Thomas had lived in fear and terror the past few weeks, but this was almost too much. To feel safe only to have that snatched away again.
Thomas had no concept of time as he went through the Changing.It started much like his first memory of the Box__ark and cold. But this time he had no sensation of anything touching his feet or body. He floated in emptiness, stared into a void of black. He saw nothing, heard nothing, smelled nothing. It was as if someone had stolen his five senses, leaving him in a vacuum.Time stretched on. And on. Fear turned into curiosity, which turned into boredom.Finally, after an interminable wait, things began to change.A distant wind picked up, unfelt but heard. Then a swirling mist of whiteness appeared far in the distance__ spinning tornado of smoke that formed into a long funnel, stretching out until he could see neither the top nor the bottom of the white whirlwind. He felt the gales then, sucking into the cyclone so that it blew past him from behind, ripping at his clothes and hair like they were shredded flags caught in a storm.The tower of thick mist began to move toward him__r he was moving toward it, he couldn__ tell__ncreasing its speed at an alarming rate. Where seconds before he__ been able to see the distinct form of the funnel, he now could see only a flat expanse of white.And then it consumed him; he felt his mind taken by the mist, felt memories flood into his thoughts.Everything else turned into pain.
The Maze Runner
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Thomas had no concept of time as he went through the Changing.It started much like his first memory of the Box__ark and cold. But this time he had no sensation of anything touching his feet or body. He floated in emptiness, stared into a void of black. He saw nothing, heard nothing, smelled nothing. It was as if someone had stolen his five senses, leaving him in a vacuum.Time stretched on. And on. Fear turned into curiosity, which turned into boredom.Finally, after an interminable wait, things began to change.A distant wind picked up, unfelt but heard. Then a swirling mist of whiteness appeared far in the distance__ spinning tornado of smoke that formed into a long funnel, stretching out until he could see neither the top nor the bottom of the white whirlwind. He felt the gales then, sucking into the cyclone so that it blew past him from behind, ripping at his clothes and hair like they were shredded flags caught in a storm.The tower of thick mist began to move toward him__r he was moving toward it, he couldn__ tell__ncreasing its speed at an alarming rate. Where seconds before he__ been able to see the distinct form of the funnel, he now could see only a flat expanse of white.And then it consumed him; he felt his mind taken by the mist, felt memories flood into his thoughts.Everything else turned into pain.
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Mark nodded even though she couldn't see. He'd suddenly lost any desire to talk, and his plans for a perfect day washed away with the stream. The memories. They never let him go, not even for a half hour. They always had to rush back in, bringing all the horror.
So you're lost, uh? Happens a lot out here. You walk around for days, seeing things, losing your bearings, crying out for God, But He can't hear you. You can scream and scream but nobody'll ever hear you.
He felt more crypts cracking open inside of him; the stench he smelled was not decayed bodies but decayed memories, and that was somehow worse.
A mind is a simulation that simulates itself.
There's no consciousness without senses and memories.