Thomas Sangster/ Newt Imagines& GIFs

142. Newt

description - Newt is worried sick when you don’t make it out of the Maze before the doors close.

Your lungs burned. It was like someone had taken a match to them and lit them on fire, and now the smoke was consuming you from the inside out. Every breath you took hurt; your chest was threatening to cave in.

Your legs ached just as badly. But you kept telling yourself that no matter how much pain you were in, you had to keep running. 

If you didn’t, you were dead.

Left, right, left, left. Your mind raced as fast as your legs did, trying to remember the order of turns you’d taken that morning. But you didn’t work well under stress, and you had never known a stress like the one you were currently under. You could barely think from how afraid you were.

And then the ground shook under you. The screeching of metal and rock grinding against one another was like electric current through your spine; the hair on your arms stood on end as you sped up. You turned right and saw your destination — the North Door.

A large group of Gladers had gathered in front of it, and when they caught sight of you, every single one of them started shouting words of encouragement. But the door to the Glade was closing faster than your legs could move, and you knew you would never make it in time.

You saw Newt standing at the front of the crowd, his eyes wide with panic. You’d never seen him so distressed before. That expression was foreign on him and didn’t suit him. He, as well as the others, motioned for you to keep going, but you came to a halt moments before the spikes on the door settled into their respective holes on the opposite wall.

A silence surrounded you, one that shook you right down to your core. You struggled to catch your breath, bending at the waist and resting your shaky hands on your knees.

You were dead.

Realization hit you like a tidal wave. It wasn’t one of those creep-on-you-slowly kind of thing. The barrier of stone in front of you had sealed for the night, along with your fate. No one had ever survived a night in the Maze, and you sure as hell didn’t have what it took to be the first.

First came the tears. You crumpled to the ground like a rag doll, overwhelmed with uncontrollable sobs. Any control you had over your body left you; you cried and cried until your body ached more than ever.

When the tears ran out, you dabbed at your face with the hem of your shirt and stood, feeling very lightheaded. Panic stung at your chest and coursed through your veins like an icy river. What were you supposed to do? Sit around by the door and wait for the Grievers to come get you?

No, you couldn’t just wait like bait. You decided to go deeper into the Maze and find a place to spend the night. In the wee hours of the morning, the doors would open again and there would be far less Grievers. All you had to do was survive that long.