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● [ i . the second month ]
TMR belongs to James Dashner

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THE METAL BOX shuddered upon its ascent; the perpetual scrapes irritated her ears, and her consciousness began to stir. Slowly, at first, emerging from slumber's depths. Only her breath remained in her control. In and out, in and out.

Next, her back; it ached, laid flat on the cold steel floor. Where instinct defeated disorientation, her fingers twitched in a meek attempt to ease her discomfort. It worsened. Sweat seeped between eyelashes and stung her eyes, and a dim light blinked, filtering through her eyelids. It stopped.

A sharp jolt woke her. She gasped, intaking the stale, musty air, then coughing it back up. Her limbs struggled as if she had never moved before, stiff and cramped as she shifted herself onto all-fours. Above her quaking arms, she coughed still, spitting up phlegm and blood until her throat was raw.

In her darkened surroundings, she closed her eyes once more, hoping the nausea would cease. She tried to think over the harsh sounds of chains and pulleys, over the invasive smell of burnt oil. She found that she couldn't. She found nothing. No parents, no home. No knowledge of where she was, how she got there, who she was. All she knew was her name. 

Another jolt. She was thrust forward violently, catching herself on the metal gated wall. Beside her, something fell. A box, it seemed, as she held out her arm to shield herself. In agony, she stumbled backwards; something had caught her on the way down, something sharp enough to carve into her arm and gush blood.

Swearing loudly, she clutched her upper arm, the words tearing through her throat in a rasp. She dug her nails into her skin with a grimace, desperate to distract herself from the throbbing in her arm. She felt the blood trickle over her fingers, and fell to the ground once more, striking the hard floor with her bruised knees first. Then, she heard it. A movement. Someone was with her.

'Hello?' she trembled, squinting through the dark. With her free hand, she fumbled through the stale air, reaching out, still gripping tightly onto her injured arm. She found it, the someone, their hands cold as ice and body limp against the sway of the box.
'Hello?' She tried again, more determined. She crawled over the body, grabbing them firmly by their shoulders, hair, then face. It was another girl. She's dead, she thought. She's dead and I'm alone again.

Just then, the light flickered on, casting its dim glow. Low-hanging, flashing. Blinking in adjustment, she pulled away from the body, revealing a small Asian girl with downturned eyes and a slightly crooked nose. Like herself, the girl was coated in dried blood and dirt, her white tank stained a deep red that her wound had bled upon. But she was breathing - her chest rose and fell gently. She was alive. Then, next to her, another girl. And another beside that one. She rose to her feet, and there were five of them in total. All girls, all young, all filthy. And one was awake.

In the corner of the box, the girl cowered, a small spade clutched tightly in her shaking hands, pointed directly at the other. They both stared, silently, the clanging of chains ringing in their ears. The girl had shaggy hair, bleached poorly from the roots, and a pretty face. She barely blinked. 

'Who are you?' the blonde asked. If she had tried to sound menacing, she had failed; her lips quivered.
'I don't know,' she answered. Silence again. The girl didn't lower her weapon. 'I won't hurt you.' She ignored her assurance.

'Who are they?' the girl asked, darting her eyes to the bodies, then back to her.
'I don't know,' she answered. She paused. 'I don't know anything.'

Another jolt of the box. She managed to remain upright.
'What about your name?' the blonde girl asked. 'Do you know that?'
She nodded.
'Me too.'
'What is it?'

'Beth.'

Beth put down the spade, slowly, placing it among the lift's cargo. There were quite a few of them - boxes - all different sizes. Most were closed, but some had spilled open, revealing various gardening tools and fabrics. 

'I'm Rosalind.' Her name felt foreign in her mouth, distorted and unpleasant. No familiarity.
'Okay,' Beth said. She hesitated before speaking again, wavering her glance between the other girls. 'We should wake them.'
Rosalind didn't answer. She watched as Beth shook a beautiful dark-skinned girl, swaying with the lift. Was there any point if they were all to die anyway, she thought. 

Suddenly, a splutter. She froze, her heart pounding as she turned to see the small Asian girl doubled over, retching violently, her body convulsing with each heave. Rosalind moved closer, her hands outstretched, but the girl's screams pierced the lift before any aid could be offered. Her screams became cries. Beth and Rosalind watched, unmoving. Her name was Miyoko, but she said nothing else.

Then, another. A brunette with thick eyebrows and olive skin. She woke quietly, but her yells echoed, her myriad of questions unanswered.
'I'm Alejandra,' she had said, breathlessly. Alejandra's shirt was stretched by the hem and torn at the ends, and her face badly beaten. She was tall, even sat, with a fierceness to her. A fiery resolve. She didn't quiver.

Ada was the last one to wake. Big, dark eyes. Dark hair, dark skin. She was good-looking. Her confusion was gentle, and her voice was too. She didn't yell, she didn't cry. She moved to the stagger of the lift and looked at the ceiling, speaking upon spoken to.

'How long have we been in here for?' Alejandra asked.
'I don't know,' Beth said, irritated. 'She woke up first.' She glared at Rosalind. Rosalind didn't respond - she didn't know. They must have been moving for over half an hour, she reckoned, but every second seemed an eternity.

She decided to sit, her legs tiring.
'Is your arm okay?' asked Ada. She was looking at her, but Rosalind wouldn't look back.
'Does it look okay?' she murmured. Whether Ada heard over the clangs of metal and Miyoko's sobs, she was unsure. She didn't say anything else, regardless. No one did.

Ceaseless. The minutes stretched into hours.
Then, a loud clank rang out above them, and the box began to shake against the walls of their confine. Startled, they all looked towards the roof. A straight line of light appeared across the ceiling of the room. They watched as it expanded, silent. A heavy grating sound revealed double sliding doors being forced open. The light pierced their eyes. Rosalind shielded herself with her arm, hearing the other girls groan after so long in darkness. 

The chains stopped grinding, and the cage stopped swinging. She could hear voices. Other girls, though she was unable to determine how many. Her eyes stung from the sudden brightness.
'Fancy that,' one said. She had an accent, English.
'What's going on?' another yelled, from further away.
'There's more!' A Texan this time. 

A figure stepped forward, blocking the light. Statuesque. The girl was no younger than eighteen, with brown skin and dreads pulled back into a pony. She scanned the girls, pointing and counting. 'Five more,' she said, then nodded. 'That's good.'

The other girls, of which there were four, crowded behind their leader. Rosalind locked eyes with one - a blonde girl, thin, rosy cheeked. The girl offered a smile, then looked away.

'I'm Ximena,' said the girl with locks. 'This is Harriet.' Harriet, a tall girl with dark skin, handed Ximena a rope, lowered from above, the end of it tied into a loop.
'Hi,' she said.

Beth was the first to stand, approaching the rope. Hands, lots of hands, reached towards her and pulled her up. Then, Alejandra. Rosalind was next. The helping hands did not stop swarming until she was stood upright and had the dust brushed from her shirt and pants. She began to rotate in a circle, slowly, as to not retch further, still adjusting to the light. Around her was a courtyard, several times the size of a football field, with long grass, small woodlands, and the occasional structure. Then, there were the walls. Four enormous walls made of grey stone and covered in spots with thick ivy. They had to be hundreds of feet high and formed a perfect square around them, each side split in the middle by an opening as tall as the walls themselves.

'Where are we?' Alejandra asked. 'Why are we here?'
They were all out now. The blonde and a redhead began to remove the various boxes from the lift, and Ximena watched.
'Seeds,' she said, excited. 'So they took our request?'

Alejandra's face reddened and her fists clenched. 'Did you hear me? I said-'
'Don't. Even think about touching me,' Ximena said, holding up her hand. She turned, crossing her arms. 'We know you have questions. We'll do our best answering 'em. But, long story short, we don't know either.'

'That's all of it,' the blonde said. The Brit.
'Thanks, Sonya,' said Ximena. Sonya helped the redhead out of the lift.
'Names first, I think,' Harriet stepped forward now, 'And then we can do questions. You remember your names, right?'

Rosalind soon discovered that the redhead's name was Lise, of a small hight and sturdy build. Beside her stood Florence, a girl of unremarkable appearance, with fair skin, brown hair, and thin lips. Despite her attempt at a smile, worry creased Florence's brow, overshadowing any warmth.

Then, the questions. Where are we? How did we get here? Why are we here? Ximena spoke of 'the Makers' and 'the Glen'. Rosalind felt a pressing ache of confusion - hearing words and phrases she had not heard before. Different emotions battled for dominance in her mind and heart, but laced through it all was the feeling of utter hopelessness. 

'The Makers?' Ada inquired, brushing her dark hair from her face. Rosalind turned to look at her. She was doe-like, with long eyelashes. 
'It's what we call them,' Sonya pointed at the sky. 'What we call the people that put us here.'

'And the walls?' Rosalind asked. She was surprised she spoke.
'It's a Maze. We've been out there a few times, but not far,' said Harriet. A maze? In front of her, through one of the openings, she could make out passages leading to the left, to the right, and then straight ahead. the walls of the corridors were similar to those that surrounded the Glen, with the ground made out of massive stone blocks. The ivy seemed thicker out there.

'A few times?' Rosalind asked, her brow furrowing.
'We've only been here a month,' Harriet replied matter-of-factly.
'And? There has to be a way out in there,' Rosalind's frustration seeped into her voice, her tone tinged with impatience.
'Hey,' Ximena stepped in. 'If you're offering to go in, then go in. No one's stopping you.' Rosalind fell silent, her retort swallowed by the weight of Ximena's words. 'That's what I thought.'

'They'll send another five up next month, then?' asked Beth.
'Suppose so,' Ximena replied. 'Looks that way anyway. A few weeks, and you'll get used to it. You'll all be happy and helpin'. Promise. Now, our Hashslinger's gonna cook us up some food, and you're gonna eat it.' Ximena turned and headed for the slanted wooden structure in the corner of the Glen. Lise followed.
Rosalind folded her arms, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. Their language was so odd. Tears threatened again to fill her eyes, but she refused to let them come. 

Sonya appeared by her side, resting a hand on her shoulder. 'Be warned, Lise can't cook, but she's the only one willing,' she said, smiling. Rosalind said nothing in return. 'Ouch! That's a pretty bad cut you have there.' Sonya continued, examining the gash on her arm. 'D'ya get that in the lift?' Rosalind nodded. 'I'll get Florence to look at that. She's good with that stuff. One time I...'

Rosalind tuned out. Her mind buzzed with a mounting frustration. She couldn't shake the feeling of unease, nor could she prevent the gnawing sense of urgency. 

The maze: It called to her.

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note* updated chapter. previous comments available below.