The story of Divergent from Peter's POV.
This is my first fanfiction, so apologise in advance if it sucks!
Divergent belongs to Veronica Roth.
I have to tilt my head back to see the top of the Hub, and even then, part of it disappears into the clouds. It is the tallest building in the city. I walk with confident steps towards the elevator and just manage to squeeze myself in. The elevator is crowded, but there are still a few open spots which are quickly filled by a cluster of Amity.
The elevator opens on the twentieth floor, and the crowd presses me forward. The room I enter is arranged in concentric circles. On the edges stand the sixteen-year-olds of every faction. We arrange ourselves in alphabetical order to the last names we may leave behind today. I stand between a tall Erudite boy and an Amity girl.
The responsibility to conduct the ceremony rotates from faction to faction each year, and this year is Abnegation’s. The room slowly comes to an order as I’m observing the Dauntless. My new faction. I am positive I will choose to become a part of them for various reasons. First of all, I’m sick of telling people my inner thoughts all the time. My thoughts belong to myself and myself only. Secondly, I want to be free.
“Welcome to the Choosing Ceremony. Welcome to the day we honor the democratic philosophy of our ancestors…” the Abnegation man on the podium begins. My eyes shift to the bowl filled with lit coals, and lose myself in the way the coal changes colors, from orange, black, yellow and red.
“In our factions, we find meaning, we find purpose, we find life. Apart from them, we would not survive.” The silence that follows his words is heavier than other silences. It is heavy with our worst fear, greater even than the fear of death: to be factionless. There’s no way I will be factionless. I’d rather die, I think.
The man reads the first names, and one by one, each sixteen-year old steps out of line and walks to the middle of the room. The room is constantly moving, a new name and a new person choosing, a new knife and a new choice.
“Peter Hayes,” says the man. I walk towards the bowls, and accept the knife. He nods, and I turn toward the bowls again. The Dauntless fire is to my left. I hold the knife in my right hand and touch the blade to my palm. I drag the blade down. It stings, but I barely notice. There’s no going back now. I shift my hand forward, and my blood sizzles on the coals.
Chapter 1 - End.
