AN: I know I hate these too; however I am legally obligated to state at the beginning of each chapter that I am not the owner of Divergent. That would be Veronica Roth. This idea many people have had but I would like to write my own version and I would appreciate constructive criticism, thank you. Also I know this is short, but it's a prologue. I sincerely hope you enjoy.
TRIS' POV
The sun was shining without a cloud in the sky on that day, the day that changed my life. I was five at the time. My family stood in the home of the Eatons. Mrs. Evelyn Eaton had passed away in child birth leaving behind a son, who was seven, and her husband.
"We are truly sorry for your loss Marcus," my father said.
"Thank you, I just don't know how I'll manage without her," Marcus said.
"Perhaps I could help with some of the responsibilities around the house," my mother offered.
"Oh, I couldn't ask that of you," his abnegation-self rejected the offer. My small self decided to prove I could be selfless and helpful.
"I can help!" I offered. My parents smile proudly. For a moment, I saw something flash in Marcus' eye that I couldn't identify at the time. He looked to my parents as if asking permission. They nodded.
"Well, Beatrice, that sounds wonderful. Is tomorrow a good day for you?" i rapidly nodded my head eager and proud.
"Then I will see you tomorrow after school."
TOBIAS' POV
That night, after my mother's funeral, was my first beating. Apparently I should've greeted our guests and not been shocked at Mom's "pregnancy."
I've known for a while my "father" was abusing my mother. Most confused her screams for the factionless, but I couldn't tell anyone otherwise or he'd kill us both.
The next morning I slept in. "Sleeping in is a selfish pleasure," Marcus says. "Time for another lesson. This is for your own good." Again I was whipped and beat. I couldn't go to school in my new condition so he threw me in the small closet upstairs saying to think of what I've done.
I sat in there for about five minutes before deciding to apologize. I went to open the sliding panel but I found it was locked. That was when I began to panic.
I'm trapped! What if he forgets me!? What if I suffocate before he comes back?! What if I starve or die of thirst?! were all thoughts that flew through my head every time he put me in that dreaded closet. The space was too small. I pressed against the walls trying to make the space bigger but I couldn't. I sat there banging against the door for what felt like hours. Eventually, I gave up, curling into a ball before I cried.
At some point I must have fallen asleep because I woke up to screaming. At first I thought it was a nightmare about my mother, then I heard it again. It couldn't have been my mother, not only is she dead, it was too high pitched. I began to bang my fists against the door. Someone else was in the house suffering at Marcus' hands. There was small break before the next scream but this one morphs into a cry for help. They heard me. It sounded like a young girl, maybe somewhere around my age. I began banging harder but the girls screams intensified. Suddenly the screams ceased, but the crack of the belt against flesh could still be heard.
After several more hours I was let out of the closet and beat again for being disruptive. If I screamed it was worse. I learned to stay silent in the closet and during beatings. That doesn't stop me from trying to break out of the closet every time I heard the girl's screams. My beatings later were worse but I couldn't do nothing while someone else was suffering at my "father"'s hands. While I was in the closet, the screams of the girl acted as an alarm clock, counting the days I'd been in there.
Eventually the screams stopped, but the crack of the belt continued with the occasional thuds throughout the days. These days turn to weeks, the weeks to months, and the months to years, but I never heard the girl cry for help again.