Father speaks in a ramble that is far too verbose and far too stiff. At least for someone who watches him enthrall an entire room in a few words. He pins his arms to his side or moves them in jerky movements and lacks that "grace" that he prides himself on so often. There is a tightness in his eyes that I haven't seen in him in a long time. Every few sentences, he locks eyes with me but with the sort of tranquility and boldness of someone who knows they are being watched, I meet his gaze and refuse to look down.

He can't hurt me.

I spent so many nights repeating that to myself in the hopes that one day it would be true. And while I held on with all my might, there were moments where I really questioned whether it was possible. The nights where I held my arms and dug my nails in just to stay grounded in the twisted nightmare of reality. The nights that I had to grasp at my own throat to slow down my own wheezing breaths. The nights where I would slip out of the house at the darkest part of the night and sit on the front stoop and stare into the sky and watch. Every once in a while a shooting star would fly by and I would wonder if it was a sign from God that tonight was the night that I should finally run. Or if there even was a God there at all.

Because what kind of God creates a monster like Marcus?

What kind of God creates a man who so desperately wants to take his place?

I catch Father's speech in bits and pieces, but for the first time in a long time I am given the chance to wholly ignore every word that leaves his mouth and so I stare, but allow my own thoughts to dance and rejoice in the bliss of true liberation.

It's a bit early to celebrate isn't it? You haven't really escaped yet.

The thought is something that brings it all to a halt. The questions settle slowly, like a weight dropped in water and they leave a foul taste in my mouth. They sit in my gut and the more I try to focus on anything else, the louder they echo in my brain, multiplying and growing louder. Out of my periphery, I see someone walk out of the line and approach the bowls. I don't hear anything except for the pounding of blood in my ears, but I watch as they are handed the knife and the true ceremony begins.

I strain to quiet my thoughts and refocus on the ceremony to distract myself but my head begins to ache. From stress, strain, tension, or something else who knows. I grab my wrist and hold it tightly, biting my cheek in the process and hope that the pain will finally break me out of this downward spiral. And while I can focus on watching the events happening in front of me, sounds are only coming back muffled and even when I close my eyes and try to focus solely on what I hear, I can't make out words.

The list of people is slowly growing shorter as my turn races towards me. I can only watch in mild interest as people take their turn to spray blood within their chosen bowl. It is such an old-fashioned and disgusting process if one takes the time to think about it. Why have people spread their blood, when they could just sign a contract? Why make us cut open our hands? The health ramifications of this is appalling. And who really benefits from this?

There are five more people ahead of me.

It is interesting to watch the spread of choices. A majority of the people choose to remain with their birth factions, families celebrating as children return to their "home". They race back to the warm embrace of parents while their community cheers behind them and their clothes are a testament to how much they already fit into the spot that they really never left.

There are four more people.

Abnegation should be grateful for this trend. Every year it has the least number of transfers. People don't often choose a life of being selfless; people don't enjoy putting themselves last. Of course, you could always just view it as a challenge, either to be the most selfless or to try and convince people that you are more selfless than those closest know you to be. But the lifestyles of the other factions aren't the most conducive for a transfer to this life. Dauntless live so that you have to focus on yourself because you never know if your next reckless act will be your last one. Amity's carefree ways, while not truly focused on anyone, mean that suddenly shifting to thinking of the people who are most in need of help is a change that can truly alter their mind. A neighbor's wife was once in Amity, I'm told, but you would never know. One day she went to give food to a factionless man and she stopped speaking. It's believed that seeing the poverty that exists just outside of our faction walls broke her mentally.

There are three more people.

The people of Candor handle the shift best. They claim that the real and honest truth is unbiased and in some ways I feel the urge to believe them. Their biggest challenge is breaking the urge to admit to everything. Sometimes the most selfless act is to hide the worst parts of life from the people who can't handle it. We hide things because it is what is best. Or, at least, that's what Father trained me to believe. Don't talk about what happens in our home. It would only be a burden. Erudite are some of the most selfish. They hoard knowledge like a basic need and any attempt to stop them, to starve them of the sustenance they find solely in books, and they will lash out like an animal. The façade that they play of the upright and all-knowing scholars is an act like no other. I find it somewhat humorous that they work so hard to act like leaders and like respectable figures that would write the history that would one day be read. But in reality, they are the cowards who hide in the background until the war has been fought and everyone is dead on their feet and then they sweep in and claim a victory in a fight they never really fought.

There are two more people.

I am suddenly far too aware that I haven't made a choice about where I am going. My entire future, my safety, is up in the air and I have no plan. I spent so long just trying to survive to this point and now that I'm here I am not sure what lies beyond me. It is a danger that I have never faced, Father always made it so clear what lay before me, and spent every day reminding me of the fact that I couldn't place one foot out of line. And now I have an open field before me but more than anything I want to lay down and rest. I watch the knife get handed to Father and I look up and see him staring directly at me, and there is an intensity there, and I can't quite tell if he is trying to read my thoughts or if he is just appraising who he believes will be the next great leader of Abnegation because no matter what anyone may say, there is no Council. There is only Marcus.

There is one more person.

I smuggled a book out of the school library once. I got caught by Father and I remember having to put on so much makeup the next morning for classes just so people wouldn't notice the blues, purples, reds, and greens that painted my face and arms in an abstract collage. But the thing that stuck with me, was the idea that whenever someone is staring down at their own death, when they are faced with the greatest reminder of their own mortality, they are often filled with a sense of absolute assurance and peace. They said there is a clarity that comes in that split-second where you are aware that you are going to die and there is nothing you can do about it. Not like a suicide, where you make a choice with a hope. There is no assurance in that, only a wavering hope. But when someone stares at a person who is demanding their life as a payment for an action that they have no control over, there is an almost divine sense of calm that fills one's being. And in a way, this entire experience feels something like a death. And I understand the calm that fills me and leaves an emptiness in its wake and no matter how hard I try to rationalize a decision, to come up with the best choice so that I won't regret any longer, I am left with nothing but a sudden and deafening silence in my being.

"Kathleen Eaton."

It is spoken cleanly and clearly, cutting through what I had been unable to shed before. I take steady steps forward to the center where Father awaits. He is holding the knife out to me, resting it on his open palm. But when I reach him, I hesitate to take it. I instead choose to look at the bowls, sitting in a circle before me, looking like a massacre and in some ways, I guess that it is fitting.

How many families died with the choices sitting in these bowls?

Father clears his throat and I look up and slowly take the knife from his hand. He moves to grasp his hands behind his back and he takes a step back, allowing me the space I need and to observe this "sacred" ceremony. No faction has laid claim to my heart and I lack the time and rationale to make a choice, and so for what may be the first time, I allow the choice to rest in hands that I do not see, whatever that may be. I place the blade against my palm and press, choosing not to go through the gaudy display of slicing my palm with a flourish. I am subdued and docile in front of the predator that hunted me within the forest of my home and community. I close my eyes and take a breath, thrusting my hand in front of me and feeling the warmth and wetness that is pooling in my upturned palm. I allow my arm to move, though what moves it is beyond me. I pause for a moment before turning my hand over and allowing the blood to fall.

It is the sound that informs me of my choice before anything else. There is a hissing sound and suddenly the smell assaults my nose as the burning blood stings my nose. I open my eyes right as the roaring behind me erupts and I can see it without having to turn, the ocean of black clothing that adorns the tattoos and scars rippling like waves. They are cheering and for the life of me, I am not sure I really understand why. When my eyes open, they glance up almost on instinct and when I meet Father's eyes, I see only my own surprise mirrored on his face. We stand there and blink at each other for what feels simultaneously like seconds and eternities. But knowing that the longer I wait here, the more danger I am in, I step forward and go to hand him the knife. I watch the sides of his jaws flex as he clenches his teeth and his eyes suddenly become cold and harsh and I flinch. He begins to open his mouth, a snarl twisting across his face before he suddenly stops, looking at something behind me in the masses of colors and he tames his expression. He takes the knife from me, all while staring at whatever had managed to stop his expression of outrage and I cannot tell whether I am grateful or terrified of whatever it may be.

Regardless, I take my chance to flee to the people that I will hopefully grow to view as a family and community and as I approach, a woman stands and offers me her seat in the front row of faction members and I notice the only other grey among the night sky that is Dauntless. Two Abnegation transfers to Dauntless? Odd. Glancing at her face, it takes me several beats to finally place a name to her face. Beatrice Prior. No one outstanding, but for her to change factions must make her at least the slightest bit interesting I suppose. There are a few other teens that have transferred with the smattering of blue and white, though I can't be sure whether any of the teens wearing all black aren't Candor transfers who happened to be lacking some white in their choice of clothing for today.

The ceremony is over not too long after I have sat down, nothing of great note happening. When Father, no, Marcus, comes up to close out the ceremony his entire face is pinched and he searches the crowds for something. Upon spotting my face, he stares for a long time and I wonder if others are starting to notice. But suddenly he stops speaking and takes a step back and chaos overtakes the room. The Dauntless all rise and begin to run in a hoard towards the exits. I allow instinct to have control as I allow myself to be pulled with the crowd.

I will become one of these people if it is the last thing I do. As we race down the steps, I am careful to ensure that my feet hit solid ground before pushing off again. I am more than sure that if I fall now I will be trampled and no one would look back. When we reach the bottom floor and spill out into the street, there is no pause and the pace does not slow down. I continue to follow, even going so far as to try and run a little faster to work my way up in the crowd. I spare a glance around to see if I can spot the other transfers and they are scattered all around. Looking back ahead, I notice that we are racing to the railway and can hear the rumbling of a train in the distance. The main method of transportation for the Dauntless, a vehicle that requires split second decision making and doesn't allow room for regret. As the people at the front of the pack begin to reach the beams holding up the railway, they jump up and begin to climb. I only allow myself a second to be surprised before pushing that down and letting the adrenaline do its job. I am not too far back so it isn't but a moment before I reach a beam and jump up, eyes fixed on an opening in the steel. I grab ahold and plant my feet, hoping that the texture of the beam will give me some grip and I just begin to climb. There is a natural sort of rhythm that comes with the pull up and shift of feet and I do my best to be mindful of the people climbing up behind me.

I reach the top, breathing slightly labored, and I move out of the way. The train reaches the platform and I see the first few people once again lead the charge and leap into the open train cars. This chaos and blind action is admirable, if not absolutely stupid. But in some ways, acting without thinking is something that I envied for so long. To just be able to give in and do what you want, whenever you want. So I allow my feet to move and I race to the edge of the platform, watching an open car race forward and as it comes not near enough and yet also too close I leap, trusting that I will make it. Sure enough, my feet hit the wooden flooring and I take a few more steps forward to keep my balance and I move to stand at a corner, catching my breath and letting my heart slow down as it pounds in my chest. I wipe my hand along my brow and finally look up to see who else is here. I happen to look up right as a boy across from me does, sitting in a small group of two others. From their clothes I note that they are all three from Candor.

The boy quirks a brow and smirks, tilting his head back slightly with a smugness in the ease of his posture.

"I'm impressed Stiff. Thought you wouldn't even make it up to the platform."

His friends turn and look at me, but there is nothing all too outstanding about either of them. The boy has nothing behind his eyes, a blind and somewhat stupid lacky to the smug boy with wicked eyes. And the girl has a face that just screams that her honesty comes from an appreciation of watching others squirm.

"I stopped being a Stiff the moment I let my blood hit those coals."

He approaches in what can only be called a swagger, coming far too close. And for a moment I am amused. The fact that this child thinks that he can frighten me after the horrors that I lived through every day for the past several years is astounding. And because I have fled from the one man who can instill fear, I look up to look him in the eye. His few inches of height above me may make him feel intimidating, but to me it is nothing but an inconvenience.

"I don't know if I can believe that. I don't care what color you wear or what faction you join, you Stiffs can't ever shake your upbringing."

"Oh no, no one really shakes their upbringing. But I think that maybe, that should scare you all the more."

He doesn't back up in the slightest and the air between us begins to get warm, the close proximity blocking some of the cool air that is blowing through the car. Others are watching in fascination, wanting a show out of the two transfers who are nose-to-nose.

"And why is that?"

I allow a smile to crawl onto my face and the boy's friends share a glance behind him, confusion written cleanly on their face.

"Because I kept my secrets, Candor, and I'm not all that sure that you would've survived this long had you lived what I did. And believe me, the selfless are trained to focus on others. I'll tear you to pieces without lifting a finger, and I'll enjoy every second of watching you squirm."

At this he back up slightly. Now that he is out of my face, what I said comes back to me and I am startled at my own boldness. I do my best to keep my own discomfort hidden. I can't afford for this boy to misinterpret my discomfort at my own words as my being intimidated by him. He suddenly lets out a harsh laugh and leans back into my face.

"We got a feisty one, what a surprise. Well, I look forward to this dissection that you promised."

Not trusting myself to speak again with him this close, I choose to just jerk my head. A commotion can be heard outside and we all race to the opening on the train car and glance out. A Dauntless man near the back of the car stands up as we look out and see a rooftop coming towards us and I can make out what appears to be some figures standing there.

"Get ready to jump," the Dauntless man yells over the commotion and roar of the wind. The wind is painful as it rushes across my face and my eyes are watering. I struggle to blink fast to keep my eyes open and trained on the approaching rooftop. In much the same fashion as I jumped on the train, I stop my thoughts and choose to just feel for the right moment and when this strange feeling of "right" hits my chest I throw myself out of the car.

I am going to apologize for the fact that some of the scenes I am not going to be very detailed about dialogue, such as any of Marcus's speech during the choosing ceremony because I want them to be at least somewhat accurate to what is in the book, but I also don't want to blatantly plagiarize so I am choosing to be somewhat vague and just give some of Kathleen's thoughts instead. Also if anything is inaccurate from what is in the books, I am so very sorry, I try and fact-check everything but it has been a while since I have sat down and properly read this series. But I am grateful that you all seem to enjoy the story, and I appreciate all the kind words and encouragements, it really means the world to me! Until next time, Stay Fierce!

~ChildOfLupus