A/N HeLlO! Next installment is here! This chapter is a LOT more exciting than the other chapters. Seriously, I almost died when I was writing it. I was trying to relate to the main character.

And with that cliff-hanging note, here is chapter four! Enjoy, my lovely reviewers!

A sigh shudders through my bones and makes my skin tremble. I raise my stick for the gazillionth time and skewer a moulds apple core which I deposit in a plastic bag.

Picking up rubbish along the train tracks. How exciting!

I sigh again, and glance around. Tobias is helping us clean the tracks, and has assured is that there are no more trains for at least half an hour, fortunately.

A couple of other leaders stand to the side, taking careful note of our attitude.

I cast a disdainful glance at the rubbish bag tied to my wrist. So we don't lose it, they say. To me, it feels more like a chain, grounding me to Abnegation and the serving of others forever.

One of the leaders catches my eye and frowns. I simply stare, and he shakes his head disgustedly. Another sigh, and I continue my draining work. At least this is the last day of community service. What a long week it has been, next week we can choose where to work. At least I won't have to sponge down old folk for another day.

I have barely survived through the week, feeling forever tied down and restrained from truly living. None of the others seen to feel this way, yet carry out their work as if it weren't work, they take joy in community service and helping others, as I try so hard to do. No one else feels trapped. At least, I think so.

Tobias continues to be a mystery, casting me knowing looks every so often. I find myself dwelling our short conversation, maybe he feels trapped, too? Maybe he is divergent, too?

His relationship with Marcus is also a puzzle, he appears to truly hate his father, who shows complete indifference to his son.

I focus again on the rubbish. It becomes a kind of rhythm, so it seems as if I am not controlling my body, and my mind is free to fly high above the clouds, where my spirit longs to be.

Spear, tissue, bag.

Spear, banana skin, bag.

Spear, paper, bag.


Spear, bread, bag.


Spear, wrapper, bag.


Wait, screaming? I snap out of my reverie. A rhythmic clatter fills the air, and I look around hurriedly.

There, a black shape, coming closer. I am just to the side of the track, still not safe. The other initiates sprint away screaming. But not all of them.

Susan stands, jerking and yelling, just a few feet away from me. And the train is just fifty metres away.

"Susan! Get off the tracks! Go! Now!" I shout, frantic.

She shouts a look that chills me, her eyes wide, mouth open, the embodiment of fear. I am beside her in seconds, pulling her off the tracks. She yelps in pain, her foot and baggy grey trousers are caught under the rail. That's what happens when the railway line isn't maintained for ten years.

I look up, the train is progressing steadily closer, just forty metres away. I bend down and seize Susan's ankle, yanking it in spite of her yells of pain.

"Get away, Tris! It's nearly here! Go!"

Without looking up, I say angrily, "Not without you! I can't let you die!"

My words send the reality of the situation to Susan, she realizes how the train could certainly crash into her body, slice it through on the rails, and she would just die, blood running over the tracks. She falls dead silent.

Thirty metres.

The clatter vibrates through my bones. Susan's foot moved half an inch, splattered with blood.

Twenty metres.

My blood shivers. My heart speeds up to provide a baseline to the constant yells and thumps. Another few centimetres. More blood slips through my fingers.

Ten metres.

My skin tingles and my stomach drops to my toes. Too close.

Susan's foot is almost out, crimson liquid painting the tracks in red.

Five metres.

I know. I know it. It is happening. The death of Beatrice Prior.

I pull with all my strength. Push Susan out of the way. She is off the tracks. Safe. Safe. And yet I stand here, covered in blood, staring blankly at Death, gazing vaguely into his menacing pinprick eyes.

Death. Here to claim me. But I cannot let him.

It is here. The universe slows to a crawl. Even though I don't look up, I know that the train is upon me. I don't waste my final seconds with silly, meaningless regrets, apologies or wishes. Farewells to the world that don't have answers.

I simply will myself to carry on, and leap with my remaining strength away from the blackness, away from the clatter, the screams, the blood, the pounding, the crowd, everything.

Into nothing.





See, what did I tell you?

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