Being a medjack gives you too much time to think. Even though someone gets hurt almost everyday, it usually doesn't take that long to patch up. I'm not saying I want more gladers to get hurt, I'm just saying it's a boring job.

After I've organized and reorganized the supplies, I don't have much to do, so I lay down on one of the cots and think.

At first I think about the good stuff, how delicious breakfast was, what I'm gonna do after work is over, but after awhile I run out of good stuff and the bad thoughts come rushing in.

I'm worried about Newt, his cutting keeps getting worse. I want to help him, but I don't know how. I'll just ask him the next time he comes in. I'll tell him something like-

My thoughts are interrupted by a hesitant knock at the shack door. When I open the door I am surprised to see Newt standing on the other side, but I am not surprised to see his wrists smeared with blood.

I lead him to the small bed and go retrieve some medicine and gauze. "Did you come by yourself today?" I ask.

He flashes his eyes at me and then looks away. "Alby wouldn't let me run today, then he made me come and watched me walk the whole way," he says, still not meeting my eyes.

I finish wrapping his wrists in gauze, staining the once fresh, white fabric a deep crimson.

"Newt... you've got to stop this," I whisper. Newt exhales, his version of a laugh. "I understand that it's not the simple, but I can't watch you do this and I know Minho and Alby can't either."

He looks at his shoes and before leaving says, "I gotta go."