Perhaps it is bold of me to even consider posting this, but I felt it to be a perspective so few take. What does life in the factions look like for dependents in reality? Where is the logic in guilt-tripping dependents over defecting, when it is expected of them as responsible adults, and what are the realistic consequences of this stigma?

I do not own the Divergent universe.

"My father was a deeply sentimental man. And like all sentimental men, he was also very cruel."

- Ernest Hemingway

Amity

There is something surreal about it all. The wide expanse of the pasture, the endless flower fields, the songs of forever and peace and happiness. It is picturesque, and I know this because I have read books from centuries ago, from the beautiful melancholy of Garcilaso to the cynical poems of Quevedo. History does not repeat itself, certainly, but it often rhymes in assonance; just distinct enough to fool the general masses. Enough to lie to those who are desperate enough to believe it.

And I know that, someday, I might peel off all the green grasses and blooming blossoms like skin, leaving only the barren dirt beneath. For what portrait can claim to be truth whose painter's eyes stare across through rose-tinted lenses?

I know two things to be true: I am not angry, and I am not happy. I am resigned, like the candle whose wick is about to be lighted; like the flame that will be extinguished long before it reaches the end of the wax.

If I am poetic, then it is only to soften the truth that my parents have been blinded to.

I am not Amity, but neither is anyone here. We are all liars. We are all portraits of ourselves: our laughter is airy, intangible; our smiles are painted onto skin.

Mother thinks I am Candor. She tells me I am Amity.

She is a fool.

"It isn't good to skip meals, Violet," Mother chides quietly, eyes worried.

My sister nods, and transfers a piece of bread from her plate to mine. "Here. Some bread will make you feel better," she says with a smile.

"Do you need drugs to be happy?" I scoff. Pathetic.

I am not angry, just disappointed. And weary. I can feel my future stretch out in front of my eyes, a wide expanse of monotonous grey lightly scribbled over with bright colors, as if it might halt the gradual wasting away of my bones. Realization comes in waves, and I watch silently as they push me away.

The room falls silent.

"I didn't mean... I-" I watch dispassionately as my sister flounders for words. She is so afraid of conflict that she refuses to even attempt at resolution. Terrified of alienation, she sends a tidal wave in my direction and I smile. It is funny when you disregard the impact of the crash. It is funny when you do not seek their understanding. It is funny when you are resigned.

It is hilarious when you lie.

(But it still hurts.)

The Amity are nice; of that I have no doubt. But they are not kind.

"It is alright, sister," I smile mockingly and pat her head, standing up. "Eat your bread and do not worry."

I sound robotic, but they all believe I am sincere. They want to believe.

"She was insulting him for no reason! Is this what we respect around here? Bullying?" I demand, eyes blazing.

I am furious. Every single cell in my body rages for justice, for the defense of innocents. Adrenaline rushes through me in waves, and I am so alive it is almost difficult to breathe.

Still, I force myself to calm down. Expression of any real emotion will only lead to that damnable serum.

"It is rather unkind to allow someone else to harm an innocent," I say sweetly, a patronizing smile on my face. "It only encourages further aggression."

Mrs. Chrysanthemum falters, lip trembling slightly. The fear in her eyes is obvious; she is terrified of being deemed unkind, of facing ostracization from other Amity.

I almost laugh. I know they will not fault her, for they are just as afraid as she is. They are a herd of sheep, and I am the wolf who plays with them for survival. At least like this, I can be cruel without doing physical damage. I worry that someday, the fire in me will blaze so brightly that I will explode and these nice, ignorant little sheep will be set aflame.

After all, they are only sheep. They do not know any better.

The serum is awful.

Like poison, it seeps into my veins and obstructs my thinking, stripping away my true beliefs and emotions until all I am is a hollow shell.

And then comes the ear-splitting headache.

I want to scream as my brain fights against the happiness, the bubbly feelings - wrong, my mind screams, this is wrong this is wrongiswrongiswrongiswrong this is wrong - and the dizzy, giddy thoughts of nothing of importance. I know it is not normal; I have seen others under the peace serum and they do not react like this. They are calm and ditsy and loopy. They do not feel spikes of pure rage; their minds do not fight for balance. Their brains do not scream thisisn'trealwhywon'titstopstopstopstopstop.

This is torture.

I feel the tears leak out of my eyes and my mind is consumed by pain, and this time when I scream, I can feel my throat tear.

And then I am laughing hysterically, because I will leave someday and it will kill my family. It will kill all of Amity to see someone defect there.

In my pain-hazed mind, the thought brings me joy. They will pay for their ignorant cruelty. They will pay for their lack of understanding, for their self-righteousness.

In two days, I will be Dauntless.

Just a note: Violet's divergent. I was thinking about what the peace serum would actually do to someone who is Divergent - I think the scene in Insurgent makes no sense, since Tris can resist both the simulation serum and the truth serum, so why doesn't she resist the peace serum?

Next is Abnegation.