╔═══*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

Be glad I'm not holding
Alby's bow right now.

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

The cool air brushes against my face as I step out of the kitchens, scanning the Glade for dark brown hair and a deep blue shirt. Our home is bustling with life; shouts and laughs of the boys dancing loftily through the air, twirling around the smoke rising from the various fires — even though it is only lunch time. My eyes fall upon a group of boys including Frankie, Jack and Tim, and I crane my neck. I almost give up, before I catch a glimpse of Thomas's figure slipping through the thicket of evergreens, disappearing out of my sight. Why's he going into deadheads?

"For shucks sake, Greenie," I mumble under my breath as I jog after him. "The things I bloody have to do for you."

"Where is he?" Alby snaps, walking swiftly towards me from the Gardens.

"In there somewhere." I search the trees for the brunet boy, my eyes clinging to a flash of blue before it vanishes. It's not the best idea for him to see Deadheads... I can still remember the first time I saw their graves. Minho and Clint thought my reaction was hilarious, and I acted as though I was amused too, but the truth is, that night I couldn't even get a wink of sleep.

An ear-piercing scream rips through the trees, shaking the leaves and startling the Gladers. My ears perk up as dread fills the bottomless pit of my stomach. My eyes widen.

The scream belongs to Thomas.

Without so much of a look at each other, Alby and I race through the trees, the only thing audible being our staggered breathing and muffled voices echoing from afar. The world seems to morph into one, the bright green of the trees blending together to create a curtain of leaves that I could never begin to pull aside.

"Thom!" I call, desperately searching the woodland for the sight of him.

There.

He's stood, his figure trembling slightly, chest heaving, staring in blind horror at a sickly boy wrapped in bandages. Thick, green and black veins run in ropes across the boy's skin, pulsing dangerously like a warning sign. The boy stares at Thomas through blood red eyes — once a bright blue. Bile rises in my gut.

That boy is Ben.

"Ben!" Alby snaps before his voice drops into as much of a reasoning tone as he could muster. "Ben, stop right now, or you ain't gonna see tomorrow."

In one swift motion, Alby whips an arrow from the holder slung carelessly across his back and loads his bow, the tip of the arrow set straight for Ben's heart. I stare at the weapon, my eyes wide.

My old friend leers at me, as though he didn't even recognise me... as if I was unknown to him.

"If you kill me," Ben shouts dangerously, "you'll get the wrong guy. He's the shank you wanna kill." Ben's hungry gaze snaps to Thomas, spit spewing from his mouth as his eyes harden. Thomas merely stares at him in confusion, yet the fear in his eyes is unmistakable.

Why is Thomas the one Alby should kill? What did Thomas do wrong? The shank's only been here a couple of days... what on earth could he do in that space of time?

"Ben, you're still jacked from the Changing," I say, outstretching a hand stepping closer to the crazed Glader. "You're not thinkin' straight."

"Don't be stupid, Ben. Thomas has only just got here — there is nothing to worry about. You're still buggin'. You should have never even left your bed," Alby says calmly, the arrow still aimed for the kill.

"He's not one of us!" Ben shrieks, his psychotic eyes widening. "I saw him — he's... he's bad. We have to kill him! Let me gut him!"

The sight of Ben like this sickens me... he would have never said any of these things. He would have never even entertained the idea of harming anyone. But yet, his words haunt my mind like a deathly plague — let me kill him. Let me gut him.

"You leave that to me and the Keepers to figure out. Right now, back your scrawny butt down and get to the Homestead."

"He'll wanna take us home. He'll wanna get us out of the Maze. Better we all jump off the Cliff!" he rambles, his voice heightening in his distress. "Better we tore each other's guts out!"

Thomas cocks his head, his brows furrowing. "What are you talking—?"

"Shut your face!" Ben screams. "Shut your ugly, traitorous face!"

"Ben," I warn.

Alby sets his eyes. "I'm going to count to three."

Ben seems in a daze, unfazed by what Alby has threatened and the arrow shifting slowly to aim at his head.

"He's bad, he's bad, he's bad..." Ben chants, his teeth gleaming, bright red blood spilling from in between his teeth.

I'm going to be sick.

"One," Alby thunders.

Ben takes a step towards Thomas, almost involuntary, as if he was at the complete mercy of the Changing. A tear rolls down Ben's cheek as he whispers, "Bad, bad, bad, bad, bad..."

"Two."

"Alby," I reason, although I know Alby's not paying any attention to me. Each number brings me closer to fainting, Ben's life hanging on the next words that Alby will say. Ben and Alby are friends. He'd never kill him, right? He's just trying to scare him, that's all. But when I look at Alby's pain-stricken face, everything becomes clear. Ben's going to die if he doesn't comply.

"Ben. I'm not..." Thomas starts, stuttering. "I don't even know what—"

Ben lets out a guttering scream, making a lunge for Thomas, his arms outstretched and face enraged.

"Three!"

A click. A whoosh. And the soul-shattering sound of it finding its home.

Right into Ben's head.

The world seems to slow around me as Ben crumples to the floor, his head smashing against the floor with a sickening thud. Dead. My eyes widen as I stare in horror at the boy curled into a ball on the floor, blood seeping from his head — a waterfall of deep red. The world blurs around me.

Dead.

Dead.

"Come on," Alby says solemnly. "Baggers'll take care of him tomorrow."

I don't move. I can't move.

Instead, I'm pulled into an agonising cycle of remembering everything. Every single laugh escaping his lips. Each glint in his ocean eyes, each joke dancing in the air — no matter how awful.

"Why is Minho's favourite colour pink?"

I gasp, backing into a tree behind me and sliding down the trunk, staring at the lifeless body lying in front of me. Just a body. He's no longer Ben. My hands tremble as I gag at the arrow lodged into his head. He's gone.

"Because he's a flaminho. I'm going to start callin' him Flaminho now."

"Do it. See if you get slapped."

I can't bring myself to kneel by him, I just pull my knees into my chest and stare at his back, his head flopping limply to the side. I will the tears to come, to fall, to let me cope with the never-ending misery drowning my chest, but no tears form.

"You are not calling me Benny."

Footsteps retreat, getting further and further away from Ben and I. I'm alone. I'm left with Ben. On my own.

"She's scarier than a shucking Griever. Minho, run!"

They all come flooding back to me in a whirlpool. And I'm drowning. The day we first met... when he cheered me up after my fight with Newt... when he teased me about the kiss... when he made me laugh... when we were running away from the Griever... when he saved me... when I helped him back.

He looked at me like a stranger.

I don't even startle as a twig snaps and a small gasp sounds. I stare at Ben's corpse, unable to think. To feel. To notice anything but him.

"Thea..." Newt's voice whispers. His presence doesn't comfort me as it usually would. Ben is dead. And he isn't coming back.

"He just left him here," I force out, grief choking me.

Leaves crunch under Newt's shoes as he walks towards me, but I keep my gaze glued to Ben, unable to tear my gaze away from the pale boy. Newt stops. "You can't stay here," he says softly.

"No one else will." I allow myself to look at him, his hair tangled and dirtied, tears building in his brown eyes. "I just need to be alone," I say, my voice cracking.

Newt studies me carefully, his eyes not leaving me — refusing to look at his friend sprawled across the floor, drenched in blood. "I'll be in the Homestead," he whispers hesitantly, a tear rolling gently down his cheek.

Death was always a concern, but I never thought it would have taken my friend. I always thought it would come for me first. And I never protected him. I never helped him. I'm more selfish than anyone else. Newt would have pushed Ben out of the way. Alby would have fought it off before it took him. Minho wouldn't have even needed pulling along to run.

I was too late.

And suddenly, it's not just Ben there, lifeless, the cheeky smile vanished from his face. It's all of them. Its Newt. Minho. Chuck. Thomas. Clint. Jeff. Alby. Winston. Frypan. Gally. Frankie. Tim. Jack.

Blood stains their faces.

And I fall back against the tree, surrounded by bloodied bodies and crushed by the inability to scream.

❀

The hammock's fabric is uncomfortable. It's itchy; I can't fall asleep. There are too many thoughts swarming my brain, too many images of Ben flashing before my eyes. It was nightfall when I left Deadheads, the stars staring helplessly down at Ben's body, unable to do anything. There's a stark difference between the stars and I.

I could have done something.

I used to love the stars, to see freedom glimmering in the light they provided in the darkness, but now I scorn them. I hate the stars. I scowl up at them in my hammock, one foot rocking me gently. I hate the stars. I hate the moon. But most of all, I hate myself.

"Say something," Chuck whispers in the darkness.

I don't want to answer him. I don't want to talk. I just want to scream.

"No," Thomas mumbles.

"Everyone knows what happened," he jokes. "Happened once or twice — some Griever-stung shank flipped out and attacked somebody. Don't think you're special."

He insensitive is he? How can he just make jokes about Ben like that? They were friends, weren't they? I bite my lip to stop the scream I've been desperately holding in from escaping. I need to scream at someone. I need to cry. Maybe then the sinking of my chest might disappear.

"Chuck," Thomas growls, "be glad I'm not holding Alby's bow right now."

"I'm just play—" Chuck starts.

"Shut up, Chuck," Thomas snaps, a lot harsher than he probably meant to, making me shift uncomfortably in my hammock. I hadn't even thought of how Thomas was affected. Another selfish move.

"Go to sleep," I say firmly to the both of them, my words opening up a ravine of silence, words falling into the bottomless pit.

I don't fall asleep under the stars I so hate. I don't sleep at all.

Instead, I stare up at the sky, envious of the freedom that the stars get. They aren't stuck here. And they don't have to worry about saving their friends.

—
Sorry for the wait... this one's a bit shorter because I feel like Ben deserved his own chapter, you know? And I wanted to keep that separate. This is following the plot of the books, so if you've read it recently then you can probably remember what happens next... istg sometimes tmr is more wattpad than wattpad ;)

Anyway, I would just like to take a moment to appreciate the amount of support I've received at the moment... it's absolutely crazy and I can't thank everyone enough for the reads, votes and comments. You all brighten my day so much. I love you all! <3

~ sophie xx
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