The Rogue Variable

My hands were numb after they gripped ivy by ivy. Blood dropped from small cuts on my arm, a few thorns embedded in my soft flesh. The smell of the maze was calming, yet chilling at the same time. The smell of vegetation, of leaves, but also reeked of grievers. Or was that just my memories playing tricks on me.

I had reached halfway up the wall, and it had taken me about 30 minutes. I relied on my internal clock, and took in the information at how accurate it actually was. Tying myself down, my chest heaved with heavy breaths. Might as well take a break. My eyes soaked in the details of the maze, the details I had missed during my frantic night playing hide and seek. More like hide and kill.

The walls were a dull grey, but the shading was intricate. Parts of it seemed to be crumbling, but I knew they were massively sturdy; I had been up close and personal with them. The floors mimicked the grey walls, there smooth surface only interrupted by the stray gap, or blemish. The ivy on the wall was dispersed between the columns. It was in thick clusters, and when the clusters ended or began, it was wistful swirls. I wonder if the Gladers ever tracked the growth of them, to test if they're actually real.

I came to a surprising revelation. The maze was beautiful. In a terrifying way, it's mystery and it's eerily cast shadows made it a primitive beauty. The nature in itself, reminded me as a person. The glade was your heart, the pump, the life. The maze was you, all your struggles masked in confusion, all your decisions as frequent as every turn. And the Grievers, your regret. Regret at bad decisions; the little voice in the back of your head saying 'you were wrong' . And the cliff, your brain. Limitless, yet dangerous all the same.

I quickly untied my bonds, and began to climb once more. I was halfway there, and my drive to succeed had already overpowered my logic.

The top of the wall was unexpected. I imagined, when I reached the top of that wall, I would see the whole maze, I'd find a way out, and maybe in truth, find the way out of what I was feeling inside.

I was so wrong.

The maze was limitless. It expanded past the horizon, like the endless sea. It was a sea of never ending despair, crushing my hope of being free. Of finding out who I am. Or who I was.

I reveled in my thoughts, it's wave crashing across me like I was the shoreline of the ocean. It carried questions, all which had no answers. How many grievers must there be to cover all of this? In this mass of a maze, how do they find us? Why are we here?

What did I do to deserve this?

To watch my friends and my family, grow old. Grow old in a place where their hope lies on the shoulders of a few teenagers who run the maze. A few teenagers who lock themselves up in a stout room. Why do they need to seal it. We're all living here, and we all need to be rescued. Unless, a regular glader, walks in. Hoping to see what makes the runners so fierce, so full of drive. To find nothing.

To find we've found nothing, and that's why we run. Because we don't have enough information. Because to start a puzzle you have the corners, and you fill in the middle. But all we have are scattered pieces, each piece from a different puzzle.

The runners vow to make those puzzles fit. By going out there everyday, on false hope, the vow to make a new picture out of those puzzle pieces. That's why it's so hard to become one. A regular glader wouldn't be able to carry the weight of all this, and I take that into consideration. Minho, the keeper of the runners, has to wear a mask. A mask that hides his despair, knowing that though he doesn't directly lie to the GLaders, he is. That they think we gain information everyday. Everyone knows the maze is a pattern. And what do patterns do?

Repeat. Over. And over. And over.

So why do people think it changes? Why do people ignore everything the know about patterns, and believe that there is more?

Blind faith.

Because with out it, we lose our drive. Our want. Our lives. What makes my head spin, and turn, and wrap around 50 times; is that I came up with two years worth of a teenagers pondering, in ten minutes. I had to stand on top of the world, climb to the top of despair, to see the truth. If it is.

Truth is not what is, and what isn't. No, being in the maze has taught me that lesson. It's how you look at it. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Truth is in the mind of the portrayer. You could believe something so much, It could become true. And that's the gladers. The hope so much on getting out, it's become a truth that eventually, it's what their destined to do. Stories wrap around it. We need to solve the maze because it's what the creators have planned.

But I won't. I won't solve it because some scientists want the mouse to find the cheese. I'm going to solve it because I'm sick and tired of being the mouse. I will turn them from cats, to elephants. Animals that think they have power, but are scared of a little mouse. That have to keep it in a cage so big, because who knows what the little mouse could do if it got out.

The mouse doesn't have strength, it has words. Knowledge. And a will to survive.

I began to climb down, for I am not planning on crashing at the Grievers house again. I ignore the slight stinging throughout my body, and begin my charted course to the glade. I subconsciously follow the route I had used before, and would think about it later. My brain was exhausted.

I ran past the doors right when they began to shut. I beelined for the deadheads, and slumped down against the wall all the way in the back.

I must've fallen asleep, because it was pure, consuming darkness when I awoke. A blanket had been lain across me, and I smiled as I breathed in the scent.

Newt.

Instead of sleeping in the forest, I decided to go to the homestead. Though distance will be needed, I needed to indulge myself in some trust.

The homestead creaked as I crawled up the stairs, trying not to awaken slumbering boys. Newts room was as dark as ever, but I already knew my way around by memory. I slid into bed, and could feel newts figure beside me. As I pulled under the covers, he unconsciously wrapped his arms around me. I took in his warmth, and snuggled back.

"Good night," I whispered, but barely heard the words, as I blissfully welcomed sleep.