It never rains in the glade
OK so can I request like a different type of imagine? Like what Newts point of view was when Thomas, Minho, and alby spent a night in the maze? (I'm perfectly fine with newt crying ;);))
--anon
yes yes yes yes yes and YESSSS.... I am a complete sucker for Newt stories. I can’t help but pick favourites he's my baby!!! any how i hope you like how this turned out i loved the idea for the story!!!
Newt’s POV
“Thomas NO!!!!” Newt yelled as he reached out for Thomas.
But he didn’t reach out soon enough. His fingertips grazed the material of Thomas’s shirt-back and then… he was gone. The doors were closed. Thomas, Minho, and Alby were trapped in the maze. Overnight.
It never rained in the glade but today it poured.
One by one, all of the boys walked away from the maze doors. All but Newt. He couldn’t bring his feet to carry him away from the now closed entrance to the maze. Chuck had tried to say things to comfort him, but they fell on deaf ears. Newt couldn’t hear anything besides the echo of the doors grinding shut, locking his best friends in the maze. Condemning them to death. But Newt couldn’t accept that. They couldn’t die in the maze. Sure, no one had survived a night in the maze so far but they weren’t Tommy. They weren’t Alby. They weren’t Minho. They weren’t his best friends. He knew those guys, he knew how smart they were and how tough they were. He had to have hope. He had to have hope or he’d die too.
Newt wasn’t sure how much time had passed since he’d been staring at those doors but at some point his body must have collapsed because he now knelt in the grass before them. His hands were fisted into the blades as if gripping the grass tighter would somehow hold him together. It wasn’t working though. He could feel his heart racing with fear for his friends. He was so scared of losing them.
Sure he had just met Tommy, but regardless of that, he loved the kid. He was curious and spunky and driven. He was exactly what the glade needed. The spirit of the boys had died. Newt’s spirit had died, but Tommy was able to bring it back to life in only a few days. Something about the boy made Newt feel whole again.
And Alby… Alby was the leader. Alby and Newt always made jokes about how well Newt could run the glade without him. But, Newt never wanted to see how true those jokes held to be. Alby was an amazing leader, he kept the boys motivated and made sure none of the shanks got too sad. Newt needed Alby, they all needed Alby.
Minho. Newt’s oldest friend. They had been through everything together. When Minho and Newt were both runners in the early days of the glade they had spent almost every hour of every day together. And when the days ended and neither one of them could sleep because of the amnesia or nightmares they passed the nights together too. They would tell stories or share their hopes with each other until sleep would finally claim the boys. No one knew Newt better than Minho, and he was sure no one ever would.
He couldn’t stand it if he lost them. He couldn’t. If they died out there tonight, he’d reenter the maze and try to finish what he’d started that day he got the limp.
His mind had gotten the best of him. He’d promised himself that he would hold onto hope, but here he was practically writing the shanks’ eulogies. A drop of water fell on to Newt’s dirty tank top. It never rained in the glade but today it poured.
Newt continued to stare straight at the cold stone all throughout the night. He didn’t sleep. He wasn’t even sure if he blinked let alone breathed. The hours passed agonizingly slowly but eventually dusk became dawn and Newt was sure the doors would be opening soon.
He mustered all of his strength and lifted his body from the cool grass. He stood facing the doors clenching his fists. In his clenched fists were every fear he had for the moment when the doors opened. His hands suffocating the possibility that when the doors opened the aisle in front of him would be empty.
His heart resumed its erratic pacing when he heard the familiar groaning of the doors. It was time. He held his breath as they slowly drug along the ground until they were fully open. At the very end of the long maze corridor were 3 ghosts. Or at least that was what they had to be, because no one survives a night in the maze. But… Newt was pretty sure ghosts don’t hug and the moment his ghosts reached the threshold of the glade that is exactly what they did. They wrapped Newt in a hug and didn’t let go. Newt thought briefly that there was a storm coming as he rested his head on his ghosts’ shoulders and let the clouds that had built up in his heart release. It never rained in the glade but today it poured.