The next morning, when I trudge into the training room, yawning, a large target stands at one end of the room, and next to the door is a table with knives strewn across it. Target practice again. I'm good at this. Eric stands in the middle of the room, his posture so rigid it looks like someone replaced his spine with a metal rod.
"Tomorrow will be the last day of stage one," Eric says. "You will resume fighting then. Today, you'll be learning how to aim. Everyone, pick up three knives." His voice is deeper than usual. "And pay attention while Four demonstrates the correct technique for throwing them." At first, no one moves.
"Now!" We scramble for daggers.
Judging by the poisonous look Eric gives Four when he isn't paying attention, last night's loss must have bothered Eric more than he let on. Winning capture the flag is a matter of pride, and pride is important to the Dauntless. More important than reason or sense.
I watch Four's arm as he throws a knife. The next time he throws, I watch his stance. He hits the target each time, exhaling as he releases the knife.
Eric orders, "Line up!" Eric paces too quickly behind us.
"I think the Stiff's taken too many hits to the head!" remarks Peter, a few people down. "Hey, Stiff! Remember what a knife is?" Tris ignores him and carries on throwing.
I get into the correct stance and throw the knife. It lands perfectly in the middle. I smirk as Peter misses again. I can't help myself.
"Hey, Peter," I say. "Remember what a target is?"
Next to me, Christina snorts, and her next knife hits the target.
Half an hour later, Al is the only initiate who hasn't hit the target yet. His knives clatter to the floor or bounce off the wall. While the rest of us approach the board to collect our weapons, he hunts the floor for his. I know what happens next.
The next time he tries and misses, Eric marches toward him and demands, "How slow are you, Candor? Do you need glasses? Should I move the target closer to you?" Al's face turns red. He throws another knife, and this one sails a few feet to the right of the target. It spins and hits the wall.
"What was that, initiate?" says Eric quietly, leaning closer to Al.
"It—it slipped," says Al.
"Well, I think you should go get it," Eric says. He scans the other initiates' faces—everyone has stopped throwing again—and says, "Did I tell you to stop?" Knives start to hit the board. We have all seen Eric angry before, but this is different. The look in his eyes is almost rabid.
"Go get it?" Al's eyes are wide. "But everyone's still throwing."
"And?"
"And I don't want to get hit."
"I think you can trust your fellow initiates to aim better than you." Eric smiles a little, but his eyes stay cruel. "Go get your knife."
Al doesn't usually object to anything the Dauntless tell us to do. I don't think he's afraid to; he just knows that objecting is useless. This time Al sets his wide jaw. He's reached the limits of his compliance.
"No," he says.
"Why not?" Eric's beady eyes fix on Al's face. "Are you afraid?"
"Of getting stabbed by an airborne knife?" says Al. "Yes, I am!"
"Everyone stop!" Eric shouts. The knives stop, and so does all conversation. I hold my small dagger tightly. "Clear out of the ring." Eric looks at Al. "All except you."
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Everly Wood | Divergent
Fanfic-DISCONTINUED- WARNING: i wrote this when i was 12 years old and had no clue how to write. Everly Wood. A young girl who lost her parents too early on in life. What happens when she suddenly awakens in the world of her favourite book Divergent by V...
