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It's almost sun down when I decide I need to be out of the apartment. I've spent too much of today caught up in my own thoughts, and it's starting to wear me down. So I grab my keys, my phone, and a knife I can hide in the sleeve of my jacket, and I head out the door, no clear direction in mind.
It's warm, but tolerably so. The kind of weather perfect for running, really. But though I could easily set out on a run, I don't really feel like doing so. I kind of want to see where my feet wind up taking me, maybe stopping for an iced coffee on the way.
Darrow is full of peace and tranquility, the likes of which I never knew back in Chicago. Even Amity's campground proved little more than a sham, in the end. A balm that couldn't fully cover the gaping wound. As much as I appreciate a life in which no one is trying to actively kill me, sometimes, this place still doesn't feel real to me.
I'm not looking where I'm going, and, of course, I'm turning the corner of a street. Naturally, I nearly collide with someone else.
"Shit!" I say, halting where I am and hoping I haven't done any damage. "I'm sorry."
It's warm, but tolerably so. The kind of weather perfect for running, really. But though I could easily set out on a run, I don't really feel like doing so. I kind of want to see where my feet wind up taking me, maybe stopping for an iced coffee on the way.
Darrow is full of peace and tranquility, the likes of which I never knew back in Chicago. Even Amity's campground proved little more than a sham, in the end. A balm that couldn't fully cover the gaping wound. As much as I appreciate a life in which no one is trying to actively kill me, sometimes, this place still doesn't feel real to me.
I'm not looking where I'm going, and, of course, I'm turning the corner of a street. Naturally, I nearly collide with someone else.
"Shit!" I say, halting where I am and hoping I haven't done any damage. "I'm sorry."
Tris ought to know well enough by now that I never go back on my word, once given. Especially when it comes to something as important as celebrating her 19th birthday. (And I have no doubt her and Four will find their own ways to celebrate later, but I try not to think about that. For my own sake.) She also still doesn't know that this celebration is about far more than her almost not being a teenager anymore. I'm putting my all into this because, back home, Tris doesn't get the chance to live this long. Back in Chicago, the Tris I've left behind is resting in a morgue.
I have the living room all decked out because of the rabbit. While Tris still isn't here, I'll admit: the damn thing's cute. And at least Tris had the sense to get a pet with Dauntless colors. It makes the whole pet thing seem far less Amity.
I've worked hard, tying ribbons of various colors - vibrant, spring colors like sky blue and lavender - and balloons around every available edge and corner. Behind the couch, I've put a banner that I've painted myself, which is why the writing looks so sloppy. Again, I've used the colors of the ribbons and the balloons, to write a simple message of 'Happy birthday, old lady!'
Not that Tris is old at all. Far from it. But I can't resist a bit of teasing, even for my best friend's birthday.
On the table rests a cake I bought at one of the local bakeries, in the shape of a bird, with some berries on top. It's the kind of quaint that I think Tris will appreciate. Next to it, my gifts: a slinky, shimmery light blue dress, because one can never have too many sexy dresses, and the other, a beautifully designed knife with crows etched onto the handle of the blade. Both were hardly cheap, but for Tris, I would be willing to spend far more.
So now I'm waiting, pacing through the living room, adjusting the various decorations while keeping an eye out for Tris.
I've invited others, of course. It wouldn't do to just be the two of us. Slowly, I'm beginning to understand how much Tris' friends here mean to her. So I've invited as many people as I've been able to get a hold of. Now all I can do is wait.
I have the living room all decked out because of the rabbit. While Tris still isn't here, I'll admit: the damn thing's cute. And at least Tris had the sense to get a pet with Dauntless colors. It makes the whole pet thing seem far less Amity.
I've worked hard, tying ribbons of various colors - vibrant, spring colors like sky blue and lavender - and balloons around every available edge and corner. Behind the couch, I've put a banner that I've painted myself, which is why the writing looks so sloppy. Again, I've used the colors of the ribbons and the balloons, to write a simple message of 'Happy birthday, old lady!'
Not that Tris is old at all. Far from it. But I can't resist a bit of teasing, even for my best friend's birthday.
On the table rests a cake I bought at one of the local bakeries, in the shape of a bird, with some berries on top. It's the kind of quaint that I think Tris will appreciate. Next to it, my gifts: a slinky, shimmery light blue dress, because one can never have too many sexy dresses, and the other, a beautifully designed knife with crows etched onto the handle of the blade. Both were hardly cheap, but for Tris, I would be willing to spend far more.
So now I'm waiting, pacing through the living room, adjusting the various decorations while keeping an eye out for Tris.
I've invited others, of course. It wouldn't do to just be the two of us. Slowly, I'm beginning to understand how much Tris' friends here mean to her. So I've invited as many people as I've been able to get a hold of. Now all I can do is wait.
As soon as Tobias and I arrive back at the compound, goosebumps rise across my skin. I know something is wrong. There’s a gnawing in my gut, and I try to keep my gaze focused on the landscape around us. But then Cara comes into view, tears streaming down her face, and I clench my hands into fists by my sides, as though they might protect me from whatever news she has.
It’s not Cara’s fault that she bears the burden of being the messenger; yet it’s nearly impossible not to want to shake her when she lets out the news that Tris Prior is dead.
“No,” I say, giving into my own denial for the moment. “No way. There must be some mistake.”
But Cara’s expression, her eyes wavering from the weight of her tears, is as honest as I’ve seen any person look. And then my gaze falls on Tobias, and I can tell in the way he stiffens suddenly that his thoughts align with my own: you could take the girl out of Abnegation, but you couldn’t take the Abnegation out of the girl. Tris, as I’ve always known her to be, spared her brother the fate he deserved out of her love for him.
I yell, first. Scream out into the void as though the power of my voice could change the fact of Tris’ death. I’m not entirely aware of the words that leave my mouth; I’m only sure that they’re ugly and painful, stained with grief. Beside me, I barely register Tobias anymore, as tears start to blur the world around me.
My stomach hurts, is the thought that flashes in my mind, bright, and bold, and stupid. Tris is dead, and all I can think about is how my stomach hurts. What the hell is wrong with me?
It’s a question I’ve asked myself many times before; choosing Dauntless over my native Candor, jumping off the train for the first time with a girl I’d only just met, a seemingly shy girl from Abnegation, no less.
She’s dead. She’s dead. Not Caleb. Tris. She’s dead. Oh, God.
My best friend. My anchor in this hell of a world. The one who killed the man I’d loved; the same one I forgave. She’s dead, and her traitor of a brother lives, and my stomach hurts, because I can’t choose between horror and grief.
I fall to my knees, because I can’t stand up. Not with the numbing reality creeping into my skin, like one of Jeanine’s serums.
I don’t notice the world when it shifts; I can’t even bring myself to look at Tobias or Cara, who both mirror my own pain in their grief. But when I manage to regain control over my breathing, I find myself looking at pavement, like that of the streets of Chicago.
A sudden, onset of noise pulls me from my grief, just as I find myself nearly blinded by a surge of light.
There is a car, similar in shape and color to those held by the Erudite, heading straight for me.
My Dauntless instincts take over then; I crouch, leaning forward as I wait for just the right moment. I jump towards the car just as the driver, a man, young, by the brief look I get of him, stomps on the breaks. My hands push onto the hood of the vehicle, giving me enough leverage to flip onto the very top, clutching onto the metal roof with my bare hands.
The car screeches beneath me, like someone caught in the throes of fear serum, as it comes to a stop. I manage to catch my breath, just as the door to my right opens, and the man comes out, swearing and making rude gestures in my direction.
“Sorry,” I say, leaping down from the car as though it were nothing. I glance around me; wherever I am, it isn’t the compound, nor Chicago. But the closeness of the buildings reminds me of the city I thought of as home but which, in truth, was only an experiment.
Beside me, the guy is going purple with anger. He looks like an overcooked vegetable, that’s what Tris would say, if she were here with me. If she were still alive.
“Look,” I say at last, trying to distract myself of the awful truth I’ve left behind. “Can you tell me where I am? This doesn’t look like Chicago.”
I get a raised middle finger for my trouble, along with another string of curses.I have only one thought:
I wish Tris were here with me.
It’s not Cara’s fault that she bears the burden of being the messenger; yet it’s nearly impossible not to want to shake her when she lets out the news that Tris Prior is dead.
“No,” I say, giving into my own denial for the moment. “No way. There must be some mistake.”
But Cara’s expression, her eyes wavering from the weight of her tears, is as honest as I’ve seen any person look. And then my gaze falls on Tobias, and I can tell in the way he stiffens suddenly that his thoughts align with my own: you could take the girl out of Abnegation, but you couldn’t take the Abnegation out of the girl. Tris, as I’ve always known her to be, spared her brother the fate he deserved out of her love for him.
I yell, first. Scream out into the void as though the power of my voice could change the fact of Tris’ death. I’m not entirely aware of the words that leave my mouth; I’m only sure that they’re ugly and painful, stained with grief. Beside me, I barely register Tobias anymore, as tears start to blur the world around me.
My stomach hurts, is the thought that flashes in my mind, bright, and bold, and stupid. Tris is dead, and all I can think about is how my stomach hurts. What the hell is wrong with me?
It’s a question I’ve asked myself many times before; choosing Dauntless over my native Candor, jumping off the train for the first time with a girl I’d only just met, a seemingly shy girl from Abnegation, no less.
She’s dead. She’s dead. Not Caleb. Tris. She’s dead. Oh, God.
My best friend. My anchor in this hell of a world. The one who killed the man I’d loved; the same one I forgave. She’s dead, and her traitor of a brother lives, and my stomach hurts, because I can’t choose between horror and grief.
I fall to my knees, because I can’t stand up. Not with the numbing reality creeping into my skin, like one of Jeanine’s serums.
I don’t notice the world when it shifts; I can’t even bring myself to look at Tobias or Cara, who both mirror my own pain in their grief. But when I manage to regain control over my breathing, I find myself looking at pavement, like that of the streets of Chicago.
A sudden, onset of noise pulls me from my grief, just as I find myself nearly blinded by a surge of light.
There is a car, similar in shape and color to those held by the Erudite, heading straight for me.
My Dauntless instincts take over then; I crouch, leaning forward as I wait for just the right moment. I jump towards the car just as the driver, a man, young, by the brief look I get of him, stomps on the breaks. My hands push onto the hood of the vehicle, giving me enough leverage to flip onto the very top, clutching onto the metal roof with my bare hands.
The car screeches beneath me, like someone caught in the throes of fear serum, as it comes to a stop. I manage to catch my breath, just as the door to my right opens, and the man comes out, swearing and making rude gestures in my direction.
“Sorry,” I say, leaping down from the car as though it were nothing. I glance around me; wherever I am, it isn’t the compound, nor Chicago. But the closeness of the buildings reminds me of the city I thought of as home but which, in truth, was only an experiment.
Beside me, the guy is going purple with anger. He looks like an overcooked vegetable, that’s what Tris would say, if she were here with me. If she were still alive.
“Look,” I say at last, trying to distract myself of the awful truth I’ve left behind. “Can you tell me where I am? This doesn’t look like Chicago.”
I get a raised middle finger for my trouble, along with another string of curses.I have only one thought:
I wish Tris were here with me.