Allegiance - Divergent story

Initiation.

So far there'd been three days of initiation. Three days of listening to different faction speakers drone on about how honestly is the most important virtue. How all society's broken cracks could be mended if more people were honest above all. Three days of sitting in a circle and telling you're feelings like you're in therapy. Except there is no cure, the therapy only makes you worse.

"Christine?"

I hear my name, I don't open my eyes and I don't answer. Instead I sink back into my chair, wanting desperately to escape. It's the third time today we've sat in a circle, expected to ask each other questions and answer honestly.

''Christine.''

I exhale loudly. ''Yeah?" I answer. I lift my eyebrows and catch a glimpse of the girl speaking.

She looks young for her age, with a round face and large eyes, complimented by blonde curls. She looks childlike and innocent, but also fragile. I want to regret the way I spoke to her, the way I'm looking at her, but I don't. She's too perfect. Her eye's are open like the pages of a book and she has candor material written all over her.

"What are you're thoughts?" She looks at her small hands folded together in her lap momentarily, before staring back at my face.

I exhale loudly and shrug. My eyes notice her fingers clenched together tightly.

"Um, what was the question?" I ask, lifting my body and trying to muster a polite voice.

"That's it Christine." I flinch at the harsh voice of one of our fraction leaders. I didn't realize there was one stood behind me; but of course they're always watching. It's there responsibility to mold and manifest us into the ideal candor citizens. They have a right to control us and we must obey.

I look at the tiled floor as she makes her way in front of me, I stare straight ahead and notice her picture on her ID card draped around her neck, unsmiling and stern. She wears a black suit and skirt that hangs passed her knees. She has pale skin and the black against her complexion makes her appear faint, like a ghostly outline.

"Sure." I whisper. I stand up, scrapping the legs of my chair on the tiled floor, as they cry out with an almost painful sound. 

I make it to the door, I can feel the judgments and heavy gazes from every person in the room as they watch me leave. I push hard and the door nearly comes of it's hinges with the loud impact. All I want to do is escape, the longing for answers to my questions is endless and the sensation is only intensifying every moment I stay here. I walk down the corridor searching for relief but instead I'm met with a cold breeze from an open window. I hug my arms across my chest as goose bumps appear on my skin, I don't bother to close the window. I let the cold breeze wrap itself around me and enjoy feeling discomfort that isn't my broken heart.

Each day I feel more exhausted and worn out. Each second I can feel the energy leaking from my body and gathering in heaps on the ground which I have to carry around as dead weight. I've not been sleeping right at night, I don't give myself the satisfaction to fall asleep, if I do I'll dream of Tyler and I'll not want to wake up.

The women soon comes outside and my arms fall at my sides. As she approaches I notice she's short, but stands up straight to make her self appear taller. Her eyes are grey but not soulful like his, instead they're blank and lifeless. I see a quick flash of a silver locket resting on her chest before she stands straight and it goes out of sight.

She swallows. "Why aren't you participating?"

She speaks in a monotone voice. Black and white. There's no colour in candor. Even the walls are whitewashed and bare. It's either black or white. Even the voices have no life. It's either Wrong or right. It's like I'm living in a blank canvas and he was the only colour.