or movement could bring you back to reality. Nothing could keep you
from staring at the door in front of you, your eyes trained on the
dark wood. Your heart pounded in your chest, a million miles a minute
until you feel as if everything around you is going to burst.
Something was about to happen, but you didn’t know if you could stop
know if you could stop him.
that Josh hadn’t meant to take things this far but, standing here
now, you didn’t know what to think. In frustration you feel your
hands bang against the door once more, anger pulling at your
heartstrings. He believed what he was doing was right, but you knew
that it wasn’t. Nothing about this was right.
you as you look around the room, your eyes finding a pair of jeans
and a sweatshirt. Holding the sheet close to your bare body you make
your way across the room and to the clothes. Picking them up you slip
them on and feel slight relief when you find a pair of old boots that
you can slip on your feet. Once you’re changed you throw the sheet up
onto the bed and find yourself staring at the door he’d gone through
moments before. Pulling the sweater closer to you, your feet carry
you back to the door, your body awaiting whatever is going to come
from the other side of the door.
You hear your voice murmur
lightly. Your hands resting lightly along the door. You wait a
moment, your head leaning in against the door for any sound that he’d
heard you, but nothing happens. He doesn’t respond. Instead you bang
against the door once more, your palms slapping the wood with
everything you have.
Before you the door moves
slightly, but nothing happens again.
“… Please let me out of
Your voice mutters in defeat.
Your heart seeming to race when you hear the faint sound of boots on
the floor. It’s then that you realize he’s there, that he’s been
there listening to you try to break out. Listening to you and
debating on how to respond.
…Succulents are the one plant I have been able to keep in my apartment. So when the girls from The Sill offered to stop by and teach me how to make my own succulent garden, I could not pass up the chance to improve my black thumb… (via I SPY DIY)
But with Y/N, he could be himself. There was no second guessing himself when he spoke, no wishing he could just talk to a girl as well as he could write to a girl. There was none of that, but there were her happy eyes and his wobbly smile over cups of black coffee, and Calum figured that was enough for now.
I roll off, and I would have fallen face-first onto a wood floor if he had not caught me. “He” is the young man attached to the hand I grabbed. He has a spare upper lip and a full lower lip. His eyes are so deep-set that his eyelashes touch the skin under his eyebrows, and they are dark blue, a dreaming, sleeping, waiting color. His hands grip my arms, but he releases me a moment after I stand upright again. “Thank you,” I say. We stand o n a platform ten feet above the ground.
Around us is an open cavern. “Can’t believe it,” a voice says from behind him. It belongs to a dark-haired girl with three sill verins through her right eyebrow. She smirks at me. “A Stiff, the first to jump? Unheard of.” “There’s a reason why she left them, Lauren,” he says.
His voice is deep, and it rumbles. “What’s your name?” “Um…” I don’t know why I hesitate. But “Beatrice” just sound right anymore. “Think about it,” he says, a faint smile curling his lips. “You don’t get to pick again.” A new place, a new name. I can be remade here. “Tris,” I say fi rmly. “Tris,” Lauren repeats, grinning. “Make the announcement, Four.” The boy—Four—looks over his shoulder and shouts, “First jumper—Tris!” A crowd materializes from the darkness as my eyes adjust.
The yell shattered the horribly eerie silence that had been present in this destroyed lab for so long. But what was most disconcerting was that this cry came from a child who could be no more than six years old.
His eyes were red, not just from crying, but the irises themselves were red. That combined with his deep blue hair confirmed that this child hadn’t been born naturally. He’d been grown and was probably an Innovade, one released too early.
He was crouched in front of a set of three shattered holding tanks, glass underneath his bare feet, pointing a shaky sidearm at Tieria’s hip. Beyond him, a truly sad sight, two other children face down in the shattered glass, unmoving. One, a boy a few years older, the other, a girl about his age. Their sill living companion was perched defensively in front of them, protecting them even now.
“I m-m-mean it. Get away. I’ll shoot you. I-I’m not scared!” He squeezed the trigger threateningly but with how badly he was shaking his aim would be wild and probably not hit what he intended to.