From One Tyrant To Another.

My Father Has A Way Of Persuading People Without Charm That Has Always Confused Me. He States His Opinions As If They’re Facts, And Somehow His Complete Lack Of Doubt Makes You Believe Him. That Quality Frightens Me Now, Because I Know What He Told Me: That I Was Broken, That I Was Worthless, That I Was Nothing. How Many Of Those Things Did He Make Me Believe?

Sometimes I Still Forget To Look For The Gentler Parts Of Her. For So Long All I Saw Was The Strength, Standing Out Like The Wiry Muscles In Her Arms Or The Black Ink Marking Her Collarbone With Flight.

I Knew By The Way He Looked At Her That He Held Her In A Higher Regard Than He Held Even Himself. No Selfishness Or Insecurity Kept Him From Seeing The Full Extent Of Her Goodeness, As It So Often Does With The Rest Of Us. That Kind Of Love May Only Be Possible In Abnegation. I Do Not Know. My Father: Erudite-born, Abnegation-grown. He Often Found It Difficult To Live Up To The Demands Of His Chosen Faction, Just As I Did. But He Tried, And He Knew True Selflessness When He Saw It.

Trust Me When I Tell You, Eaton Boy, That Resisting Is Worth Doing.

It Seems Like The Rebellions Never Stop, In The City, In The Compound, Anywhere. There Are Just Breaths Between Them, And Foolishly, We Call Those Breaths “peace".