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.*･｡. FLARES! .*･｡.
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009.
ACCEPTANCE.
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The glade was solemn.

   It was a grave silence. Which didn't occur often within the small community; they tried to keep sadness to a minimum in the glade; it wasn't always fun and games each day, but it was rarely this way — sad, morbid. Only in their dark days. But, that had been a long time ago, when the loss was far more common than the gain. That had faded with time, however. Now, the glade usually bursted with joy and chatter, rather than the current eery quiet. The dark times suddenly felt so close, as though they had only just left them behind or as though they were close ahead, returning along with that same, palpable anxiety of losing one another, all over again.

It was so solemn.

They all knew what was coming.

It hung around in the air, following them all day, but was never visible if they were to look. Like a shadow, sticking to their backs.

   Kennedy had originally to refused to be apart of the process, out of both guilt and sadness. It didn't feel right. Since she patched up Thomas, she had rest of the her day suffocating in the eeriness of her thoughts. She was only focused on two people, two people that she felt very strongly for. One being... well, he wasn't really anything to Kennedy, not beyond a boy she had known for two days, but the same boy had somehow become something to her, somehow. He was all she thought about, suddenly.

   Ben was the other boy, unsurprisingly.

   He was most of the thoughts that were haunting her brain, and she couldn't get him off of her mind. It hurt her heart, the idea of banishing a boy who had no self-control since being stung. None of the boys seemed to care for the circumstances — perhaps that was unfair of Kennedy to say, because the other gladers did care about Ben, very much so — and they had accepted Alby's decided punishment, little argument against it. He had attacked a glader, it was one of the biggest crimes in the glade, and so no matter what the reasoning, it was against the rules. Never hurt another glader. Never hurt another glader. Alby's voice had echoed in her head all afternoon; serving a constant reminder that she couldn't help the runner. She wasn't allowed to. Because he had broken the rules, and breaking a rule meant punishment. Ben had lost his chance of help, from that very second he leapt on Thomas. With that one movement, his life was over. He had to be punished. Kennedy couldn't deny that.

   If they changed the rules, they lost order. She knew that, and she knew it well enough to also know there was nothing she could do to change it. But, Kennedy had always been determined to help them when they needed it.

   It was Kennedy's personal mission to save each and every one of the boys in the glade. And it was killing her: all the guilt. Kennedy had vowed to get them out of that maze, and she'd do whatever it took to do that. She needed them to get out, and she was trying so hard. That was all she'd ever tried to do — she tried her hardest; it wasn't always good enough, however. 

   They still lost boys.

   Every time one of them was lost, Kennedy always mourned. It was no different this time, to the rest. Ben was another kid to add to the list.

   He was one of many lives lost in the glade, and it hurt; Kennedy had been in the glade when he had arrived. She had helped Ben out of that box. She had watched him grow over the years, as had she cared for him with her whole heart, and he had truly deserved a life out there. All of them did, but Ben especially so. He was one of the many that Kennedy had said she would protect, and yet this was the final result. The fate instore for Ben was horrifying. It was heartbreaking, and tragic, and very unfortunate. It seemed that the more kids that they lost, the less hope she had left for ever leaving this awful place. They were stuck.

   Ben was a sign; a sign that their chances were dwindling, day by day. Kennedy's hope shattered with every boy they lost, and she was worried that, some day soon, their would be no hope left, at all. As they neared that day, Kennedy wondered how close it would be. In her heart, she knew it would be sooner than she wanted.

Kennedy was clinging to hope, but it slipping between her hands seemed almost inevitable.

There was no hope for Ben — not anymore.

   It was cruel, but to get through that day, Kennedy tried to force thoughts of Ben out her head. The other boy, however, she found herself unable to stop thinking about. Those thoughts had lingered.

They just wouldn't go away. No only in that day but since he had arrived. Something about the boy was so incredibly familiar, and yet so new, at the very same time. He seemed a distant memory and his presence felt like a give, or take, of a once before. It was weird that she felt so strongly for such a new face, and call her crazy — but as she got to know him, she felt like they had some sort of... strange, old connection. Kennedy couldn't explain it, even if she tried.

Then again, she also hadn't felt the need to. The feeling was odd, although it was comfortable; more comfortable than Kennedy had felt in a long time. Like his mere presence comforted her in way she had never felt, before. Like he was supposed to.

   Thomas was a warmth to Kennedy. He was a light to ignite the dull spark of hope inkling within: he burnt the cold nipping at her soul. Thomas was the fire to set off a flare.

   Something about Thomas was so different.

So inviting.

   She couldn't shake the feeling.

   Nor, did she want to.

   Such an array of thoughts had mixed together quite sickeningly, and they had left Kennedy queasy. It sent her stomach off into a tumble of summersaults, chilling her to the bone. They were good at scrambling her head, if that had been the intent, and Kennedy felt the need to applaud their successes.

   Kennedy's brain was very much scrambled, and she had found it hard to think straight that afternoon. Luckily, no glader suffered a following injury that couldn't be handled by Jeff and Clint, since she and Thomas had their run in with Ben. Even so, Kennedy wouldn't have been helpful, if they had. Her mind was a mess, and she had been shaky and jittery, and terrible distracted. Clint and Jeff knew, and so they had left her to her thoughts. That hadn't changed. Not even as she stood by the maze doors, a wooden spear at her side; it seemed Kennedy was still distracted. She felt so useless — unable to help Ben, when she desperately wished she could. Kennedy couldn't help him, and so she was left to wallow in grief, instead. Her hands shook with the wood in her grip, while she waited alongside fellow council members. Although some weren't keepers of any sector of the glade, that included Kennedy herself, they were still apart of it.

   After all, it had been them who decided it, many years ago. None of the newbies had voted for it. Only those who had put that glade together; sculpted it, by hand.

   It was Kennedy who had decided on rules, and punishment. She could only blame herself — she was one of the few.

   She had voted for order.

   Kennedy had made her bed, and now she had to lie in it.

   The air was tense.

   It was filled with sorrow, and awaited regret. Each of them knew what was to come — apart from Thomas — and they were aware of the rules they had created and chose to enforce. Yet, when their guilty party was marched through the crowd of gladers with heavy sobs wracking his body, none of them could quite believe what they were about to do. They had done it before, in the dark times, but it never got easier.

   Would it ever get easier? Kennedy didn't know, but she doubted it with every fibre of her being. Her own body quivered — every one of her bones trembling, and knees knocking together. She tried her best to keep her face blank, neutral, as to not scare the newer boys.

   Refusing to let her eyes travel any higher than ground level, the girl sucked in a deep breath. She couldn't cry. Not right now. That could come later — wasn't the time to be weak; it was time to face the music, and follow through with their rules in the glade. Order was key. They needed order to survive. Their rules had been made to be followed, not broken. Breaking the rules amounted to chaos, and they couldn't afford chaos. Not again. Chaos was in their past, they had no intention of returning to it. Kennedy remembered the chaos well. Once, it hadn't been so organised. Alby brought them a long way, since then. And while Kennedy found immense pain in letting Ben go, she felt more pain in losing many.

   Did that make her a bad person?

   Perhaps it did. Maybe she was a bad person, maybe they were all bad people. But the gladers had done what they had to, in order to survive. Who they were and what they had to do to survive were two very different things. That didn't make them criminals. That made them human; kids.

   Kennedy had wanted to save everyone, of course she did.

   But, she couldn't. Life didn't work that way. It was important for her to remember that it was no fault of her own — it was the fault of the monsters who had put them in there, in the first place. They were the ones letting kids go insane. They were the ones killing the innocent children they had locked, up there. Not Kennedy, as guilty as she felt. Kennedy wasn't the bad guy, here.

   She was good.

   All of the keepers were silent; Minho marched Ben towards the maze doors. No one dared speak. The only sound was the slice of the rope binding Ben's wrists when Minho cut him free.

   It felt like betrayal. It felt so, terribly wrong. Kennedy wondered if Minho felt the same way, although his face remained stoic. He'd always been hard to read when it came to emotions. She knew that he must have felt remorse; Ben was a brother to him. However, the keeper of the runners had always been good at detaching his actions from his emotions. Minho knew what was inevitable and he knew, as a keeper, it was his job to do what had to be done. Greater good, and all that. Minho was good at it.

   As was Newt, who'd allowed his body to shield Kennedy's vision for as long as he could, and moved only when it was necessary. His thin frame protected her from the sight, which she was grateful for in the moment.

   Ben had gone mad; he was spluttering and he was screaming, in hopes of someone helping him. All the second-in-command could do was prey — to whoever may have been up there — that all this wouldn't haunt Kennedy's mind, for months on months. The prior banishments certainly had.

    "Please! Please— don't do this!"

   Kennedy felt helpless while the group watched on.

   Not listening to Ben's pleads, Minho grit his teeth and slung the small bag of the runner's items into the depths of the maze. That action made it official, and it erased any morsel of doubt in their minds; any hope of Alby changing his decision disappeared when the material scraped along the concrete. And, when a gust of wind caressed their faces, they knew it was time. It was too late to rescue Ben from his fate — it was happening, and it was happening now.

   The keeps began to close in, on him.

"Please, no—!" Ben cried, spinning in a circle and searching for a way out of the mess he had caused. "Listen! Listen to me! Just— just please, listen to me!"

"Poles!"

   Every keeps followed Alby's command and took their wooden instruments, jabbing them in the Ben's direction. It was a torturous scene, one that made it look as if they had no care for their own people, but it was necessary. Ben would try with all his will to pass them and run for it. That had happened before, and Gally had no choice but to form contraptions with his builders that would stop it from happening, again. They were blunt, and would not cause any harm if used correctly, but it still felt inhumane. It seemed the little community were ready to rid any person, at any time, and use any means to do so. And in a sick, and twisted way, they were. They did what was necessary if it meant saving others; it was the only way. It was how they kept the order and peace.

   Alby continued, "Move in!"

"No— no, no!" Ben's words hit the girl right in the heart, a heart that yearned for his next words to be true, "I can get better! I can!"

   Kennedy wanted to help him get better. There was nothing she wanted more. Sometimes, being the only girl meant that she was listened to by the council. However, even being the only girl hadn't been enough to persuade them. Not this time.

   Avoiding eye contact was her best efforts in keeping herself held together, and she pushed foreword with her fellow gladers, and the the size of their semi-circle gradually grew smaller. The time came quickly, and the walls found their way together, seeking homogeny as the sun dropped past the stone tops. Kennedy felt even more sick, now.

"Please, stop— please!" Ben begged, "Alby!"

    "I'm sorry, Ben." Alby sighed, "But, it has to be this way."

    "But— but I can get better! I can!" He turned his head to look at Kennedy, eyes teary and dark. "Kennedy can help me! She can! She helped Gally— she can make me better! Kennedy!"

   Her heart broke in her chest. By then, Ben was already standing within the iron clutches of the maze. Just a few more steps, and he would be been trapped forever; he would be dead and his last cries would have been for Kennedy to help him. But, she wouldn't. She had no choice in this. Her hands were trembling too much to hold the wood securely, and it shook about in her grip. Everything, was what it took for her to hold in her sobs, it took everything she had as they got closer. Ben was going to die.

   Nobody survived a night in the maze.

"Push him in!" Chin high, Alby instructed them. His demands did not go unheard by the gladers, and every one of his loyal boys huddled together one last time, in an effort of unison, trapping the runner where he now belonged.

   Once he was between the walls, too far to return, Newt carefully guided Kennedy aside. He didn't want her to see Ben as he met his awful fate, just as he hadn't wanted her to see any of the boys they had lost. She was the strongest person around, but when it came to life or death, she was sensitive — she didn't need to be apart of this, and Newt didn't want her to be. He simply couldn't.

   Kennedy hadn't wanted this. None of them had, not really. But she was the best of them, and Newt kept her as shielded from that as she could.

   Every time, he hid her behind his back.

   He wanted to protect her.

    "No!"

    "Don't resist, Ben!"

    "No!"

   Kennedy sobbed.

    "No! No!"

   The bile rose up her throat, burning her mouth as the foul taste tingled upon her tongue. She stuck the end of her spear into the ground for support, worried that if she didn't hold it with dear life then she would wind up a heap, upon the ground. Her other hand held onto Newt's shirt, and she clung to it like a lifeline. And then, before she even knew it, the doors had closed shut.

"He belongs to the maze, now." Alby said.

   Perhaps life out there, beyond the wall, was better than in here.

   She hoped.

————

   Kennedy sighed.

   For her, the rest of her evening had been spent locked away in the safety of her room, inside the homestead. She didn't leave it.

   Only the keepers slept in there, while the rest of the boys slept in hammocks in the village, but being that she was the only girl glader and one of the first kids sent up, Kennedy had always been given a room. She had trusted every single boy unequivocally, and knew it unlikely that they would harm her, but Newt and Alby had wanted to be sure — better to be safe than sorry, they said.

   Around about now, she was glad.

   Ben's banishment had not been easy to digest. Not for the girl, at least. It was difficult for everyone to lose a boy, but it always hit her hard. After all, she didn't see him as just a glader. He hadn't been  just another boy; he was her friend. Ben was a brother, and she had put her trust in him to take her position as a runner. The moment she had helped him from the box hole, and he had bounced with so much energy, she had known that he could take it. It hadn't been long before Ben had adjusted to glade life, and she had known that he was the one. He was going to go in that maze, and he would be their best hope to help Minho find a way out. Ben was a good kid; a really good kid.

   He had also jumped at a chance of running. A lot of them had wanted to be a runner when they arrived, seeing as the walls held so much mystery. Naturally, greenies yearned to be a runner, to be free and searching, but not all of them were cut out for it. Like the other jobs, you had to be chosen to be a runner by the council.

   You tried every job in the glade, and then the keepers held their meeting and decided where you got put. Most of the gladers didn't have what it took to be a runner, but Ben had. He had always been reliable, and trustworthy, and he made a good team with Minho. It was a perfect match; they both held the same motivation and drive to find a way out of the maze, and Kennedy had quickly decided he was perfect, and she was okay with not being able to run like she'd used to. anymore. Someone else shared her passion to get out, and Kennedy was able to rest knowing Ben felt it, too.

   Now, she couldn't rest.

How could she?

   The fact that she might have been able to save him was by far the worst part. It plagued her mind. Ben had been stung — it wasn't his fault that he had done what he did.

He was out of control. If Alby had given her a chance, then he might have been nursed back to health. Kennedy could have tried to help him. Didn't Ben deserve that? He was still human, after all. Ben had been one of them.

   So far, only Gally had recovered from a griever sting. A small part of Kennedy hoped that Ben could have been the next one.

   It was such a pity, that it was too late.

   Newt and Minho had attempted to visit her, mainly to make sure she was alive and well, but the girl had merely dismissed them and told them to head to bed. She knew that it wasn't their fault — all of them had been expected to send the boy on his way — but part of Kennedy didn't want to admit that. Knowing what they had all done and being apart of it herself had made her feel physically ill, and she was searching for someone to blame so she didn't have to face what she had done; what they had all done. But unfortunately, that was how their rules worked. If they didn't enforce them, then how would they maintain order? There was no time for feelings, for exceptions. Alby told Kennedy that. The rules made cogs turn, and it made their society work. Order kept them safe — and it kept as many of them alive as they could. They needed rules, even though they sometimes hurt.

"Kennedy?"

   She jumped at the sound of the voice, brows cinching at the top of her nose as she pushed her body from its reclined position. The bed creaked, and she found herself gently smiling, for an unknown reason. Their voice was recognisable, and it made her smile, softly.

   The first smile, since losing Ben.

    "Who is it?" Kennedy croaked out, clearing her throat while the door slowly swung open. It hadn't been fully shut.

    "Hi," they said.

"Tom," she greeted, unsure as to why she hadn't told him to go away, or to leave her alone, like she had done Minho and Newt. It seemed almost automatic to accept him in, like he had some kind of effect over her that she didn't quite understand. Would she ever understand it? There was no way of knowing, but she really hoped so. "Uh— hi?"

   Kennedy had originally assumed that Thomas would have had another question, a general trend with the newbie, that he hoped she would answer. But, much to her surprise, that wasn't the case.

    "Y— you missed dinner, so I thought I'd bring you something to eat." Thomas almost mumbled, now feeling a little embarrassed by his actions. His ears tinted pink. "If you aren't hungry, I can bring it back. I shoulda asked..."

    "Huh?" It was then, when he shifted awkwardly, she noticed the bowl in his hands. Steam floated from the top of it, in misty waves, and confirmed her suspicions: it was Frypan's stew. Kennedy noted the way that he shuffled on his booted feet, finger tapping the edge of the bowl in what could only be inferred as anticipation, but she was too distracted by the thought of the food to question him — it was becoming apparent how hungry she actually was; her stomach made a gurgling sound. They both laughed. It was a sweet gesture, perhaps the sweetest she had ever received, and the small smile sat on her lips grew. Damn, this boy. "Ah— thanks, greenie."

   Naturally, he squinted at the name.

   She eyed him teasingly, her mood improving significantly, "You can come in, ya know."

    "Oh!"

   Another flush of embarrassment painted his cheeks crimson, a common occurrence around her. Thomas was a confident boy at heart and around the other gladers, but something about this girl made him melt. His persona shifted involuntarily, and sensitivity kicked in. She made him feel vulnerable, innocent. Every inch of bravery washed away whenever he was with her.

   Regarding the incident, Thomas felt closer to Kennedy. They had both experienced it, and he supposed nothing made people closer than sone shared trauma.

   And, she didn't appear to be angry with him, despite the blame he had been given by Gally and a couple other boys. They hadn't stated their blame, not yet, but he knew. That much was obvious. It lingered in the air like a bad smell; they wanted to blame him, badly.

   Kennedy didn't blame him, like they did.

   She was good.

    "Thomas?"

    "Hm?"

    "I said, come in."

    "Oh, yeah..."

   Following her instruction, and stepping into the room with one stride, Thomas found himself admiring the interior. He was sure as heck that he hadn't been any sort of artist in his last life, but the room struck his appreciation. It wasn't anything much— it was the same rickety structure that each of the other keepers slept in, that he had observed when Chuck showed him where to find her, but it was different; warmer. In every corner sat a different plant. There were an array of succulents, blossoms and daisies, as well as sprigs of lavender scattered here and there. Thomas surprised himself by recalling the names of most of them. Some were unidentifiable to him. Her room was different to elsewhere in the glade, especially his own sleeping arrangement. Her room was calmer, quiet, and those four walls lacked any boy other than himself, right now. He felt at peace there, and he wondered if Kennedy slept better than he had the night before. Hammocks were rough.

   Kennedy acknowledged the awe upon his face after handing her the bowl, and noticed the way his deep eyes raked over the flowers and plants. She smiled, softly.

    "Newt."

    "What?" He furrowed his brow.

    "Newt brings me a new plant, each time they grow a patch. He knows I like 'em, and stuff." Kennedy said. Brief memories of her friend doing so flashed through her mind; the thoughts were good ones. "Sweetie— right?"

"Right," Thomas nodded, "How long ya known each other?"

   As he spoke, he made his way around the room, taking the time to admire each plant. Perhaps, in his old life, Thomas had been a farmer rather than an artist. Although, he doubted it. Judging by the work he had done that morning in the gardens, Thomas didn't have a green thumb, even if his life depended on it. Never the less, the boy could still admire, and he giggled when a sprig of lavender tickled his nose, as he sniffed it. Kennedy held back a giggle of her own. Cute.

    "A long time."

    "How long, is long?"

"Seven hundred and sixty-three days," she answered, knowing it by heart. "I was the greenie up, after him. I like to think we used to know each other— before all of this, I mean. It kinda feels like I've known him my whole life... does that even make sense?" She asked openly, not expecting an answer. "I dunno, I just... I feel so at home with him, ya know?"

   Thomas envied their friendship, slightly. He wondered what it was like to have a bond like that, and he entertained the idea of ever having one with either of the two — perhaps even both, if it were possible. He liked them the most, trusted them. Other than Chuck, most of the boys had taken a disliking to him as soon as he had shown up. While Thomas couldn't remember being close to anyone, with no memories and all, and in the glade he felt like the odd one out. He didn't fit in, not yet.

"Do you remember anything, before this?" Thomas sighed, and finally turned to look at her as she ate. "Like— who you were?"

"Not really..." A but shocked that she had opened up to this boy, a boy that she had known no longer than two days, Kennedy felt her heart accelerate. For some reason, it felt right to speak to him about this. "Only my name, and how old I am. I remember a few things, like learning how to read and write— but, I dunno who taught me. It's all a weird blur; bodies without faces."

   He understood, "Yeah, I get you."

    "You do?"

    "I've been having strange dreams..." uncertainty crossed his face and he shrugged, "...I dunno."

   Deciding to salvage the somber tone, Kennedy allowed her hand to pat the empty space beside her. She moved to sit, legs crossed, a tender smile made just for him. The action told him take the seat, and he did, with zero hesitation. He was eager to, could she tell?

"So, greenie—" the girl placed the empty bowl on the ground, focusing solely on the boy next to her. He gave her a gentle glare at the name that had appeared once again, and she cleared her throat. "—Thomas." He seemed satisfied, and Kennedy continued with an eye roll. "You've been here two days, and they've been a bit rocky, but what do you think?"

   Choosing to ignore the incidents he had already been apart of, what with Gally shoving him down and Ben trying to kill him, he could only find himself shrugging; "It's been... eventful."

"It'll get better," she promised, "It'll be home, soon enough."

   Thomas didn't look convinced.

    "Really, it will." Kennedy repeated, "We're a family, here. It's not always easy, and sometimes we have to make tough decisions, but we're a family. And you're apart of that, now."

   A genuine smiled crept onto his face, at the sound of it. Those words brought him the comfort that he had needed, and Thomas suddenly felt much better. Relieved. Thomas felt immense relief to know that he had Kennedy, and that he was accepted by her. That was all that Thomas needed, he realised; he needed Kennedy.

"You're one of us now, Tom."

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