Pleuvoir | Eric Coulter

Isa

K a r o l i i n a

It was raining.

Water droplets were falling around me, some hitting me and making my long, grey dress wet. I was outside, sitting on the pebbled pathway in front of my house. My umbrella laid beside me; untouched, unopened, unused. My neighbours were looking at me again, probably thinking I was insane.

I liked the rain.

Beatrice Prior, one of my stronger-spirited neighbours cautiously approached me, armed with her own umbrella to shield herself from the rain. She shuffled beside me, holding out her hand and offering me an umbrella.

I shook my head. I had an umbrella, I didn't need hers—or anyone's, for that matter.

"You're going to get sick," She mumbled, playing with the cuffs of her long-sleeved dress.

We wore identical clothing. Long, grey, boring ankle-length dresses. Abnegation was monotonous like that.

I didn't reply and only nodded my head at her house's direction. She knew what I was implying, I didn't have to utter words.

Beatrice sighed like she's given up on life, trying to solve a problem that was impossible to solve--me.

I watched her walk back to her house with a blank expression on my face.

∞

"Karoliina," I heard a faint voice call, "Dinner's ready!"

I sat up on my bed, suddenly feeling a rumble in my stomach. Walking towards the door, I held the doorknob, took a deep breath and went down to the kitchen.

My steps were light and quick against the stair's floorboards. I felt like a mouse hiding from a cat; nimble, fast and alert. I arrived in the kitchen quicker than I intended to and I wanted to move back and hide behind the wall for a few more minutes, but Dahlia had already seen me.

"Karoliina," She uttered my name with a gentle control most Abnegations had, "Come sit. I wanted to talk to you about tomorrow."

Tomorrow, the day for the Aptitude Test taken by 18 year olds to help them determine which faction to choose during the Choosing Ceremony.

I moved towards one of the chairs, slow and careful. I wanted to stall as much time as possible. I didn't like talks—especially with Dahlia, a forty year old woman who transferred from Erudite and who had ex-Dauntless parents.

When I finally had taken a seat, a frown flashed on Dahlia's slightly wrinkled face. Silence overpowered the room, and all I could do was gaze at the single light bulb hanging over the small, grey dining table we had.

Grey was everywhere. I hated grey.

Dahlia cleared her throat, making me snap my eyes back to her. She was sporting a small smile now, one full of sadness and pain.

"I know that we've never... bonded before," She tested the word carefully, like it left a sour taste on her mouth, "But I just wanted to tell you that whatever your result is, I will always support you."

Lies. She's only saying that because she's been stuck with me for 18 years. Eighteen, awful, long years with an orphaned girl that doesn't talk much.

I made no answer, but Dahlia wasn't surprised. I was never good with words.

Looking down, I decided that I wasn't in the mood for another plate of eggs anymore. The chair I was sitting on made a loud screech when I abruptly stood up. Dahlia cringed, and I could see small hints of tears falling from her eyes.