The Trials


12. chapter twelve


Eleanor's POV

The grievers have gone back into their holes- or wherever they go- meaning that i won't be eaten alive.

At least today... I'm still lost deep in the maze and i don't know my way around like Minho or Thomas. I'd don't know if they'll come back for me, but i'd understand if they didn't.

They just escaped they maze. Why rush back in to save a girl they just met? It's just not reasonable.

I inhale deeply, and slump down with my back to the wall. I never thought i'd die in the midst of a giant maze like this one. But part of me knew something more- but it, like my other memories, was just out of reach.

But lately thats all i've been doing recently..

Trying hopelessly to grasp memories that i no longer have access to. Memories that were stolen, like my family and life.

Trying to remember was like trying to take extra food from frypan.

Useless, and impossible.

My head lolls to the side as i try and spot some clouds, a sun, birds, something!

But just like everything else, i end up disappointed.


“They do bad things momma. Please don't make me go away.” The young girl in front of me pleads with big, watery eyes. Her pigtails swing around her head as the girl shakes uncontrollably.

“Baby i'm sick. You know that. I can't get better without that genius little brain of yours, and your fathers blueprints.” The woman says, almost too urgently.

“Help your sick mom Ella. Don't be selfish. WICKED is good...” Her voice echoes eerily around me. Mind and body, my ears ring.

She sounds so familiar...

Then i realize: little girls father is one of the Founders of the maze trials..

My father wants me dead..


I'm shaken out of what feels like a dream with a jolt. The ground under me is moving, but my feet aren't on the ground..

None of me is.

I look to the sky and see the big, brown puppy dog eyes of Thomas staring determinedly ahead whilst panting heavily.

I think he's carrying me. Moaning, i curl into a smaller ball. I don't know if whatever "that" was was a dream, or real life- but it feels real.

Sweat lines my brow and my breathing is shallow.

Why would my own father put me here?

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