Sunday, August 12, 2012

Post 4: Chapter 8, pgs. 76-79

I hold the needle to my skin, it’s cold metal making me shiver.

I’d lain on my bed, my hands clasped over my stomach, and waited. I had stared at the ceiling for two hours, waiting for midnight to come and for all of Dauntless to be asleep.
And when I would let my eyelids close, the events of the day fly through my mind in a matter of seconds. I can’t go to sleep; my mind is buzzing.

Tris holds her gun away from her, as though it’s an alien being. But she stares at it with determination. She’s awkward and uncomfortable, as any Abnegation with a gun in her hands would be. But she tries, and she tries, and she tries again. And every time, even though she doesn’t even hit the edge of the target, she persists. She ignores what others think.
She’s strong; she keeps going.
And when she finally hits the target, her eyes light up. She’s awake and alive. Her strength gives her power.
            Maybe she does belong here.
            And, at 12:08, I’m standing in the fear landscape room, a dank space above the Pit where graffiti covers the walls and the exposed pipes run above my head.
The room is lit up by old-fashioned fluorescent tubes with plastic covers.

I plunge the needle into my neck. The syringe clatters to the ground, but I don’t hear it. In the sixty seconds it takes for the serum to go into effect, I stare at the word “Dauntless” spray-painted in red on the concrete wall.
            Maybe I can belong here, too. 

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