't stand it. Sure, when he had come up in the box, showing up in a huge empty field with some trees and a few scared kids, he had been rightfully upset, but he hadn't been babbling on like a bloody baby.

He turned sharply, following Alby's lead. Shaking his head of these thoughts, he focused all of his attention on the boy in front of him. Getting lost in here wasn't really a thought he wanted to dwell on.

As he and Alby rounded the corner, he saw a wall where ivy was covering it, a perfect ladder of sorts. Definitely climbable, he noticed. Tucking that away in his mind, he and Alby ran out of the maze.

Once their feet hit the soft grass of the Glade, Newt breathed a sigh of relief. The maze may have been his way of running from reality, but he dreamed of an even greater escape. The perfect escape.

They were back long before their usual time, trying to get a headstart for this evening. They had plans: they were going to hold their monthly campfire. It was the last day of the month, the day before the Glade would receive the next Greenie.

Newt and Alby walked to the cooking station. Newt greeted him with a nod, Alby with a hello, and Frypan returned it with a, "Don't think I didn't see you walking over here. You guys should run more; you could really use the exercise."

Newt rolled his eyes. "Bloody hilarious, as usual."

Alby grinned, "Always a pleasure, Fry."

Frypan nodded, "Now get back to wherever it is you came from, because I need to get dinner ready for these shanks, and I could care less about why you've come over here, so scram."

Alby merely shook his head, light-hearted as ever and put his hand on the small of Newt's back, guiding him back before Newt could open his mouth and fire back a smart-aleck remark.

As they were walking away, Newt heard Frypan mutter, "sickening," and get back to his work. While Newt was pondering that, he felt a jab in his side. His head shot up, glaring at Alby. "What's your problem, mate?"

Alby grinned. "You were spacing out. I was trying to talk to you about the plan for tomorrow."

Newt sighed. "Yes, the plan. Running. Waiting for the new Greenie. I think I've got it, Alby."

Alby sighed, long-suffering, drawn out to match Newt's. "It's a bit more complicated than that. We'll be getting up earlier, at sunrise. We'll map the maze for a few hours, then we'll come back here. After we've finished, we'll go about our day as normal, waiting for the new guy to arrive." He paused. "Huh. Guess it's not that complicated."