𝘁𝘄𝗲𝗹𝘃𝗲

                                    

                                          
╔═══*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗
                          
I'm already living in one 
of them. 
                          
╚═══*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

                          
I trust them. I trust them all. 
                          
I realised it too late. And now I'm going to die. 
                          
I stare at the maze caging me, the sound of my breath echoing off of the dark stone walls merging with the constant hammering of my heart — creating some sort of sick melody that continued forever, marking the end of my life with its cease. I trace the vines up to the very tops of the walls, watching them meander through one another, circling and twisting — a complex puzzle I couldn't begin to connect. 
                          
I stand there for what feels like an eternity, the only thing to accompany me being the dust and rubble dancing through the air, taunting me with its easy escape. The inevitability of my death looms ever closer as the eerie silence screams at me. I never thought I'd miss the constant chatter that the Glade produced as much as I do now. I'd give anything to hear Alby barking orders, or Gally's snide comments, or Newt's sarcastic remarks made under his breath. I miss Chuck's laughter, Jeff's goofiness and Newt's company, each with so much aching that I think my heart may split in two. 
                          
I fall to the ground, watching the sunlight hit Minho's blood smeared over my hand. Blood. No visions come this time. I don't think they need to. I'm already living in one of them. 
                          
Using my better judgment, I can conclude that I've been lifelessly staring at the cracks in the stone walls for half an hour, watching the sunlight scan down the imperfections, and then disappear into thin air. I drum my fingers on the cold floor, waiting to die. Waiting for a griever to end my misery right now. It would make everything so much easier. The screeches of greivers rip through the air, and I don't find myself startled, or even scared by their calls. I don't feel anything. 
                          
My heart feels heavy, almost cold in my chest.
                          
That's when I see them. All of them. Chuck, Alby, Winston, Jeff, Clint, Minho and Newt. Each of their faces swimming in my mind, pulling me out of the darkness I've allowed myself to fade into. 
                          
Thea! Newt's cries echoes in my head, almost worse than when I first heard it. I see his eyes in the darkness — a safe, warm brown that reminds me of hot chocolate on a winters day, giving me the same comfort as a teddy bear might give a toddler. 
                          
I get flashes of everyone: Chuck's red cheeks and coiling hair; Jeff's cheeky smile; Clint's unamused expression at Jeff's cheeky smile; Alby's kind eyes staring through a scowl; Winston's slight smirk and raven hair; Minho's honeyed skin and long eyelashes... each of them branding themselves into my thoughts. Because even if I didn't care about what happens — they do. How would I feel if Newt was here instead of me and he gave up? 
                          
I'd be bloody pissed off at him. I don't think I'd ever forgive him. And I can't have Newt or the others condemning me to an afterlife where I watch my friends be disappointed in me for the rest of their lives. 
                          
So, with all the energy I can muster, I pull myself up to my feet as the griever's shrieks get louder and louder, closer and closer. To prevent myself from the slipping descent into insanity, I whisper to myself — a motivation that brings me comfort to hear a human voice, even if that voice does belong to me. "Now you move, Thea," I breathe. "One foot in front of the other. Don't get cornered in the entrance."