Tears of Glass
Newt was shaking.
Ben lay on the dirty forest floor, sticky blood seeping out of a cut in his head. Newt clutched at Thomas’ shirt, clasping him tightly for security. Despite the cold that had cloaked the woods, Thomas could feel warmth spreading from where Newt touched him softly.
He could hear the footsteps of the other Gladers, running through the woods, presumably having heard Thomas’ words and Newt’s yells for them. Alby was at the front, face full of concern for Newt. Alby yanked Newt up and hugged him roughly, glaring at Thomas.
“What happened?” Alby asked Newt, a few of the Gladers crowding behind him.
Newt shook his head, completely bewildered. “Ben - h-he - he just went crazy! I don’t know.”
“Come here.” Alby ordered Thomas. “Come here. Now.”
Thomas walked over to him, wiping the dirt off of his trousers.
Alby’s teeth were clenched together. “What happened?”
“I - like Newt said - he was just insane!
Alby turned back to the Gladers behind him. “Check over Ben. Let’s see.”
The four boys nodded and turned Ben over, the blood-matted hair making Thomas flinch. He saw blood on a regular basis, and that was why he was so awfully triggered by it. Blood had every negative connotation in the book.
“Lift his shirt.”
The blonde one (Thomas didn’t know his name, and it was in that moment that he realised that he didn’t know any of them. None of the names of the people who had died, who had died and enabled his escape were names he knew. They were never honoured.) lifted Ben’s shirt.
And there, as Thomas knew, was the mark for all of them to see.
There were a few gasps, but Alby’s face was stoic. “Take him to the Pit.”
“Alright.” The blonde boy said, ragged breathing as they each took one of Ben’s limbs.
And when they turned so they could return, Thomas could see that Alby’s eyes were glassy.