Divergent: Switched

Another Year

Another year, another bunch of stupid initiates that don't know the difference between and gun and a pillow - and I get the pleasure of teaching them. How great.

I remember when I transferred from Abnegation. I was just as scrawny and stupid as the newbies. But I don't pity them. It was their choice to chose Dauntless, my faction, where bravery and strength are valued over everything. But... it seems stupid. Just beating the living snot out of each other to prove a point.

Stupid.

I remember when I sailed through the hole in the cracked concrete, down none-too-gracefully into the net. The gasp of laughter the escaped me. Training, learning to fight. Going through my fear landscape. That's how I got my name. Six. I don't care if you think it's strange. You probably don't have only six fears.

I am no longer that scared little girl named Beatrice; I am Six, ruthless, cold-hearted, kick-ass warrior.

I transferred to Dauntless two years ago. I remember the first, sharp crack as my fist connected with a nose. I felt both our pain. The rush of adrenaline from the zip line. Spreading my arms like a bird, to match the tattoo on my collarbone. The kick of the gun in my hand, the spray of bullets shredding into the target's thin wooden layering. Climbing the Ferris wheel, using strategically places poles as foot holds. Higher and higher.

I remember it like it was yesterday.

My friends Christina, Lynn, Will, Marlene, and Uriah have basically forgotten all of the bad things about initiation.

I haven't.

I haven't forgotten Peter.

Or the Chasam.

Or Al.

I haven't forgotten the taunting.

I haven't forgotten brutal beatings.

Christina dangling over the edge.

My instuctor, dead.

I can't forget them.

They make me strong.

Impenetrable.

There are scars everywhere. My legs, my arms, my face, my back. More than anywhere, though, in my heart. Those scars are the worst.

And I have a secret.

About why I actually left my faction.

No one knows about it. That is, except my father and me.

Closets.

Belts.

Whips.

The pain. The sting. The hate.

I can almost feel his words. "Nothing," he would spit. "You're nothing, you useless piece of sh-"

Christina snaps me out of my daze. She learned long ago not to question the daily flashbacks. "Six, it's time to go. The train is arriving."

Time to go to the choosing ceremony.

Time to meet this year's victims.

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(Jessie and Morgan)