Hello again, everyone, if anyone actually still cares about this story. I know I sure don't. But I did say I would post a few chapters of this story, and I had a few blurbs lying around, and I got really tired of looking at the, so I decided to post them, finally. They are completely unedited, and pretty horrible, but hey, you asked for them.

Chapter 1- Bird Song

Sometimes people would tell me to quiet down, little bird.

They would think me shrill and small, with ruffled feathers and broken wings. They would laugh and chuckle at my attempts to fly, kick at me when I fell to the ground, again and again. They would call my song blasphemy, spit hate in my mouth every time I tried to speak. Eventually, they stapled my feet to the ground, left me helpless and trapped, left me where all could see, where everyone could rip out my feathers and jeer at my tears. And no one helped.

So I set myself free.

I wanted to dream like the birds did, breathe in the sunset with the Earth below my wings, set eyes on each horizon, coast amongst the clouds without the fear of falling. I wanted to live in the trees like they did, above the world and its people, make houses out of paper grass, be out of reach of any malicious hand. I wanted to dance along the cloud tops, where no voices could be heard but mine.

And I finally had that.

I was in the air, flying through space, above all else, flying ever higher, past the sun and the moon. I had never been more happy in my entire life. I was free, free from the invading hands on humanity, free from the sickly air of the Earth, from the constant screams that branded my ear drums, from the eyes that bore into my sole and left me hollow and exposed.

I was as free as a bird.

And I couldn't help but smile for what felt like the first time in my life as the sun grew brighter and brighter and engulfed me in warmth like no other.

"How could you let this happen?"

"I'm sorry, but like I said, there was nothing we could do-"

"Yes there is! You could have put her under observation in a hospital room. You could have set up cameras in her room to monitor here ever move. You could have stopped her from ever getting addicted to her medication in the first place!"

"Ma'am, you need to calm down-"

"What kind of mental facility is this? This is not what I intended to happen when I created this place. This not the type of care I intended for my patients."

"Ma'am, we were not aware-"

"I want the names of the nurses that were in charge of her. I want them fired immediately!"

"We are trying to assess the situation right now-"

"Dammit, let me see my daughter!"

I am startled when a bright light breaks through the darkness, unsettling the peace.

"Oh my god. . . honey."

Hands are on me, all over me, plucking at my fingers, grabbing at my cheeks, throwing my head back and forth, pressing over my mouth and forcing all my air out.

"Oh, Beatrice," the loud voice sniffles, hand on my forehead, brushing my sweaty hair back. "Oh, baby, how could I have let this happen?"

I don't push the hands off. I don't move. I don't do anything.

"Honey, are you okay? Can you hear me? Beatrice?"

A sick feeling fills my stomach as I realize that my heart is still pitter pattering, my chest still rising and falling with the crashing tides, eyes still open and seeing colors too real to be made from the stuff of dreams. My mother's face is there, all too sharp and angled to be that of an angel, room bright and white, but far too cold and castless to be of heaven.

But the realization doesn't give the effect that I would expect. The dread I think to swallow me whole is nothing more than a chilled whisper at my ear. The remorse for my past actions is misplaced, completely gone from the festering void in my mind that it once called home. The tears that would force themselves from my eyes are nowhere to be seen, not even burning the backs of my eyes.

I am numb. More numb than I have ever been before. So numb that even the light cries of my own mother beside me do not prompt me to make a move to comfort her. So numb that all I have the will to move are my eyes to watch her in her misery, not even caring that I am the cause of it. So numb that even now, I do not care if I am alive or dead, be cause nothing matters anymore. It's not giving up, its just that I don't care anymore.

"Beatrice?"

It has been hours, it seems. Time passes differently when the world could fall from beneath your feet and you wouldn't do a thing to save yourself.

"Beatrice, please." She squeezes my limp hand. "Please talk to me. I know there is nothing wrong with you. You need to be getting up and walking around, eating." I continue to stare blankly at the ceiling, comatose. "Just say something, at least."

I can't bring myself to feel sorry for here. Or for myself. Something changed when I finally decided to end my life. There was a moment in that bathtub, with the water cresting over me and pooling red around my legs, when made one last cut, and just knew it was the last. I had never felt more enlightened. Knowing that could finally let go, stop clinging to life like it was all I had left. Realizing that the bible stories were true, that there was an after, that death was just a ticket into the afterlife, where there were no Divergent genes, no illnesses, no depression, no facilities, no doctors, no nurses, no sadness. And a switch went off deep within me, the big light bulb in my chest burnt out, and I finally relaxed for the first time in my life and let the angels pick me up and bring me into the light.

I never expected them to drop me back on earth again, though.

I had already moved on, let go. There was no going back. I couldn't just face death head on and then welcome life back with open arms. I feel as if I left something behind, as if the angels where never there to help me, but actually took my soul and let my mangled body drop back to the ground. I am empty, hollowed out like bomb shells, a vessel with no soul, a mind in a body that no longer had a will to live, to move, to continue breathing.

"Beatrice." My mother is shaking. Her loose unkempt hair brushes my cheeks as she leans into my face. "Beatrice, please, just answer me. Just say anything. Just tell me you are okay."

Like a choked bird doesn't sing, I didn't speak a word.