I am posting this because…actually I don't know why because I think my writing is horrific.
As a disclaimer for this fanfic, a lot of it follows the same plot as the book until about chapter 3/4/5? Anyways, I follow everything closely until she gets to Dauntless.
I am posting Chapter One and Two because Chapter One is really short
I fling out of bed, my hair flying in front of my eyes, the flashback of the nightmare still plaguing my thoughts, wrapping around my brain in a sinister loop. I begin panting, my eyes scanning the room frantically as I gasp for air, praying that my parents won't hear me, and that my sister won’t come running, like all of the Abnegation do when someone is in
distress. After 5 minutes, I confirm to myself that I have not woken anyone up, and that my nightmare was not real. I feel my forehead and try to slow my breathing and heart rate.
My nightmare was quite simple; I had been abandoned in a huge lake, unable to escape. I had drowned, and my pale body was dragged beneath the foamy-sloped waves, as cold, icy water swirled into my throat. It was a recurring dream, although I don’t think it meant I am afraid of lakes, I think it meant I am afraid of loss of control.
I sit myself up in bed, and see an orange sunrise peeking through the dull white curtains in my room. My Abnegation room is plain; gray carpet and gray walls, with a plain wooden dresser bearing clothes and undergarments, and my bed, which has dull sheets and a single pillow, along with a plain dresser. Inside the drawer is a notebook and a watch, my only pieces of value I truly have.
I reach under a small panel in the carpet for the shard of a mirror I found on the street and sneak a peek at my face. I look as skinny and as hollow as ever, and quickly place the mirror under the square of carpet. My heart beats faster as I have a stronger urge to grab the mirror shard again to look at myself, but I wipe away the thought. Abnegation are not supposed to look at themselves. It is a sign of vanity, a virtue my faction rejects. I shouldn't even have the mirror.
I walk over to the window, peering through the curtains at the rising sun, peeking over the skyline of my city. I can see the buildings in the Dauntless sector, and Erudite. The Amity farms are beyond the fence, which no one can see from Abnegation, and Candor is over by the Merciless Mart, and you can’t see that unless you stacked 4 Abnegation houses on top of each other.
The reason I can easily spot Dauntless is because their buildings are huge; they climb them and they sometimes jump off them onto a landing pad. It’s also by the ferris wheel, which stands out against the Chicago landscape. The city is theirs. All I have it this bedroom to call my own. The Dauntless are free. The Abnegation are contained and restricted.
I look at the clock on my wall above my dresser, and it tells me it is 6:24 in the morning. 6 minutes until my parents wake up to their beeping alarm and then come into my room and my sisters room. I clasp my hands together, trying to brace myself.
I remember why I had the nightmare now.
It’s aptitude test day.
I walk with my mother, father and my sister, who is not quite a year older than me, so we are in the same school year. She has gorgeous blonde hair that curls into ringlets down her back, while I have plain, brunette, stick straight hair. She is the exact contrast of me; she is willowy and curvy, I am a stick, with no figure and sharp bones sticking out of my elbows and knees; knobbly at best . She has pale blue eyes, gorgeous and striking, while I have dull green, the color of moss. I wish they were like a sparkling green, like an emerald, but they’re dark and unpolished. She is graceful and short, always walking in a straight line, too poised to trip or knock into anything, while I am clumsily tall, always tripping over my awkward limbs, covered in bruises because of my curse that requires me to slam into anything that sticks out in my path or is even barely in my way. She’s my polar opposite, even though she’s my sister. Especially the fact that she’s textbook Abnegation, while I am something, something that I don’t understand.
I’m afraid the test will tell me I have to leave my family. I’m even more terrified that it will tell me that I have to stay.
“Jessica, are you there?” Francis asks me. Francis is an common name for Abnegation, and Jessica is exactly the type of name you would see in our little gray houses in the row of out little gray neighborhood, where all the houses look the same. Francis was talking to me, but I felt like there were cotton balls stuck into my ears. I had missed what she asked.
“What?” I ask, as if resurfacing from a dream.
My family and I are walking to the school where they will administer the tests in rooms off to the side of the cafeteria. My mother has my brunette hair and my small nose, while I got my eye color from my father. Francis looks at me with raised eyebrows.
“I was just asking if you were nervous,” Francis repeats the words I did not hear.
I swallow the fear that had piled up in my throat. I cover my fear with a smile and raised eyebrows. “No,” I say, and show my smile with my bright teeth. “No, I’m not.” I try so hard to keep a straight face.
“Good,” my father says happily. “We both know where you two belong,” he says, as if he knew me. He might think he did. No one else saw the war inside me.
Don’t cry, I tell myself. They will love you no matter your choice. Your parents have always been accepting of my choices...I think.
“Yes,” I say passively. “I do.”
I sit in the cafeteria, waiting for my name to be called. My hands are a tangled mess of sweat and fingers and I wait in slow agony. Francis doesn’t seem fazed. She knows where she belongs, and she always has.
“Jessica Evers and Mary Davis,” a voice calls, and I look over at Mary, a distant friend from school. Mary smiles at me distantly; she was not nervous. She knows that she is Abnegation, as does every child brought up from my faction. Except me.
I walk into a room, where a single simulation chair stands, along with a woman cleaning supplies. She is slender, sporting short cropped hair that held a gray streak, with small eyes and heavy makeup with a black tank top and tight black pants on. Dauntless.
“Hello,” I say in a small voice. I’m sure the Dauntless woman doesn't expect anything less from quiet Abnegation girls. If I would’ve said it louder, she would’ve been confused.
“I’m Tori, I’ll be administering your aptitude test.” her voice is quipped and her eyes narrow on me. “Sit down,” she says, as if I don’t know that’s what I am supposed to do. Her voice has a pang of annoyance, as if she does not want to be here and she probably did not volunteer. It figures, I am stuck with an indifferent Dauntless administer.
“Sit,” she demands again, because I froze on the spot. I exhale a breath I didn’t realize I was holding in, and slip my leg over the recliner. A small piece of leg was exposed; I quickly struggle to cover it up. To my left is a wall of mirrors, which, out of curiosity, I glance at myself for a split second. Tori notices my hesitation.
“What is with you Abnegation and mirrors?” Tori says annoyedly.
“We reject vanity,” I explain reasonably, and Tori rolls her eyes.
“Yeah, I know.” She moves over to the table beside me and pours out a clear blue liquid in a small cup. When she bent down, I saw a tattoo of a hawk on the back of her neck. It must stand for something.
“What does your tattoo mean?” I ask before I can stop myself.
Tori raises an eyebrow. “Never met a curious Stiff before.”
She attaches an electrode on the right side of my forehead.
My heart jolts. Abnegation are not supposed to ponder or be curious, they are supposed to keep to themselves and only to themselves, to not question something out-of the ordinary. Curiosity is my mistake; my flaw. It is too late to take it back now.
“The hawk is a symbol of the sun. I use to be afraid of the dark,” she says, giving into my selfish indulgence. Words tumble out of my mouth before I can halt my curiosity.
“Used to?” I say, again, too curious to stop myself. She scrutinizes me, but says nothing of my hunger for information and attaches the other electrode to the left side of my forehead.
“It now reminds me of a fear I’ve overcome,” she says, sure of herself. I wish I could be like that.
“How do you get over a fear?” I ask, again, curiosity winning through my Abnegation upbringing. Tori doesn’t answer, and instead gives me the cup with the blue liquid. It must be something they teach at Dauntless; something I will never learn.
“Bottoms up,” she says, and I take the cup unwillingly.
“What is this?” I ask. Tori keeps silent, and turns away from me. I take that as a sign and pour the ocean color water down my throat.
I close my eyes in instinct from the liquid, its taste making me gag, but when my green eyes emerge from the cover of my lashes, something has changed. Tori has vanished, as well as the cart full of the strange blue liquid. The room, instead of a single mirrored wall, is now covered floor to ceiling in mirrors, and everywhere I look I can see myself. My green eyes, my brunette locks, which were tied into a tight bun on top of my head, and my large Abnegation clothing, my gray sweater covered over a gray skirt, with my dusty gray boots covering most of my skin. I immediately shy away from the mirror, but then realize that mirrors are the only thing I can look at. I seize the moment and examine my features; my long nose, my sharp cheekbones, my miniscule freckles, and my long eyelashes. My mother thinks I’m beautiful; if I am, I can’t show it in Abnegation. But still, I do not think I am pretty; I am too tall for my figure, more lanky than willowy, and my nose is too big for my face. My face looks too thin and too wobbly for my skinny neck; I basically look like one of the treats the Dauntless children have, the white stick with the cherry red candy sticking out of the top.
The voice is demanding, and even though I whirl around, I cannot find a single person or a single microphone broadcasting the word. Before me are two tables; one has a slab of meat on it, the other, a long knife.
“Choose,” the womans voice repeats.
“What will I do with them?” I counter. What is the point of arming yourself if you don’t know what you are arming yourself against?
After she screams, I cross my arms, and a scowl replaces my fear. I have always been stubborn; I realize too late that stubbornness is not an Abnegation trait.
"No," I say.
“Have it your way,” she says.
The options disappear before my eyes.
I hear a large bark, and suddenly, a huge dog with a pointed nose stands a few yards away from me. It crouches, its powerful and strong, and a sinister growl releases from it’s jaws. I see know why the knife or the meat would’ve useful, but it’s too late now.
I think about running, but the dog will be faster than me. I definitely can’t wrestle it; it’s much too strong. My heart starts beating extremely fast, my palms start to sweat.
My school textbooks said that dogs can smell fear because of a chemical given off by human glands in a state of duress, the same chemicals a dogs prey gives off. Smelling fear leads them to attack.
The dog begins inching towards me, and I realize theres no escape, and no way for my skinny Abnegation arms can possibly match the dogs power and strength. I cannot fight or flee; both options result in failure.
What else do I know about dogs? I should not look it in the eye. Looking it in the eye is a sign of aggression. I faintly remember wanting a pet dog when I was little, and now, looking down at the growling dog in it’s sharp paws, I cannot remember why.
If staring into it’s eyes is a sign of aggression, then what is a sign of surrender, or submission?
I close my eyes and sink to my knees, my hands forming a protective ‘x’ over my chest. It’s probably the last thing I want to do, put my face level with its baring teeth, but it is the best option I have. The dog barks loudly and I scream, and suddenly something wet and rough touches my cheek.
I open my eyes and stare at it. It’s now yipping happily, waiting for me to pet it. I smile delicately at the dog, and pat the top of it’s head. The dog yips in happiness as I scratch it’s ear.
“You’re not so bad, huh?” I say, a smile breaking through my lips. The dog pants and licks it’s lips, wagging its tail.
I get up carefully so I don’t startle it. I am suddenly very glad I didn’t grab the knife.
A child is walking towards me, wearing Abnegation clothes. She reminds me of Francis as a child, her blonde ringlets flowing down her back, until I realize that it is Francis. I don’t have many memories of our childhood, but one distinct one was her smile, with her white teeth and small pink lips. The smile on this girl is the same.
“Francis?” I ask. She cannot be here- she is what reminds me that this is only a simulation.
“Puppy!” she squeals in delight, and my memories snap back to when the dog was going to attack me. I quickly turn around to look at the dog, and it is now growling, it’s hair on its back standing up.
“No!” I yell as the dog begins to pounce at Francis. I don’t even think about it, I just lunge towards the dog and wrap my arms around it.
“Run, Francis!” I manage to yell before the dog turns on me, and begins to bite my arm.
Suddenly, everything is different. I am sitting in a room was a stainless steel table. My breaths leave my lungs in pants, still shaken from the dog and Francis. The lights are dim in the room, and a man wearing a Candor suit walks in and sits in the chair opposite me. He has caramel brown hair styled with gel, and a hooked nose and hazel eyes. His lips are pursed, and he holds a lit cigar in his left hand.
“Hello,” I say, but he does not answer me. He folds his hands together and bores holes in my head. I feel as though he can see right through me.
He slides a picture over to me. It is a picture of Francis, a gaping wound in her stomach, and another picture, of the dog from the simulation, who is in a cage, barking.
“Do you know this person?” The man asks, pointing at the picture of my dead sister.
I feel in my mind that is a very bad idea to tell the man that I know the picture. A weight drops in my stomach, one that tells me the only way to get out of this situation without harming anyone is to lie.
“No,” I say clearly, and the man adjusts his position on the seat.
“I’m going to ask you one more time,” the man says, and my heart drops. “Do you know this girl? Do you recognize this dog?”
He leans close, and his breath smells like the cigar he is smoking. A small voice in my mind tells me something; not real. Not real.
“Nope.” I stare at him full in the face. “No idea who they are.”
The man stands up and places both of his worn hands on the table, gripping the stainless steel tightly so his knuckles are white.
“You’re lying.” His voice is low and his nostrils flare, his eyes blazing. “You’re lying to me!”
“I am not,” I protest.
“I can see it in your eyes. You’re lying.”
I don’t blink. “You can’t.”
“If you know them, you could save me!”
This throws a wrench in my Abnegation values. Something bad will happen to the people I love if I tell the man, and I don’t know how I know it, but I do. I have to resist the urge to tell him. He can’t know that I know Francis or the dog.
“Well,” I say, my eyes narrowing, my heart racing. “I don’t.”