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As I looked up at the sky, I found myself searching for the sun—the bright, shining light that I had become so accustomed to seeing—only to realize…the sky was dark. It had been overtaken by storm clouds. There was no sun in sight. Not even a reflection of its light cast down from the moon. Where had all the stars gone? Where was the light, the fire? There were no embers.. Not even ashes to remind me that there once was a fire.
As I lay under the sky with the storm clouds hovering above me, the rain finally fell, reminding me that this was, indeed, a storm. But lightning didn't strike—it didn't illuminate the sky the way I had so desperately hoped it would. There was thunder, though. Oh, yes. There was thunder. It ripped itself from the lungs of the sky, screaming in anger and agony, pleading for mercy. I couldn't take it. I couldn't take the pitiful sight above me. I couldn't take the deafening sound of the thunder. It was all just . . . too much.
A deeply rooted sorrow crept up from the pit of my stomach to my lungs, entangling itself around them like the ivy on the walls of the Maze. Acid burned my throat as I tried to choke the ivy back down, feeling like claws were ripping through my skin from the inside out. That's when I realized: this wasn't the same ivy from back in the Maze. No, this…this was poison. And I choked down every . . . last . . . drop, letting the sorrow fully consume me.
Why did the virus take my sky away—my sun, my moon, my stars, my lighting? Why did it take…him? Why couldn't it have been me? It should have been me. When will it be my turn? When will I get what I deserve? After all, it is my fault that the sky had been ripped apart by its own storm. Shouldn't I have to face the same punishment? Shouldn't I have to endure the same agony? Only this time, when I beg and I plead and I scream for mercy . . . I hope no one listens. I don't deserve mercy. Not like he did.
This is all my fault…isn't it? What have I done? I can't keep blaming this on the virus. The Flare didn't take him away from me, I did. I killed him. I killed my best friend. I wanted to save him. I was supposed to save him. But I shot him in the head. He pleaded and he begged, and he deserved mercy. But he also deserved to live. How come I didn't try harder to save him? I should have tried harder.
Maybe giving myself over to WICKED really is for the best. It's not...part of the plan, but I don't want to keep fighting. I'm so tired. I'm tired of running. Maybe I should just- maybe I should let them kill me. Rat Man said I was their best candidate, didn't he? What does that even mean? Either way, I'll be dead before the sun sets tonight. Actually…it already set. The sun set hours ago. The sun set with him. Don't worry, I'll see you when the moon sets and the sun rises. I'm coming for you, Newt. I'm sorry. . .