James Dashner

far cry from the terror he should've experienced.

But happiness had been ripped from their lives. Love had been ripped from their lives.

each word ripped his throat raw.

A storm of emotions wrenched his gut, twisted and pulled;

But laced through it all was the dark feeling of utter hopelessness,

A few trees surrounded it, their roots like gnarled hands digging into the rock floor for food.

the tears that had yet to come burned his eyes.

tiny yellow flowers peeping through as if searching for the sun, long disappeared behind the enormous walls of the Glade

Teresa looked at her best friend and wondered what it would be like to forget him.

It seemed impossible, though she’d now seen the Swipe implanted in dozens of boys before Thomas. Sandy brown hair, penetrating eyes and a constant look of contemplation—how could this kid ever be unfamiliar to her? How could they be in the same room and not joke about some smell or make fun of some clueless slouch nearby? How could she ever stand in front of him and not leap at the chance to communicate telepathically?

Impossible.

And yet, only a day away

A doctor and a nurse had been prepping Thomas and now lowered the mask onto his face. There were clicks and hisses and beeps; Teresa watched as metal and wires and plastic tubes slithered across his skin and into the canals of Thomas’s ears, saw his hands twitch reflexively at his sides. He probably felt pain on some level despite the drugs, but he’d never remember it. The machine began its work, plucking images from Thomas’s memory. Erasing his mom and his dad and his life. Erasing her