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we told ourselves the sun was a glowing star (because it used to shine)

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(world didn’t use to be this way; we used to breath)

 

In Minho’s dreams, Newt’s name is always on the list.

At the beginning it doesn’t make much sense. They’ve been living in Paradise not long enough for the nightmares to fade — none of them will live enough for the nightmares to fade — but enough for things to settle down.

So, the first time he dreams, Minho is confused. At day, he’s always busy thinking about what he has to do, about what other people have to do — he’s always busy thinking about how to make things work and how to lead this new community in the right way. At night, he used to be haunted with dreams about lightnings and fire and puzzles and a maze he could not solve.

Newt’s name being on the list isn’t a nightmare.

Or, at least, it shouldn’t be.

 

(he tells himself it shouldn’t be)

 

In Minho’s dreams, Newt’s name is always on the list.

Sometimes he sleeps long enough for them to reach Paradise. And Newt is one of the best friends ever — he’s everything Minho has always needed to keep the place calm, in peace, in order. Newt has this effect on people — he kinda makes them want to be useful and to help and be better in general. And it’s just so good that they both and Thomas can sit together at the end of the day; just happy for still being alive.

Minho always wakes up to an aching emptiness and a Thomas who can barely face him.

 

(Thomas is everything he has from what the world used to be; when Minho still knew the rules and how to play the game)

 

In Minho’s dreams, Newt’s name is always on the list.

Sometimes his own it’s not. And Minho won’t even think about it — he’ll keep going until he feels that his mind is running out of sanity, and then he’ll put a bullet hole in his head.

In this dreams, there’s always despair, a feeling of “just one more”. Just one more time, he’ll tell himself. He’ll help them just one more time, he’ll look at them just one more time and then he’ll write a shucking note and go away; just so they won’t have to deal with the mess.

Minho never stays and asks for them to kill him — he finds it in himself: he can’t.

 

(there’s no game anymore; why does he still feel like it’s all a cruel joke someone thought it would be funny to tell?)

 

In Minho’s dreams, Newt’s name is always on the list.

And, sometimes, doesn’t matter how much he tries, Newt always dies seconds before he wakes up, choking in his own breath. Minho will always have him at his reach, but will never be fast enough to grip him before the flow take him away. He will curse a God he doesn’t believe in, he will shout at the skies, he will hit the ground until his hands are raw flesh and blood.

He can’t save his friend. He couldn’t. Can’t. Never.

 

(he will always try to take it out of his mind, but Newt’s everywhere — he’s in the golden sunshine, he’s in the dark ground, he’s in the rotting grass and the living people; he’s in the air Minho breathes and in the tears he pretend that don’t ever fall; he’s in the smiles Thomas rarely gives and in everything)

 

In Minho’s dreams, Newt’s name is always on the list.

And he wakes up screaming.


(Minho asks himself if he’ll ever know what happened to his friend)