The Glader

 As I sat back down at the Gathering's head, my heart was beating frantically. I was really going to do this. I was really going to convince every single Glader to go through more danger than they had ever faced, with stakes higher than we had ever known.

I wiped my sweaty palms onto my pants and said, "I think we should do this. Go through the Griever Hole."

"And why is that?" Winston asked, "Because you're best buddies with Thomas?"

"No," I said, feeling my anger burn, "Because it's the only bloody way. Do you know the way out, Winston?"

"No, but we have enough sense to know that the Griever's home isn't the way out," Frypan added, "We'll all get killed."
"Only one a night," I said.

"Oh, yes, I forgot," Winston rolled his eyes, "We're going to feed Thomas to the Grievers and make a run for it. And we say the Creators are evil."

Frypan sighed, "We're worse if we're going to do that. Let Thomas die for us. Weigh someone's life against ours."

"I'll do it." Minho stood up, standing strong amidst the surprised stares. Minho, the one who had wanted to escape more than any of us, who had endured more than any of us, who had run the Maze every day, so we could escape.

He was volunteering to sacrifice his life and his dream for us?

Heck, no.

"Minho, sit down," I said, "You're not going to get killed." I stood for effect. "We wanna escape, right? That's what the last two shuck years have been about! If we pass up this chance, the Grievers will keep comin'. And coming," I sighed, "Don't you shanks get it? Either we make a break for it, run like crazy, punch in that bloody code, and get outa here, or we all are killed off slowly, one by one. It might be one of you tonight. It might be me. And what are we gonna do about it? Sit on our butts and wait to get taken?"

"We'll die either way. We'll either get snuffed by the Grievers quick, or taken one by one slow. What's the freaking difference?" Jackson the Bagger asked.

It was Minho who answered. "I'll tell ya what the difference is," he said, his voice carrying throughout the entire room, "The difference is that we are makin' a stand. We have a chance. We're showin' the Creators that we still got spirit."

"We make a stand," I said, "We show that the last two years have counted for something."

That's when Clint stood up. "I'll go with you. I'm sick of being scared every freaking night, just waiting for my turn to die. I want to get out of this Maze, once and for all."

I smiled inwardly. I had gotten through to somebody, even if it was only one Glader.

Steven the Map Maker looked around, then said, "I suppose you're right. We can't go lettin' the Grievers walk all over us without any choices to fight back. Let's take a vote."

"Okay," I said, "There are two choices of what we can do. Number one is to do nothin', just keep waitin', and the second is to make a stand and run for it. Who thinks we should try to escape through the Griever Hole?"

Minho's hand went up first, followed by Clint, Steven, and many more. Finally, only Jackson's hand wasn't up. Even Winston was agreeing with the escape plan.

"What're ya thinkin'?" I asked him, "Why don't you want to try to escape?"

"It's causelessly risky!" was his reply, "We're all gonna die in five seconds flat, and it's gonna be your fault, Newt, you and Thomas."

"We don't know that," I replied.

Jackson sighed, "But, if everyone else is gonna do it, I suppose you can count me in. I don't wanna be stuck in the Glade alone with the Grievers."

"So you all agree we're gonna do this?" I said to the Keepers, staring around at all of their faces.

Looking grim, as if they had all agreed for their own execution, they nodded. And maybe they were agreeing to it. At least one of us would die.

"Great," I said, "We go tonight."