The pulsing Griever's body was almost pressed up against you now, and two of its spindly legs shot out, pinning you to the stone by your shirt. It raised something that looked like a giant syringe high above your head, and you braced yourself, trying to ignore the tears that had begun to flow freely down your dirt-stained cheeks.

 If you were going to die, you wanted to do so with whatever dignity you had left.

 An odd beeping sounded snapped you out of your daze, and you raised your head to get another glance at the creature, who was now twitching and writhing on the spot. It released its grip on you, stumbling back and slamming into the wall next to you, so hard that a few chunks of stone showered down on top of it. You fell to the ground, and quickly stumbled to your feet, unable to do anything more than stare incredulously at the scene before you.

 The Griever made another attempt to launch itself at you, but it was stopped mid-air, falling with a thump. The writhing became more intense, and the thing let out a single, ear-piercing shriek, then fell still.

 You just stood there, staring at the unmoving, bubbly mass that, just a few seconds ago, had been trying to impale you.

 It shuddered one last time, and its metal legs curled up close to the sluggish body, resulting in a horrible kind of squelching sound. It was hard to ignore the eerie resemblance it had to an old, dead spider.

 With that, you turned tail, and ran.

 Left. Right. Right. Left.

 You were turning blindly, following only the small pull you felt in the back of your mind.

 Left. Left. Right.

 It came as quite a shock when you stumbled upon the cliff. One second, you were twisting and turning through the Maze — the next, everything disappears. The walls, ivy, ground; it all ended in nothingness.

"What the..." You didn't have much time to process the thought, however, as a loud rumbling sounded, echoing throughout the Maze. It shook the ground, and you stumbled a little, struggling to regain your footing.

 Then it hit you.

 The doors. The doors were closing.

 You'd been so caught up in your chase, you hadn't even thought to glance at your watch — or even the darkening sky, for that matter.

 You didn't take your hands off your ears until the shaking had stopped completely, and even then, you were hesitant. A steady ring persisted in your head after everything grew silent again.

 Another clang, hardly distinguishable from the creaking and settling of the Maze, sounded from the greyness that was the cliff. Just briefly — then it was gone, and you probably would have thought you'd just imagined it if a blinding light didn't leap up from the depths of the cliff and momentarily blind you. Your hands flew over your eyes, but it continued to burn over your eyelids, to the point where it started to hurt.

 The light was a pure blue, and it looked like it only covered a small portion of what was beyond where you stood, though you didn't stand around enough to find out.

Scared and confused, you turned your back to the light and started quickly back the way you'd come with Thomas and Minho. The beacon faded as you ran farther and farther from it, eventually disappearing completely into the blackness of the sky.

 You took scattered breaks as you made your way back to the doors, each one longer than the first. You realized that you'd run all of that day, then pretty much all night; the thought exhausted you. Fortunately, you didn't have anymore Griever encounters, despite the occasional far-off screech that indicated the creatures were still prowling around out there.

 You made it back to the doors early morning, around four o'clock, and it was still dark out — but you were just grateful for the chance to rest for a while.

Against all odds, you drifted off, sleep washing over you like a dark wave; and you gladly welcomed it.

 A deep rumbling — at least three times as loud as the night before — was what woke you up. Your eyes snapped open, and you immediately jumped to your feet, only to fall back as the ground shook violently.

 You knew almost immediately what that meant.

 "Hey!" You cupped your hands over your mouth and screamed as loud as your raspy throat would allow, but it was a pitiful attempt against the mighty rumble of the stone. "Heeeeelp!" you tried again, but it was no use. You dropped your hands to your sides and let out a sigh of defeat. You'd have to wait until they were fully open.

 You glanced at your watch. 5:30. You'd only slept for around an hour.

 A line of light had appeared in the door now, starting at the ground, and climbing all the way up to the top of. It grew thicker and thicker, and every now and then, you caught quick glimpses of the Glade.

 What were you going to say to everyone? The thought washed over you, and any hope you'd managed to grasp at the opening of the doors, was instantly gone. You felt sick.

 Newt... He'd probably never want to look at you again. And Alby; not to mention, Thomas and Minho would be blamed for getting you into the whole mess.

 The shaking finally stopped, which was a relief — but you were dreading what came next.

 A boy you'd never met was the first to spot you, pointing and screaming at the top of his lungs. More ran over and moved towards you, and you began to recognize faces; Chuck, Jeff, Gally. Your gaze dropped to the ground before you could look for anyone else. You didn't think you could handle the shame you felt, and seeing Thomas or Newt's reaction to what you'd done, you decided. It would just make it worse.

 "Well, what do we have here? The Greenie!" You recognized Alby's voice almost instantly and opened your mouth to retort, but closed it again. There was nothing to say.  

 "And where'd you run off to?"

 The leader stopped right in front of you, but you wouldn't look at him, instead choosing to stare down at his tan combat boots.

 "I—" Your voice cracked as you tried to speak.

 "Well?"

 This was worse than you expected — Alby didn't once raise his voice. He sounded unnaturally calm, considering the situation. It scared you.

 "I needed—" but it was no use. There was no way you'd be able to speak then, without breaking down on the spot. The Glader seemed to understand, because he stalked over to you, and set a hand on your shoulder, gripping it tightly.

 "Go to the Med-jacks, just know I expect you to explain everything later. And I mean everything." He muttered, just barely loud enough for you to hear. You nodded curtly, still not meeting his eyes, and made your way slowly away from the doors, and towards the old shack. 

 It was humiliating, the walk through the growing crowd of boys, ignoring the spiteful comments, and many questions shot at you. You gripped your pack strap tighter and sped up your pace until you were almost running.

 The peace and quiet of your own room was heaven.

 Jeff had come up a little while after you, to the room you'd already settled down in. You'd gladly ripped your knives and backpack off and thrown them to the ground, then flopped down onto the bed.  

 He didn't say anything as he dabbed at your cuts and scrapes. It was an icy silence, which was almost as hard to bare as the remarks spat at you by the Gladers. Almost.

 "You're all good," he said finally, straightening up. "You just need a shower and some sleep." He had no idea how good that sounded in that moment.

 You nodded vigorously, accepting the spare clothes he handed you and walking briskly out the door.

 The showers were hidden away in one, discreet corner of the Glade, and you slipped quietly through the undergrowth, clutching your towel and clothes tightly to your chest.

 You welcomed the steady flow of warm water, then shivered as it quickly turned cold; like the Creators were teasing you — giving you a little taste of what life was like when you didn't live in a maze.

 "Must be nice having warm water," you muttered to yourself, kneading your scalp; cleansing your hair of any dried blood and/or Griever residue tangled in it.

 After toweling yourself dry, you slipped on the loosely fitting, cloth jeans and guy's tee-shirt that was at least three sizes too big. You gathered up your ripped, dirty clothes, and marched back outside, dropping your load off on your bed, before heading straight towards the Homestead. Straight towards Alby.

 Inside, Alby, Thomas, Minho, and Newt — along with a couple other boys you didn't recognize — were clustered together. You cleared your throat, and every head swiveled towards you.

 "A-Alby," you greeting, dipping your head. Suddenly, you were feeling a lot less confident. He nodded and beckoned for you to join them.

 "Are you ready to give us an explanation?" He asked slowly like he was unsure of your answer.

 "Yes," you said curtly, taking extra care not to look in Newt's direction. Minho and Thomas were staring at you incredulously.

 With that, you began your story, preparing for the worst.