Suicide To Them Is An Act Of

You Think My First Instinct Is To Protect You. Because You're Small, Or A Girl, Or A Stiff. But You're Wrong." He Leans His Face Close To Mine And Wraps His Fingers Around My Chin. His Hand Smells Like Metal. When Was The Last Time He Held A Gun, Or A Knife? My Skin Tingles At The Point Of Contact, Like He's Transmitting Electricity Through His Skin. "my First Instinct Is To Push You Until You Break, Just To See How Hard I Have To Press." He Says, His Fingers Squeezing At The Word Break. My Body Tenses At The Edge In His Voice, So I Am Coiled As Tight As A Spring, And I Forget To Breathe.

They Try To Make You Think They Care About What You Do But They Don't. They Don't Want You To Act A Certain Way. So You're Easy To Understand. So You Won't Pose A Threat To Them.

There Are Men With Guns Up There. When They See Me, They Will Kill Me, If They Can," I Tell My Father Quietly. I Search His Eyes. "should I Let Them?" He Stares At Me For A Few Seconds. "go," He Says, "and God Help You.

I Knew By The Way He Looked At Her That He Held Her In A Higher Regard Than He Held Even Himself. No Selfishness Or Insecurity Kept Him From Seeing The Full Extent Of Her Goodeness, As It So Often Does With The Rest Of Us. That Kind Of Love May Only Be Possible In Abnegation. I Do Not Know. My Father: Erudite-born, Abnegation-grown. He Often Found It Difficult To Live Up To The Demands Of His Chosen Faction, Just As I Did. But He Tried, And He Knew True Selflessness When He Saw It.

I See A Few Hands Stretching Out To Me At The Edge Of The Net, So I Grabbed The First One I Could Reach And Pull Myself Across. I Roll Off, And Would Have Fallen Face-first Onto A Wood Floor If He Had Not Caught Me. "he" Is The Young Man Attached To The Hand I Grabbed. He Has A Spare Upper Lip And A Full Lower Lip. His Eyes Are So Deep-set That His Eyelashes Touch The Skin Under His Eyebrows, And They Are Dark Blue, A Dreaming, Sleeping, Waiting Color.