The boy who cried, was the one who tried, who had to fight, the most to survive, he seemed so fine, but he lost his mind, the crank that died, the glue that dried.

He cried when they first got into the Maze.

He felt so alone, so lost, so helpless.

He didn't know who his family was, who his friends were, or where he was.

He didn't even know who he was.

And that's what hurt him most. Not having an identity.

He was faceless, nameless, and alone.

Newt felt so different from the other boys.

It seemed like everything he did was a hundred times harder than when they did it.

There were metal rods holding him down and he strained to get free from their heaviness.

He fought so hard to keep them alive. To keep himself alive.

He only wanted out of that place.

He hated the Glade and the Maze with every fiber of his being.

But he loved the people in it.

It was when he started losing hope that his life started going downhill. There were too many deaths, too many gravestones already.

He plastered a smile on his face, put a spring in his step, made smart ass remarks.

Depression isn't always obvious.

It was in the Maze that he did it.

Tried to end it in the very same place that it all began.

He jumped off the wall.

Fell.

Crashed onto the ground.

Blood.

So much blood.

Pain.

Minho.

His leg.

Pain.

Wait, Minho?

Minho dragging him through the Maze, to the glade.

So much pain.

Screaming.

No! Don't! Leave me here!

Hearing stifled sobs.

Minho crying.

Darkness.

That's how he got his limp. Forever a cripple along with everything else.

Failure to do one simple thing. To end it all.

…

As soon as they got out of the place that doomed them all another problem arose.

It seemed like their whole life was nothing but problems, and there were no answers.

The Scorch. The demonic wasteland that was all that was left of the planet.

They trooped through, almost losing Thomas at least three times along the way.

Their numbers were few. So few. They started off with 60 and ended with six.

They picked up two people along the way, one of which (Brenda), immediately took a liking to Thomas.

Newt wondered why Thomas got all the girls. Teresa, and now Brenda.

He didn't really care, he didn't like either of the two more than a friend, and he just wanted to get out of the scorch.

Minho, however, well he WAS pretty jealous.

But there was nothing that could be done.

…

The flare. It was killing everyone. They were supposed to be the cure. Or at least some of them were.

The ones that were immune.

Ratman didn't have to say anything. Newt already knew. He felt it already. Eating away at his insides.

The man called out his name anyway.

Not immune.

But he knew why it was him that wasn't immune.

Because he couldn't bare it if it was anyone else.

He put on a brave face for his friends, especially for Thomas, who seemed to take it worse than he did.

He had to be there for everybody, he had to assure them everything would be ok.

That he would be ok.

But he wasn't.

…

It was when they escaped into the Scorch for the second time that he felt himself losing metal stability again. And he could do nothing to stop it.

The flare eventually started taking his sanity. He could feel it. He had to get away, to protect his friends from him. To protect him from himself.

He had to get out.

He thought about ending it again, but he couldn't. He had promised Minho he wouldn't do that ever again.

You have to promise me you'll never to something like this again Newt. I can't lose you.

I promise.

All the same, he was desperate.

If he couldn't do it, he'd have to get someone to do it for him.

So he picked the person he trusted most.

Tommy.

…

Thomas begged him. Said he was the glue, and that he had to keep them together.

Glue loses its stickiness eventually Tommy. It becomes brittle, and in the end it falls apart. It was going to happen to me eventually. It just happened earlier than we had hoped.

Glue can be replaced.

He thought he was ready for when Thomas pulled the trigger. But nobody is ever really ready for death.

He had to keep fighting with the two parts of himself. The sane part, and the crazy part. The crazy part was stronger and was doing most of the talking for him. When he finally got control of himself, he took a deep breath, letting a few tears streak down his face as he uttered his last words.

"Please Tommy, please."

He was young and desperate. And he died that way.

At this point he wasn't sure what was worse. Not knowing anything, or knowing all the horror, blood and pain of the past.

He couldn't win.

He died a crank. He died with nothing. He died insane.

He died completely alone.