I had no chance of surviving. I knew that much.

Even if I did outrun the Grievers with my limp, I still had no food, water, or weapons. Nah, I was going to die anyway.

An ear-piercing screech drilled through my brain and I flinched. Shucking Grievers.

Well, I wasn't going to be killed by a freaking Griever. I just couldn't. As the shrieks grew louder and closer, I became more and more nervous. I scanned the walls and started toward the thick ivy.

Then an ominous clicking sound reached my ears only twenty or so meters away from me. How had it gotten so close? I ducked behind a thick curtain of ivy and waited, chills running up and down my spine as the creature stalked closer.

It moaned and I involuntarily held my breath. I forced myself to breathe normally, not wanting the Griever to hear a huge rush of air after I couldn't hold my breath anymore.

Now the hideous slug-like monster was in my view and I felt the blood rush out of my face. Why did this one specifically have to be so big? It was huge, probably twice the size as the other Grievers with deadly spikes and appendages randomly popping in and out of its blubbery flesh. Every ten feet, the spikes would be sucked back in and the Griever would start rolling on the ground, leaving trails of gooey, sticky slime.

The Griever was directly in front of me now. I started taking shallower breaths, barely daring to move at all. I wasn't sure if they did, but if they had noses, I was sure that it could smell the sweat and fear coming from me.

Suddenly, a pointed spike popped out with a loud squelch and I almost cried out in surprise. The spike grew longer and longer, almost touching me, and I had to suck in my stomach to avoid it.

Finally, it stopped, not half a centimeter away from my stomach. I almost moved away, but stopped myself just in time. If I moved now, the Griever would surely realize I was there.

I stood there for who knows how long, taking in tiny breaths and wanting to scream at the Creators for putting me in such a horrible situation. The Griever screeched again and the spike popped back in. The Griever moved on and I slowly allowed my body to relax.

I didn't move until complete and absolute darkness had fallen, the moon barely noticeable in the harsh blackness. I slowly pushed through the ivy curtain and studied it.

The ivy was especially thick here with ropes criss-crossing each other and the leaves almost entirely covering up the stone behind it. I tugged on the plant, then a little harder, then some more until I was leaning my full weight on it. It held true and my mind suddenly darted to an idea.

I glanced back at the passage where the Griever had disappeared, then back at the vines. I wrapped my left hand around a vine and hoisted myself up, curling my good foot in one of the ivy ropes. Then I twisted my other hand in a patch of ivy even higher and let my left hand fall free, pulling my foot free and twisting it in another piece of ivy.

I repeated the process, wincing when my bad leg banged against the wall whenever I kicked out too hard. Twenty minutes passed, and I found myself a good fifty feet up in the air. I turned so my back was facing the wall and stared down.

My stomach churned at the idea of what I was doing, but I calmed it. I didn't want to die by the Grievers. I wanted to die by my own terms, and these were my own terms.

I closed my eyes, mentally preparing myself to jump. It's going to be all over very quickly, I thought. Hopefully painlessly.

I let go.

There was a strange popping sound and I cried out as pain spiked through my left arm. The ivy must have caught my arm! My eyes flew open and I suddenly noticed the wall rushing toward my face. I opened my mouth to scream, but it never came.

I slammed into grass, the wind knocked out of me and I gasped for air. Where was I? How had I gotten here, wherever I was now?

I tried to get up and a wave of pain reminded me of my now broken arm. No, it wasn't broken. I raised my arm to my face, wincing as I noticed my wrist starting to swell and bruise. Did I sprain it?

I tried to move it and pain burst in my wrist, making my swallow back a cry. Damnit, really? First my fingers and leg, now my wrist? I really had the worst luck.

I was on my back so I could see the dark sky speckled with twinkling stars. Moaning, I managed to get to my feet and I looked around, a smile splitting my face.

The Glade. I was in the Glade! I didn't know how, but I was. Everything was so familiar; the trees, the sleeping bags, the Homest -

The Homestead. Where was the Homestead? I turned, expecting to see the towering building to the north of the Kitchen, but it wasn't there. Instead, it was pushed into the northwest corner of the Glade.

I was scared because I didn't know where I was. I was confused because I didn't know where I was. I was worried because I didn't know where I was.

I limped over to the closest sleeping bag, ignoring the pain in my wrist, and rolled over the person inside it.

I had to clamp a hand over my mouth to suppress my scream. It was a boy. Not Aris. A total and complete stranger sleeping in the Not-Glade!

But it sure looked like the Glade. The trees were in the right places, and so were the Gardens. My heart was racing and I was sure that the entire Glade could hear it.

I dragged myself over into the Homestead, trying to stay as quiet as possible, and opened the first door I came upon. To my surprise, it was full of bandages, casts, medicines, and pills. I clumsily wrapped up my arm and took a crutch. My wrist still hurt like crazy, so I swallowed two white pills from a bottle labeled "PAINKILLERS."

The aching pain stopped a bit after the pills kicked in, and I was tempted just to lay down on one of the beds. But what if someone saw me? Groaning, I left the pathetic excuse for a Homestead and climbed into a tree.

It was hard. Really hard. My left arm was absolutely useless and my still healing leg didn't help either, not to mention the newly healed fingers. Somehow, I managed it and forced myself to sleep.

I woke up to the sounds of groans and voices. Thankfully, I had positioned myself between three branches that made sure I wouldn't fall down because I was two feet from where I had fallen asleep.

"Hey, Minho!" a boy called and I peered down. A group of boys were yawning and still half-asleep under me, but one seemed pretty awake.

Another Asian-looking kid jogged over and I noticed the pack slung on his back. Must be a Mapper, I thought. Then, Do they even have Mappers?

"Yeah?" asked the Asian guy, who must have been Minho. "What is it, Zart?"

"Peter reckons some animal turned him over in the middle of the night," called Zart. "Think one of the goats got out?"

Minho looked doubtful and shook his head. "Nope," he said. "He probably rolled over himself and dreamed it all." Zart shrugged at a brown-haired boy, who shrugged back.

"Anyway," said Minho, "I gotta go out with Ben - he thinks he saw somethin' funny out in the Maze." He shook his head in disbelief. "Ask Frypan for some food, I think he made toast today."

Toast. I suddenly realized how hungry I was and silently groaned. Why hadn't I gotten food before I stuck myself in the tree?

The boys thanked Minho, who started running toward the open Maze walls. Halfway there, he called, "Ben!" Another boy joined him and they entered the Maze together.

I watched as the day wore on, my stomach growling louder and louder. I had occasionally slipped down to steal an apple or two, but other than that, I'd had nothing to eat for a whole day.

As the sky grew darker, I became more and more impatient. I was hungry.

Then I heard someone call, "Frypan? Anyone in the kitchen with ya?"

Another voice called back, "Nah, dude, somethin' up?"

The voice said, "Need 'ja in the Gardens; Zart found some funny mushrooms, ya mind taking a look?"

A dark-skinned boy appeared in front of the Kitchen doors and started toward the Gardens. Most of the boys were in the bathrooms brushing their teeth or in the Gardens and according to Frypan, who appeared to be in charge of the Kitchen, there were no boys in the Kitchen.

I was thankful it was already so dark. If it had been in the middle of the day, I would've been seen instantly. Indeed, a few boys did turn to look at me, but I had noticed another boy with a limp similar to mine and it looked like most of them had assumed I was him and turned away.

As I made my way through the Glade as quickly as I could to the kitchens, I couldn't help but feel like something here was familiar. Not like, 'I lived in an almost exact replica of this place' familiar, but more distant familiar. Was it one of the boys? I doubted it. But whatever it was, it didn't stop nagging at me.

I slipped into the kitchen and immediately started toward a rack of sandwiches. Most of them had meat but I quickly grabbed four sandwiches without meat. I was about to leave when my eyes drifted to a row of pots and pans hanging on the wall.

I quickly went over and grabbed a skillet (like a frying pan? A Fry-Pan? Haha? You get it? Okay nvm), weighing it in my hand. It was heavy, but I swung it through the air a few times and decided to bring it along.

As I creeped out of the Kitchens and headed back to the tree I had been hiding in, a voice yelled, "Newt! What're you doing, creeping around like that?" I froze, then started walking even faster. "Hey, Newt! Newt, wait up!"

Then another boy said, "Geez, leave Newt alone will ya, shank?" The voice that had been yelling at me stopped and I quickly hid in the tree.

By then, complete darkness had fallen and nobody had seen me climb it. I sighed and adjusted myself quickly, deciding to try to sleep. I was sure that if someone looked up in the tree I was hiding, they wouldn't see me because of the leaves and how high I was.

I quickly snarfed down one of the sandwiches I had stolen and lay down, closing my eyes. I knew sooner or later, I would have to meet the boys who lived here, but I would delay that for as long as I could.

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WORD COUNT: 2001

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From Wikipedia:

"Peter Handke is a Nobel laureate novelist, playwright, translator, poet, film director, and screenwriter from Austria. Handke was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature in 2019. In the late 1960s, he was recognized for the play Publikumsbeschimpfung and the novel Die Angst des Tormanns beim Elfmeter."

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Heyyyy two updates in one day! That's pretty darn good! Anyway, I'm super excited now that she's in Group A's Glade - yay! Plus, this is the longest chapter yet. Vote, comment, follow!