Vic (a divergent fanfiction)

5

I feel odd. This isn't the room I was being tested in. This room has more mirrors. I see mirrors on the walls, the ceiling and floor and I have an strange feeling that I'm not supposed to look at them. Don't be stupid Vic, you're not abnegation. You can look at mirrors. I turn to look at my reflection, but their isn't one there. There is no mirror there at all. Two stone bowls face me, one holding a knife and the other holds a little piece of cheese.

"Choose!" A voice says, echoing through the room. I grab the knife. The silver blade shines brighter as the bowls disappear. This isn't real. I know it can't be real. I grip the handle of the knife tighter. A low growl sounds behind me. I whip round. A large wild dog snarls loudly, preparing to charge. I remember some lines from the book I read yesterday. Don't look him in the eye, I think, remembering my reading. I drop the knife, forgetting it for the moment and get down on the ground, trying to make myself lower than the dog. The rabid animal circles me and then comes near to smell me. I feel it's wet, sticky tongue on my face. The dog's licking me.

"Your not a murderous beast are you?" I say, stroking the wild animal's scratchy fur. The dog barks gleefully. Then I hear a voice.

"Puppy!" A little girl screams excitedly. She has pale skin like a phantom or a spirit and pale azure eyes. She wears a fancy pink dress, with a matching pair of shoes. Why isn't she wearing a faction color? The dog turns round to glare at her with its tiny black eyes. The animal squints wildly and angrily. The dog barks and surges forward violently. This isn't real, she can't be real. But I can't just leave her. I bolt forward. 

"No!" I yell, leaping in front of the rabid dog. I have to do this, this isn't real. I have to save her life. The final thing I see is the snarling animals jaws, dripping with saliva and the little girl, running to safety.

I'm on a bus now. I've never really rode a bus before, I always took the train with the other dauntless. I'm on the bus now though. A factionless man sits in one of the seats behind me. His clothes are torn and ragged, and his face is worn and tired. He stares at me inquisitively. "Do you reconize this man?" He asks, holding up a tattered newspaper. I squint at the newspaper. I see a black and white photograph of a man that I reconize. I can't name the man, but I reconize his odd smile and sparkling eyes. I feel as if telling this man the truth could kill me, or at least harm me in some way. I don't want to lie though. This isn't real, I remind myself.

"Yes," I admit truthfully, "I reconize him from somewhere."