SEVENTEEN
「slightly
unstable」
＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚

   WOULD IT EVER stop? This never ending cycle of terrible events. It had been going on for so long now that Sylvia wasn't even quite sure when it had started. Last week, with the murder? No, farther back. A few months ago, when she had been attacked by the Griever? No, farther than that. A year and a half ago, when George had died? No, even farther than that. Two years ago, when she'd woken in this godforsaken place? Yes, that's when it began.

   It had not been a straight forward line in continuing since she'd woken here. It was more of a circle. She relived past events often. In her dreams, and now, in her waking life. It seemed that she did not only relive past events, as she had just seen something that was not of the past. Maybe, of the future?

   Nick, dead and decaying. That's what she had seen. Was that of the future, or was her mind playing tricks on her? Sylvia hoped and prayed and begged that it was the latter. Let these visions torture her all they wanted, as long as they weren't true. As long as they remained visions.

   It had been a few days now, and to everyone else, she had seemingly gone back to normal. She had resumed her normal amounts of anger and speaking. The Glade had begun to ease back into normal routine. Kaylus, Wyck, and Diego had been released from the Slammer and were now kept under close scrutiny. They had all been demoted to being Sloppers, and kept under the watch of David, with a couple of Baggers on watch close by.

   The Greenie, Chuck, had also been placed with the Sloppers, as he didn't seem to be good at much else. The boy whined to Newt about having to work with the convict boys and how he was quite terrified of them. It was disheartening to Sylvia.

   On the first day of their release, Kaylus had suddenly broken out into spasms while cleaning in the Kitchen. Frypan had told the Council that he started mumbling to himself after that and ran out of the place in a hurry. The Keeper of the Cooks had watched the boy through the window and was too late before he realized Kaylus had intended to run into the Maze.

   He had yet to come back.

   On an even worse note, Clint and Jeff had decided they needed to test her hearing after hearing multiple complaints about it from Nick. To her utter dismay, they had concluded that she only seemed to be hearing out of her right ear and had gone deaf in her left. She had begged them again and again to do more tests, because they had to have been wrong. She couldn't deal with another thing like this. Not now.

   They told her it had to have been caused by the blunt force trauma to her head, where the spear had hit right against her ear. They said the hit must have damaged her eardrums. Sylvia said they were 'shuck idiots who didn't know what the hell they were doing.'

   Now, she frequently found herself mindlessly pawing at her left ear. Without her full hearing, she felt almost blind. In the Maze, her ears saved her more times than her eyes ever could. Her head kept turning to her left side, her right ear subconsciously trying to make up for the loss of sound on her left.

   So, to stack the problems on her agenda: her crappy ankle, she could see dead people, she probably has brain damage from the repeated trauma to her head, she still had to see two of the people who'd attacked her every day, she was deaf in one ear, and of course, Minho.

   Currently, she was trying to escape Minho. It seemed that everywhere she looked, everywhere she went, he was there. The thought of their last conversation was enough to make her stomach churn. It felt hard to look at him. How had he known so much about her? How could he just dig into her brain like that and spit it back in her face? She supposed that's just how it was with them, a game of who could hurt the other more.

   Now, she was walking as fast as she could with him on her trail, "Sylvia! Just let me talk to you!"

   She ignored him. She wished he would go away. She wished he would leave her alone for once in his life. She wished he would just explode, or something.

   Most people felt singular emotions within themselves. Happiness, sadness, anger, grief, contentment, so on and so forth. In Sylvia's world, there were complexities of emotions. There was no singular use for any one of them. Mostly, she just felt angry. In Sylvia's world, there were three kinds of anger.

   The first kind of anger was the normal kind. The kind of anger that most people felt. It was a brooding, steamy sort of thing. Loud and hard to swallow, but manageable. It would fade with time and be forgotten, a useless emotion to those who didn't know how to use it correctly.

   The second kind of anger was the one initiated by sadness. The kind that hurt and anguish fueled. It was a heavy, dragging sort of rage. One brought on typically by death, or loss. Not many people knew what it was to feel this, as it was reserved for only the ones who have dealt with loss over and over, the ones who had everything taken from them.

   The third kind of rage was the most dangerous. It was the all-encompassing, never-ending kind of rage. It was the kind you took with you wherever you went, the kind that never lets go. That hurts those who don't deserve it and those who do, for it can't tell the difference between innocent and guilty. It was the kind you kept stored for betrayal and revenge. The kind that made your skin feel tight as your chest wells with heat. It was the one Sylvia wielded the most often, and didn't know how to get rid of.

   It was the kind she was feeling right now.

   "Sylvia, please!"

   "No!" She shouted over her shoulder. She sped up her pace. They were causing a scene, as the duo usually did. Heads turned and ears perked as the two of them stomped their way through the Glade. They were next to the Homestead and continuing further.

   "Sylvia." He said with frustration and then grabbed her arm forcibly, dragging her behind the Homestead.

   She roughly broke out of his hold, glowering at him. Sylvia shoved his shoulders and he stumbled backwards, "Get your hands off me!" She seethed.

   Minho blew out a breath, "Syl, if you would just—"

   "Don't call me that." She spat, "You don't get to." She felt a bit ridiculous telling him that, as if they were children fighting on the playground over who was king, but George was the first person to call her that. Then it was carried on by Nick. Then Newt, Oscar, Cole, and others she was close to. George was the first person to call her that and partly because of Minho, it would never happen again. She would only hear it from the ghost of what was left of him.

   "Let me explain," He said slowly, breathing heavily from chasing after her. She subconsciously tilted her head so that her right ear could pick up on his words.

   "No! I don't want to hear it." Sylvia felt fire on her skin, live coal in her bones, "I don't want to talk to you. I don't want to see you. Hell, I don't want you within fifty feet of me! And I swear the next time you come anywhere near me, I'll break your fucking jaw."

   Sylvia scowled at the boy in front of her. He looked almost pained, like he was holding something back, itching to rid of some terrible thing inside him. Her glare didn't falter. She was done. Whatever tolerance she had begun to build to him was gone.

   If looks could kill, Minho would be long dead.

   SYLVIA WAS DIGGING. Not in the metaphorical sense, but in quite literal means of the term. She wasn't aimlessly digging for the fun of it. She actually had a purpose in the ridiculous endeavor.

   She was trying to banish the thoughts of a particular raven haired boy from her mind. The more she thought about it, the more she realized that she'd become accustomed to him over the past few weeks. She held a comfort in the fact that they'd rarely escaped death together twice now and neither of them had bothered to speak about it. He now knew things about her that she couldn't make him forget.

   So, she was digging.

   Sylvia began as soon as she woke. She had switched with one of the Runners so that she was no longer paired with Minho, and she took the day off from running entirely. She'd dug through the gardening shed Gally had built a little over a year ago for supplies. The musty smell of the shed made her want to sneeze.

   She'd secured her usual knife to her belt, along with a flask of water. The only thing she had was a shovel, and leather gloves to prevent blistering on her hands. She planned to work on this all day and night until she completed what she needed to do.

   The sun was uncomfortably hot on her back and sweat dripped down her face and caught in her brow. She reached up to wipe it away and left a smudge of dirt in her wake.

The plan was this: dig a hole that leads beneath the Glade and the Maze until she was far enough out, then dig up. She was going to dig her way out of the Maze.

   Newt was the first to come and question the girl. By that point, she'd only just started, barely five shovelfuls in. She had positioned herself next to the eastern wall of the Maze.

   "What the bloody hell do you think you're doing? You're ruining the nice soil!" Newt had yelled at her.

   "I'm digging a hole." She'd replied.

   Newt rolled his eyes at the girl, "Yeah, well I can see that. Why?"

   She didn't look over to him as she continued working, creating quite a dent in the ground now, "To get out of the Maze."

   He furrowed his brows at her before taking a quick glance around him to see if any of the others meandering around were confused by her digging. Most of them had learned to ignore whatever absurd thing she was doing. "And how exactly are you going to do that?"

   "What does it look like, twat?" She mocked his use of insults and threw him an irritated look, "I'm going to dig under the Maze walls and it'll create a tunnel to the other side."

   "Have you lost your damn mind?" Newt asked incredulously.

   "Shut up, Newt. You can stand there and stare at me or you can get a shovel and help."

   Newt sighed and grabbed a shovel. He knew she wouldn't stop until she was too exhausted to work or finally rationalized with herself. There was only one other person who could rationalize with her, and that was Nick. So, Newt just figured he'd play into this game until Nick showed up.

   So the both of them dug, attracting the questioning eyes of curious Gladers. Some came and watched them dig before figuring it was best not to ask questions. Sylvia scared the ones who started asking too many questions away by cursing them out and threatening them with the shovel. Newt had to diffuse the situation most times.

   Then Nick found them, as he inevitably would, and simply stared at them with his hands on his hips before asking, "What do you two think you're doing?"

   By that point they'd gotten around two feet deep. Newt answered, "Digging a bloody hole." He jumped out of the divot they'd created, patted Nick on the back, and handed him the shovel, "Your turn mate."

   Newt walked off back to the gardens and Nick shot him a bewildered look before settling his gaze on Sylvia. She was relentlessly digging, dirt flying over her head as she chucked the shovels of dirt onto regular level ground. "Syl, what's this about?"

   "Start digging and I'll tell you," She demanded.

   Nick jumped down into the small hole and started his effort of digging. He mentally sighed at the thought of having to clean this up later. "Why are we digging?"

   "To get out of the Maze."

   Nick made an obscure facial expression that Sylvia did not see, but he simply said, "Okay."

   They dug and dug under the heat of the sun. Sweat dripped down Sylvia's spine and her ankle started to ache a bit. "So," Nick started, "How long do you think this'll take?"

   She thought for a moment and then said, "Not important."

   Nick laughed and she glanced at him, "And if it takes days?"

   "Then it takes days." She shrugged. Nick was astonished at how unbothered she was, considering her behavior the past few days had been slightly worrying.

   "Drink your water," Nick said, changing the topic.

   Sylvia shot him an annoyed look, but complied. If he was going to dig with her, the least she could do was listen. They dug until Troye showed up with an inquisitive look on his face.

   "The shuck are you doing?"

   Nick gave the boy an exasperated look and threw the shovel to him. He scampered out of the hole, clothes and hands dirtied, and pointed a thumb accusingly at the girl, "Ask her." He then walked away, presumably to take a shower.

   "Before you ask, I'm digging a hole." Sylvia stated.

   Troye raised a brow at her, and then asked, "Any specific kind of hole? Are you planning a premeditated mass murder and this is supposed to be the burial sight?"

   She scoffed, "Get down here and help me."

   Troye began his shift of digging with Sylvia. It was almost midday now. Troye struck a proposition, "I'll dig with you for an hour, if we can stop for lunch once we're done."

   Sylvia scrutinized him under the brightness of the sun. Honeyed hair shining and cascading almost down to his shoulders now. She nodded her head at him. "Deal."

   So they dug as Troye pestered Sylvia about why they were digging. At this point, she was done giving out explanations and would try to let him figure it out on his own.

   "Just tell me why we're digging!" He whined like a child.

   "I'll give you clues, and you try to solve it." She offered, throwing a shovelful of dirt over her shoulder, "We're right next to the Maze walls. We're digging a large, deep hole that might possibly turn into more than a hole. I'm the Keeper of the Runners."

   "None of that correlates!" Troye complained, running a hand through his blond hair and causing it to stick up in all directions.

   "That's all you're getting. Work with it."

   "Whatever. I'm not guessing anymore," He sighed, "I didn't start digging this hole with you to solve mind puzzles."

   "Your choice." Sylvia said, close to laughing.

   Troye spun and pointed to her, as if remembering a crucial detail, "You still owe me a haircut."

   "I guess I do." She confirmed, "Would you like to schedule an appointment?"

    He pretended to think about his answer and said with sarcasm, "Does Saturday at three work for you? I've got hole digging lined up in my schedule right now."

   Sylvia nodded, "We're in the same boat. Saturday would be fine."

   Once lunch came, Sylvia kept her promise and entered Frypan's kitchen with Troye. Her muscles ached but she was grateful for the good meal. Frypan had teased her about her day's activities, but all she said was, "You'll be thanking me when we're out of here."

   After Sylvia had returned to the site of the hole, Troye went off back to the Bloodhouse. By then she'd started questioning if this was really the best idea, but she wouldn't back down. What she did do, was hop back down into the hole and resume her mission.

   Only a little while after she'd started again, Oscar and Gally appeared.

   "She's finally lost it." Gally directed the comment towards Oscar, who was watching her with amusement.

   "You know, I'm kind of in the mood for digging a hole," Oscar announced, slowly backing away from Gally and grabbing the extra shovel off the ground, a mischievous smile growing on his face.

   "Don't you dare." Gally scolded. Oscar smirked at the boy and jumped down into the ever-deepening hole. "You slinthead! We have work to do!"

   "And we can avoid it by doing this!" Oscar reasoned with the boy.

   Gally glared at the two of them in the hole. Both of them were looking at him expectantly. "Just join us, shuckface!" Sylvia shouted to him.

   "I hate you both," Gally grumbled, turning towards the gardening shed to grab another shovel.

   The three of them dug as the afternoon carried on. The hole was at least five feet deep now, and Sylvia was barely taller than it. She listened quietly as the two boys argued back and forth non-stop. Somehow, they had managed to come up with a new topic to argue about every time they finished arguing about another.

At first it was about being pulled from working on the Bloodhouse, then about the stability of the Homestead, then about the beauty of Troye's silky, long hair. Sylvia was surprised about the turn of conversation but was entertained nonetheless.

   "Tell me Sylvia. Have you ever felt Troye's hair?" Oscar posed the question to her.

   "I have, actually." Sylvia confessed.

   "What!?" Gally exclaimed, "I am so jealous right now."

   "Ugh, I know," Oscar groaned, "Just the sight of his hair makes me-"

   "Oscar," Sylvia interrupted, shooting him a look, "Shut up before you say something embarrassing."

   "There is nothing embarrassing about being a lover of Troye's hair!" He defended himself.

   "Gotta say, I agree with him." Gally said.

   Sylvia feigned shock at his words, "You two actually agree on something?"

   "Troye's hair is the one and only thing that brings us together," Oscar faked sentimentality, placing a hand on Gally's shoulder and looking longingly into his eyes before the three of them burst into laughter.

   Then Nick stumbled upon them for a second time and forced Gally and Oscar to get back to work on the Bloodhouse. Nick pulled Sylvia out of the hole as well and forced her to get out of the blaring afternoon sun and rest. Both of them lay in a nearby tree's shade.

   Sylvia lay with her eyes closed and with her head cushioned by the verdant grass. The soft blades tickled the back of her neck. She skimmed her fingers over the blades of grass around her, letting the dull points create sensation in her fingertips. Nick did the same not too far away from her, hands folded over his stomach and messy hair sprawled on the ground.

   Nick was like no other person she'd ever known. Kind, empathic, and charmingly witty. He was a curious creature; adventurous and continually searching for knowledge. He had glasses he probably should be wearing but always made excuses not to. He sported only two kinds of shoes: gorgeous brown work boots and terribly ugly loafers. For reasons unknown to her, he wore the loafers more than he did the boots and it almost physically pained her.

   The breeze brushed over her cheeks and she inhaled deeply. She could've fallen asleep then and there if it weren't for a voice that disturbed her growing sleepiness.

"Did you guys, like, stroke out or something?" She cracked an eye open and was met with the view of dirty blonde hair and freckles. Cole was squinting down at the two of them, still encased in his Runner gear. "Also, why is there a big hole over there?" He pointed to the hole a few feet away.

   "Sylvia was digging." Nick replied, eyes still closed.

   "Why?"

   "To escape the Maze," She peered up at him.

   His lips set into a thin line in confusion, "I'm not really sure how that would work."

   "Yeah, me neither," Sylvia admitted.

   "Oh, thank God." Nick groaned.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

bit of a filler chapter, but a fun one! ALSO SHADOW AND BONE SEASON 2 WAS AMAZING!! (ignoring the rushed ships)