I Don't Have A Bullet

You Think Giving You A Hug Would Give Away Too Much?" He Says. "you Know," I Say. "i Really Don't Care." I Stand On My Tiptoes And Press My Lips To His. It Is The Best Moment Of My Life.

I Open The Door To The Fear Landscape Room And Flip Open The Small Black Box That Was In My Back Pocket To See The Syringes Inside. This Is The Box I Have Always Used, Padded Around The Needles; It Is A Sign Of Something Sick Inside Me, Or Something Brave.

Yes," Marcus Says. "i Understand That You Are Concerned -- That You All Are Concerned. You Had Never Heard Of The Divergent A Week Ago, And Now All That You Know Is That They Are Immune To Something To Which You Are Susceptible, And That Is A Frightening Thing. But I Can Assure You That There Is Nothing To Be Afraid Of, As Far As We Are Concerned." As He Speaks, His Head Tilts And His Eyebrows Lift In Sympathy, And I Understand At Once Why Some People Like Him. He Makes You Feel That If You Just Placed Everything In His Hands, He Would Take Care Of It.

I Look Out The Window Again, Taking Slow, Deep Breaths Into A Body Too Tense To Move. And As I Stare Out At The Land, I Think That This, If Nothing Else, Is Compelling Evidence For My Parents’ God, That Our World Is So Massive That It Is Completely Out Of Our Control, That We Cannot Possibly Be As Large As We Feel. -tris Prior

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?