I was up by the crack of dawn.

It was a little later than when I usually woke up, but today was a Slack Day. Everyone was up later than required for their job, and on a normal Slack Day, I would've been up half an hour after the sun rose, but I couldn't sleep. For some reason, I was unusually jumpy and energetic today.

I wanted to go out into the Maze as soon as possible, so I packed my lunch and stole a cheese sandwich from Jenny's kitchen. Jenny wouldn't be happy, but she was still asleep and I didn't want to wake her.

I strapped on my black plastic watch and pulled on my sneakers, which were a little tight. I made a mental note to grab another pair from the shack at the far end of the Glade. My backpack was resting outside next to a tree and I slung it over my shoulder, trying to make as little sound as possible.

The doors of the Maze were wide open and I slipped through, jogging slowly at first and gradually building up speed until I was flat-out sprinting through the labyrinth, slashing my blade through the thick ivy ropes and letting them drop behind me every ten feet or so. I was so used to the Maze that I didn't even need to take notes or anything - I had been studying the Maze ever since I was appointed Keeper of the Mappers and noticed a careful pattern on how the maze shifted, but didn't think much of it.

Left, left, straight, now right, another left - it went on like this for a while. The sun was starting to get close to its peak and I stopped for a break, gasping for air and pressing a hand to the side of my stomach where a stitch had started forming. Sitting down, I rummaged through my mostly empty rucksack until I pulled out a full water bottle. I twisted the cap open and tipped my head back to let a small amount of water go down my parched throat. I paused, then gulped down another mouthful before regretfully twisting the cap back on and putting the bottle away.

I ran through the Maze for another few hours, checking my watch every now and then to make sure that it wasn't too late. When it was about three, I started making my way back to the Glade, following the path of ivy I had laid out earlier.

And that was working perfectly fine for ten minutes. Then, as I kicked aside a particularly long piece of ivy, I stopped.

"What on Earth. . ." A dead end. How was this possible? I was sure that I had followed the ivy accurately and there definitely hadn't been a dead end there.

I studied the wall, tapping my fingertips along the stone. Geez, it was real! What in the world. . . I checked my watch and frowned. It was only three-thirteen and too early for the walls to start moving. How was this possible?

I stood there for another minute, then decided to turn back. But before I had even started to turn, I heard it. A metallic clicking noise.

A Griever. Shuck, I was really in for it now. I was caught between a rock and a hard place, and there was no way out.

I turned completely and stared at the dark blob walking on an array of glinting, metal legs. It faced me (or at least I thought so) and slowly started advancing. I backed away as far as I could until my back met the cold wall of the Maze.

It was only twenty feet from me now. The Griever's body took up most of the space from one maze wall to the other, so there was no chance of me slipping by it. Its legs would surely pierce me a dozen times over before I could get far enough.

Suddenly, my hand wrapped around a thick rope. I looked up, surprised, and found myself staring at the ivy that almost entirely covered the wall. Could I climb it? Would it work?

I glanced back at the Griever that was now creeping closer and closer, all while making eerie metallic clicking and whirring noises. I had to - there was no other choice. I wrapped my hand in the ivy and tugged on it to make sure it wouldn't come out. It held strong, and I carefully wrapped my other hand, then pulled myself up.

Instantly, I brought up my legs and braced my feet against the wall, stealing a glance at the approaching Griever. It seemed to have sped up as I climbed and close enough to stretch out one metallic arm and rip my shirt. Adrenaline pumped through my veins and I silently cursed it. Contrary to what most people think, adrenaline doesn't help you in difficult situations. It makes you jumpy, clumsy, far too desperate, and fights with common sense. I took a deep breath to try to calm down and continued climbing.

I had only gotten about five feet higher when I heard an odd sound. Like stone crumbling away. My eyes widened and I turned my head.

Holy - it could climb?

Panic flooded my mind and that was all I could see, or hear, or feel. Panic. My hands pulled desperately at the vines and the soles of my shoes scrabbled against the rough wall, looking for enough friction to push myself up. I could hear the clicking of the Griever behind me slowly gaining ground.

God, were they supposed to go so fast? I knew that Grievers could run - or scuttle - pretty quickly, but no Griever could climb so quickly, though to be fair, I hadn't known that it could climb until a few minutes ago.

I didn't make it. Just as I grasped another vine, I felt a horrible, stinging pain on my side. I gasped out in shock and my grip slipped and a strangled scream was ripped from my throat as my body fell through the air, tumbling and twisting in unnatural positions.

Slam. I heard a series of sickly cracks inside my body, and then, excruciating pain. I couldn't speak, couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't do anything. The agony tore through my body, burning through my body like mini explosions of pain. My side hurt the most from the sting because I surely had been stung.

The last thing I heard was the click-clack of a fleeing Griever and then, after a moment, a horrified gasp and yelling.

"Quick! Andrea! I found Neil! He looks horrible though, help me with him. . ."

Then everything went black.

***

WORD COUNT: 1152

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From Wikipedia:

"Neil Alden Armstrong was an American astronaut and aeronautical engineer, and the first person to walk on the Moon. He was also a naval aviator, test pilot, and university professor."