3 Michelle

My fists pound off of the wall one last time, as blood begins to spill out the sides. It's concrete, and won't give in to my rage and anger. Instead, I let my blood colour the walls. We have been trapped since I first became alive. Trapped in a moving cage, trapped in a clearing, trapped in a cement room. Never will we be free it seems, and all I have is my rebellion.

"Move off it, would you?" A voice calls from behind the door.

My feet planted firmly on the ground, I cross my arms and wait for the door to open. On the other side is a tall blonde boy, holding the tall blonde girl. They both talk the same kind of funny, and I think it's only fitting he be the boy to escort her to a prison.

"You'll be let out in a few hours," he lifts his hand and gestures for her to walk in.

She looks in, and he waits for her to walk in of her own accord. Much different from the tomato-faced boy, who through me in like a rag doll. My head is still bleeding from where it smashed off the ground, as well as my fist from where the slammed off the walls.

Moving my hair in front of my eyes, I check it's colour to realise I am staring down a bright red. Too fluorescent to be natural, I wonder what kind of bottle it came from, and what its natural colour is, and why would I dye it.

Probably because the colour suits the blood that runs down my hands well.

When he closes the door, the foreign girl peers around us in the cage, waiting for us to speak.

"How did you get back here?" The brunette looks up from her spot in the corner on the wall, and she cocks her head to the side. "You made it in the maze."

"One of them found me." The girl answers. "His name was Minho, saved me."

"There are monsters." The pipsqueak suddenly pipes in.

Since when has she known that? No one told us that in the time we got put here. Is she working for them?

"Yeah." The funny talker sighs. "They call 'em Grievers, and they are bloody terrifying. I'm lucky to have even gotten out of there at all."

"How did you know about those things?" I snarl, turning to the smaller girl.

"The boy who brought me here spoke." She shrugs.

Of course that's what happened. Not suspicious at all. It's always the ones you least expect who turn out to be the backstabbing traitors. I'm just surprised we managed to figure it out this soon.

"How long have you been in here?" The funny-talker continues.

No one answers, because no one knows. However long she has been out is how long we have been in here. I am aching to be free.

"So, what's our next escape plan?" I muster out. Not willing to accept defeat, I have to move on.

"There isn't one." The brunette's voice chills my next. It's low and solemn, but she speaks as if she knows the truth, and when she speaks everyone stops to listen.

I scoff, trying to brush it off. "There is always a next step. What are we doing next?"

"We are stuck, between a field of monsters, and a maze of monsters." The funny girl continues. "That thing I saw, I'd rather be around these idiots any second of the day then step foot in there without a plan."

"That's what this is." I begin, turning to face the girls behind me. They all stare at me, and I wonder if my voice has as much command as the brunette's did in that very second. It seems as though when any of us talk, the rest of us are really listening. "Making plan."

That isn't how this works. There needs to be a leader of any group, and if we are going to be in a coalition against those boys, we had better work together.

"That's what this isn't." The brunette continues, but I know if I bite back she will give in and let me take charge. "We aren't making a plan to get together and organised just so that we go out there and have to get back."

"Would you rather be here?"

"I don't think they want to hurt us." The funny-talker cuts in.

I scoff. "Yeah, sure, that's why they locked us up. Because they don't want to hurt us, and that makes sense."

The funny-talker rolls her eyes, and I look to the brunette with a challenge, and I watch as she falters.

"I'm not saying we should listen to them, and let them take charge of us." She corrects me, and I'm surprised to hear her speak at all. "Let's think this through, we need the time and the information."

"We don't need information." I shake my head. "We need the action. If we just try hard enough-"

"Quiet."

Everyone listens to the pipsqueak, as they wait for her opinion. While the rest of us have risen to standing, something I only just realised, she still sits. With closed eyes that crinkle, she concentrates on something I can't hear, nor can I see.

The door cracks open. On the other side is the funny-talking boy, and the leader.

"Locked her up for a good five minutes?" The brunette laughs.

"You want to stay in here longer?" The leader asks.

The brunette shakes her head, but none of us move for the door. As much as I hate being locked up, I'm not racing out of here. There is an expression that goes something about a frying pan, and a fire, and I'd rather not find that applicable here.

"No." The funny-talker answers. "The bonfire is this close?"

"What bonfire?" The brunette asks, tipping forward, closer to the door.

They're giving in to these boys, and floating towards them. Never mind the fact that all they seem to want to do is keep us locked up in a cage. For some reason our mere existence requires them to keep us trapped, and I don't trust any of them for one minute.

"Planning on staying in there all day?" He isn't talking to me, and when I dare to glance up, I realise he is looking at the brunette.

She stiffens, about to say something when the funny-talker takes the stage. "No."

Swiftly, she pushes past the two boys in the doorframe, and moves outside. The brunette is the next to follow, looking back at the pipsqueak. The last girl doesn't move for a second, before she stands up and walks over to me, standing with me in solidarity.

I may not trust her completely, but at least she shows some loyalty to me. Granted, it may be false. She might just be trying to trick me.

"Still not speaking?" The leader asks me.

Leaning off the wall, I push past him, my shoulder colliding with his body as I move on. I am so done with boys, and I've only ever known them for a couple minutes.

The light is coming from a roaring fire in the centre of the clearing. It's taller than a human, taller than anything I've ever seen as the flames lick the sky, and I can't help but be impressed by its height. It takes no time for me to move closer, before I am jogging up and under the fire.

Around it sit boys, most of whom are drinking a strange brown liquid from glass jars. They seem to be laughing, and running about, and suddenly this place doesn't feel so bad anymore. Through the chaos and laughter, and the lack of order I feel as if I can breath after what has been a lifetime under water.

"Hey ginger," a boy laughs as he sees me, moving up closer. "What a fancy sight for you to be here."

"Who let Ben have so much to drink?" The leader asks, moving around to see. "Where's Gally?"

I move past the boys, already done with their behaviour. Great, as if a pleasant moment couldn't be ruined. As if the only nice half a minute I have had here hasn't been stolen from me.

My feet find a way past them all, moving around the fire and over to the big house. Construction on it seems to have halted since the tomato-faced boy yelled at his crew to stop staring at us.

I move, sitting down on part of the construction site. The boards creak under my weight, and I can't help but notice how terribly constructed this building is. One foot out of place, and the whole structure will come crashing down on top of me. I sit on it anyway, doubting that I will make a mistake and tip it in one direction or the other.

"Hey why did you run away?" The drunk asks.

His feet slur beneath him and his mouth trips and tumbles along the words that spill out of his mouth. When he sees me, he runs a hand through his short blonde hair, tucking the longest strand behind his ear. As he moves closer, the liquid in his glass sloshes out and on to his hand.

"Why would I stay near you?"

He laughs at me, like I'm a joke, and continues to step closer. I don't back away, but still manage to stay out of reach. "Funny thing that, a shank like you would be lucky to have a shank like me."

"A shank like me would rather die." I spit, and at this he frowns.

"Come on, feisty, I'm just having fun."

I roll my eyes, stepping closer to him as the anger bubbles inside me. Waiting for him to lay a finger on me, begging him for an excuse to hit him. And how I want to hit him, so badly. Not just him, but every single smug little face I've ever seen, and every single pair of beady eyes that has been flashed in my direction. I want to beat in all the smug expressions on this earth, and all the people who put me here, and everyone I have met and have yet to meet.

"Please, doll." When his fingers touch my face I swipe them off of me, and he sways backwards. When his expression turns to anger, mine hardens. "Do you know who I am?"

"Do I look like I care?" There is no laughter in my voice, as I say it.

He reaches for me, and grabs me by the wrist. It wraps around me tightly, and when I reach to try to pry him off of me he does not budge.

"Let go." I mutter, but he pays me no mind.

"I'm Ben." He slurs, though he maintains a strong grip. "And you'll be screaming my name all night."

"I'm Michelle." The name is in my lips before it is in my head. "And I will be in your nightmares."

I move with my foot to kick him, but feel him torn off of me. His body rolls along the dirt, and he grunts but does not get up. Stepping closer, with a foot ready to kick him, I suddenly feel myself being pushed back.

In front of me is the tomato faced boy, who shoves me back slightly, but not harshly. As if he is afraid of harming me. I am not a delicate flower, and if he for one second thinks I am going to let him manhandle others while stepping into fights for me, he has another thing coming.

As if I wouldn't know his strength; he is the boy who attacked me, and brought me to their prison.

"I don't need you to help me." I spit.

He reaches up over to the side of the building, lifting a drink off of one of the planks of wood that holds its skeleton together.

"Please, as if you could've handled that." The jar is raised to his lips after he laughs.

I snatch the glass from his hands, raising it up to my lips. It burns like fire as it swims down my throat, and I only keep drinking. The glass is empty. I smash it off the ground, and it shatters in a bunch of pieces.

"Don't help me again."

~~~
Ooh, so Michelle is fun. I really enjoy her. Honestly, she is one hell of somebody to write. That's what I really enjoy about this story. Everyone is a totally different person, which is pretty rad. The final point of view will be up tomorrow.