Chatterbox: Inkwell

Divergent Fanfiction!

So yeah. This isn't anygood because I'm just letting it sorta fall onto the paper, but anyway.  

I close my eyes. I don’t want to wake up and have to chose.

“Monica Postfoy!”

“Coming, Mom!”

I crawl out of bed and pull on ripped blue jeans and a white tee-shirt.  

I’m a born Candor, but I am NOT spending the rest of my life here. You can’t even tell a white lie around here to save your friends’ skin.  Education was definitely not priority.

However, I wasn’t  conflicted about what faction I was going to chose. Erudite  was my obvious choice. Books galore! Technology! Opportunity!

“Monica...!”  My mother’s growl crept up to my ears.

“Coming!” I said.

I run down the stairs to face my mother, a plump, scowling blond woman.

“Monica  aren’t you going to wear the dress I got you?”  She frowns upon my jeans and shirt. “At least put on a nicer shirt.”

I sit down to eat, ignoring her. 30 minutes, I think, checking my watch. Half an hour  left.

“Monica!” My mom sits down across from me. “You will wear the nice white shirt from photo day.”

“Mom, I’m 16.” I put my elbows on the table and shove my cereal bowl away. “You can’t control me anymore.”

“I’m still your mother. Take your elbows off the table.”

My little brother, still in his black PJs stumbles into the room. He takes one look at us and backs out.  

“Tommy,”  My mother’s tone changes. She loves Tommy best out of her three kids. “Come back in here, sweetie.” To me she hissed “Go up stairs and change.”

Instead, I leave my bowl on the table and walk out the door.

“Monica!” My mom shouts after me.  

“Geez.” I mutter, slamming the door.

I hop on my white bike and pedal towards Pelin James’s ’s, my friend’s,   house.  

I reach their house and knock on the door. Pelin’s younger sister, Remus,  answers.

“Hi, Monica. Why are you here so early?”

I pass her. The James’ mudroom is, as always, neat.  

“Remus, where’s Pelin?” I ask, turning on my heel.

“In her room, duh.”

I go through the living room where Pelin’s dad is snoozing. That’s all he does.

I rap on Pelin’s door.

“God, Mom. I’m waking up!”

I sigh. “No, it’s me.

She opens the door, and I fall onto her soft, three inch white carpet.

"Ahhhh..." I exhale, leaving all the tension behind.

Pelin doesn't wait. She pulls me up, pushes her fiery red hair out of her face and sits me down on her canopy bed.

I finger the black lace. “Mon, why are you here?”

“My mom’s a jerk.”  I flop backwards. She pulls me up. “Can I come with you?” “To the Choosing? DUH!”

I laugh. “Speaking of which, I’d better get dressed. Don’t look.” I close my eyes. “You can open them now.”

Pelin’s wearing black skinny jeans and a white tank top. The white makes her pale skin even paler.

“So, what were your results?” She wastes no time.

“Ummm...Divergent. Only two ruled out were Candor and Abnegation.” I admit. DARN!. I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone. But it’s PELIN. I think.

Pelin’s eyes widen, till the white is bigger than a golfball.  “Really,” I hear the doubt in her voice. “Really.” I confirm. I roll off her bed and onto the floor. “I’m going to Erudite, though.” “Me too.”

Pelin’s dog, Floop, paws at the door and we let him in. We sit petting him until he growls and runs back downstairs.

“Weird, but it’s time to go. Did you ride your bike here?” I nod, suddenly incapable of normal speech.  

Pelin and I ride to the ceremony. I’m suddenly aware of everything around me. The leaves swirling from the trees, the grass I’m flattening beneath my tires, the pavement I should be riding on. Pelin’s steady pumping beside me.  I, surprisingly, choke back tears at the fact that I’m leaving Candor.

I’ve always hated Candor. My thirst for knowledge was always looked down upon,and the way I was asking questions got me whippings. If I meet you, I’ll show you the scars.

I pedal, pedal, pedal, faster and faster until the pain is a lion in my heart, and I’ve left Pelin far behind. I hear her calling, but I don’t stop. I pedal through the lion. The Choosing Ceremony site abruptly appears in front of me. I see some families and the bowls. I check my watch. We’ll be starting in minutes.

I look behind me for Pelin. She’s a speck, and she turns into a dot. Dot-Pelin  turns into a sweaty, hot girl.

“We’re almost starting.” I whisper, grabbing her hand and pulling her towards the line of anxious 16 year olds.

We just reach the line when a man steps up to the podium and starts to speak. He smiles at the line of shaking teens, but when his eyes reach Pelin and I, he frowns before turning back to the paper in front of him.

I fall asleep around here.

I wake up when Pelin stands nervously beside me. It must be her turn.

She walks quickly up the stage, takes the knife, and holds it over her wrist. “Come on, Pel!” I hear her father say. He must have showed up.

Pelin holds her hand over the Candor bowl for a second before moving her hand slightly to the Erudite one. She cuts.

Her father screams. Her blood falls, sizzling, into the Erudite bowl.