2

                                    

                                          
A woman holds a little girl to her chest.
                          
A girl and a boy look at each other, and their eyes speak of distrust and fear.
                          
Desperate cries, children struggling in the arms of men with guns strapped to their backs. 
                          
The woman from before clinging to her daughter's hand as she is pulled away, thrown into the back of a truck.
                          
"Wicked has never been wicked, you must always remember that."
                          
Breath hitching in my throat, I startled awake. Sweat coated my palms, and my heart thrummed inside of my chest. When I sat up, I caught a glimpse of the boys shoving each other next to the Maze's entrance. I recognized Newt, his sandy hair visible from afar as the morning sunlight hit him, and Ben, a Glader I'd met the other day. Rubbing at my eyes, I watched them shake hands with the other boys before sprinting into the Maze without hesitation.
                          
A look to my right revealed Chuck mid-snore, his mouth wide open, the others around us somewhere between asleep and awake. I yawned, the dregs of the nightmare already fleeing from my mind.
                          
A gust of wind swirled past me, sending a cold shiver down my spine. My thin, black blouse was certainly not going to be enough from now on, although I did not know what season we were in—or, for that matter, if the Glade even had such a thing as seasons.
                          
My stomach rumbled as soon as the soles of my boots hit the ground. Chuck stirred in his sleep, starting to rouse at the sound of the boys' chatter. I rocked his hammock and whispered his name over and over until he cracked an eye open. I could tell that he'd been ready to mouth off anyone who dared disturb his sleep, but once he realised who I was, his lips curled into a smile. He stretched, yawning loudly. "G'mornin', Greenie. Slept well?"
                          
A fragment of my nightmare flashed before my eyes, too dark to decipher. "Sure did, thanks. Aren't you hungry?"
                          
Chuck laughed, a hearty sound. "That's a question you don't ever have to ask me. I'm literally always hungry."
                          
We crossed the Glade, Chuck leading the way to the kitchen, where a tall, sturdy boy was flipping what seemed to be bacon in a pan.
                          
"Morning, Frypan." Chuck sat in front of a makeshift bar that looked into the kitchen.
                          
"Morning, Chuck," he said, turning, his smile growing when his eyes fell on me. "And good morning, Greenbean."
                          
He extended his free hand, which I shook, perhaps harder than would have been expected of me. "I know I don't have a name yet, but do you really have to call me Greenbean or Greenie?"
                          
Frypan cackled. "Fine then, shuck-girl."
                          
Just as I rolled my eyes, Chuck intervened. "Be good and give us some food, we're starving."
                          
Frypan turned, disappearing behind a tall wooden screen. He returned sooner than I anticipated with two big sandwiches containing, between two slices of thick, dark bread, salad leaves, tomatoes and some kind of meat that looked a lot like bacon. After giving our thanks, Chuck and I headed outside. Once we sat on the dewy grass, I took a big bite out of my breakfast, just realising how hungry I'd really been. "It's so good!" I managed to get out, my mouth full.
                          
"Hey, eat first. What did you say?"
                          
I chewed, then cleared my throat, "I said this is really, really good."
                          
Chuck only guffawed. "So," he began, chewing. "Before we have a Gathering, we need you to try all the jobs. Maybe you'll be a Cook, you look like someone who'd be good at that."