Frypan The Maze Runner Novels & Stories

FREYA'S POV: I wait just after the emptied bowl for the most recent meal is taken away. Immediately after the guard on duty leaves the room and shuts the door behind him and it buzzes, clicking shut. I wait a few more seconds before I pull out the fork under my sheet. At some point, I figured out they gave utensils randomly. You could be given a spoon or fork with your oat porridge, irrespective of if it got the job done or not. I had waited patiently till I had gotten a fork with sturdy edges and for all my bruises to heal to a considerable amount, where they don’t hurt much — all to execute my plan.

“Fuck. I need to eat.” —----------------------- (TRISTAN’S POV) Before my parents died in a plane crash, they always emphasized the importance of having culinary skills, but I was always invested in PlayStation, procrastinating, tomorrow, next, and the day after. Nobody told me that being good at frying pancakes can be as fulfilling as building an empire. Now, I’m trying to get to Bunny’s heart through his stomach, and so far, it’s been a disaster. Appliances hum silently, the heat from the pan clogs my vision, and the cauterized flesh hurts so bad my brain burns. I shoo my boys with a spoon, but they keep jumping around, tearing through grains, licking cabinets, and rummaging through the wa

“Alright, since you’re so eager to eat, you can start by chopping these. Don’t mess it up.” Martins laughed, picking up a knife. “I’m a driver and personal assistant to Lyon, not a chef, but I’ll try my best. Just don’t blame me if it turns into a disaster.” Fiona smirked, handing him a carrot. “If you can handle Lyon’s moods, then, you can handle this.”

The pantry door smashed inwards with a deafening crack. Myla jerked backward, heart slamming into her throat as her eyes darted around, scanning the narrow space. Flour bags, jars of preserved foodstuffs, crates of bottled water…. Then a small pair of scissors meant for cutting open packaging and sacks caught her eye. A man stepped through the jagged frame. His face was unrecognizable because the dim kitchen light behind him shadowed it, his shoulders broad enough to block half the doorway.

"My dear, I will be fine. You don't have to worry yourself." Morrigan bit her lip. "I don't want to be a freeloader, if I can do something for you then it will be better." Frey looked at Morrigan's eyes that are still red from all the crying she did earlier but this time sadness couldn't be found in her eyes instead she could see the eyes of a determined young lady. She smiled secretly and handed Morrigan a basket of potatoes. Morrigan looked at it with curiosity. "Then do me a favor of washing these potatoes, you could remember where the well is right?" Morrigan nodded her head. "Go ahead..." Morrigan nodded again and went out of the kitchen to walk towards the well. Frey watches Morrigan w

Griff snarled. “They’re probably the size of raisins.” I opened the Hatch’s door and navigated Fitzroy’s customized menu. “Maybe the healer can let me use their magnifying glass to get at them.” “All right,” Rumpel Kracknuts spat. “I’ll take it out.” I turned around. “All of it.” The faerie squeezed his eyes shut, twisted his face, and squatted like a spaniel struggling with a hard shit. He moved a trembling hand in a figure-eight motion, the way a conductor would wave a baton, and exhaled.

"Bro, you're amazing. Your backpack is like Doraemon's magic pocket; it has everything!" Gabriel had carried a black backpack all the way up the mountain, moving swiftly as if it weighed nothing. Fiona had assumed it was empty, but it turned out to be full of surprises. Though her flattery was obvious, Gabriel enjoyed it. He reached into the pocket of his black tracksuit and handed her a spoon. "Eat." "Okay, thanks," Fiona said, taking the spoon. She sat beside him and reached out to scoop some porridge. But before her hand could touch the shrimp and crab porridge, Gabriel smacked the back of her hand. "Did you brush your teeth?"

Before Alex could answer, Freya said in a delicate voice, “This isn’t a Gimmick Puppet. This is a zombie refined using a living human. Look at its eyes. The pupils are golden, right? This is a golden-eyed Golden Zombie with infinite strength.” When Darven, who was hiding far away, heard the words, he smacked his head. “Oh right, Miss Mayer, your Exorcist Dragons specializes in fighting zombies. You should have a way, right?” Freya took out a black-and-red wooden stick with a pointy cone in the front and a sculpture of a dragon throne at the back. It had grains that looked like dragon scales all over its body.

Freya hissed at Diandra who didn’t much as flinch but gave her an almost identical vulgar look, “ seems I’ve become your slave now and I was sent up here with your supper” Diandra answered, but as soon as she looked at her food her face creased in disgust before dropping it in front of Freya Freya looked at the tray, seeing it was to cut sandwich and water, her eyebrow raised in a questioning look to Diandra to stood leaning on the wall and arms crossed, Freya watched the plate like she was searching for something, no knife, they were careful about putting that on the tray,

What they discarded after they might have had their fill. Staring at the different plates for breakfast on the table that she had set up, Freya counted the plates all over again, making sure that no one was left out. Making sure it was complete, there were still two pancakes left in the frying pan. Freya was so tempted to smuggle it out and, when she had her privacy, eat them. She was drooling over the two pieces. 'Don't do it, Freya,' her conscience pricked her. She knew that nurturing such thoughts was a bad idea. She would land in serious trouble.