Auree: Oar-ee; Aurelia: Oar-eel-ee-uh. I own nothing but this monster.

Chapter 1

Aurelia Grooms was running, weaving her lithe body through trees as they came, but, after the initial twenty-foot forest surrounding her old—now—Michigan city, Battle Creek. The ground was cracked, orange-ish mud, dried by the sun. Every once in a while, she'd see a Joshua tree or cactus, but the only people were behind her, shouting after her, guns in their hands. Auree didn't know where they'd gotten them, and she didn't really care at the moment.

After a while, Auree came upon a building. The fence that surrounded it was chain-link, topped with circles of barbed wire, and emitted a faint buzzing noise. A sign, strapped to the fence, read, "This World Is Not Made For You."

As Aurelia approached the fence, she heard a small click, like someone loading a pistol. Aurelia gasped, and backed away in time to get thrown back by the force of the lightning bolt that struck where she'd stood a minute ago.

Auree jumped up, dizzy, then started running again. Yelling sounded behind her, and a bullet struck the sand; Time to start running again.

Auree's legs burned. She remembered the lessons from school, when she was on the track team. (Don't know how the track team works) She remembered what she'd always told herself, when running was a victory—and, sure, I mean, being alive could be a victory, Auree thought—and began counting in her head. Pace is everything. Beat the enemy. Win. Be better. Be brave.

The first and last ones always stuck in her mind most. She ran to the numbers she counted: one, two, three, four, one, two, three, four, one, two, three, four.

A group of hills, sand dunes, clustered to the right; Auree began running in that direction, admiring their beauty absentmindedly. Beauty didn't matter very much to her in people—but in things, she loved it, and wanted her camera, but she wasn't advanced at photography, and therefore was horrible at actually taking pictures, so she was scientifically screwed.

Auree was choking, lungs burning, still stumbling along as fast as she could. The sun was starting to set; Auree ran faster, then ever faster, as a bullet pierced the ground—which had turned to dry sand—next to her.

Auree couldn't run anymore. The prophecy said, though, that she would save Battle Creek with the group from over the hills that affiliated themselves with flames.

So she kept going.

Auree wanted Battle Creek. She was dehydrated, and stumbling along the way. She wanted to stop.

But she couldn't: she'd promised her parents, her brother sister. She'd promised her best friend.

Get there. Just get there. Then, the people of the flame will help her, feed her and give her a bed to sleep in like she hadn't had since she'd left Battle Creek. Tomorrow.

I won't have to hide anymore. The people of the flame will help me.

I will help my people. I will help my people. I will help my people.

I will save my people.

But for now it's time to run.

Auree saw a fence, giantly tall. She almost wept with relief. The journey is almost over. The hard part is almost over. Auree could handle a paintball fight or stabbing someone, but, for god's sake, she wanted some water.

The secret burned inside her chest; it was why her people's police were chasing her; it was why she was running; but she didn't really know why. The secret was locked inside of her, had been since her mother gave to her, before she died, in a dream; It was locked inside of her until the time came to reveal it.

Auree was sprinting, happy tears that she did not allow to fall, sparkling in her eyes. The prophecy. The prophecy. I will heed the prophecy.

She sprinted harder, leaning forward, and disappeared in the trees surrounding the compound.

I won't have to hide; I will be safe, as I never have never been.

Auree climbed the fence and dropped over the other side; she heard a train coming, and did as a million other Dauntless initiates had done before, and caught up the train, spying an empty car.

When she jumped onto the roof, she eyed the hole in a building slightly below this one; she smiled, and ran at it, jumping up, spinning on her heel, and trust-falling down onto the net.

"I've always wanted to do that," She sighed happily, lying on the net.

And now she had.

Probably not oneshot; just an idea. So . . . based a little off of "Run Boy Run" by Woodkid. Love that song. Yeah. I'm hoping this will relieve my horrid writers' block on all of my stories—yeah, it's on Katana, too, so I'm totally fucking scientifically screwed.