hihii, it’s been a while since i wrote stories (esp thriller stories?) because mainly i don’t do stories sjhsjh. and i don’t have the brains to think every detail out. so, poetry > stories, any day. but recently i did end up writing something really good for this essay thing at schl ,, but obviously inspired. by the divergent series. either ways, you can either find it on the google doc here. or just keep scrollin~
if you leave criticism i will actually cry because i haven’t written anything that great in a while and this is my dainty piece that i’m so proud of 🕳 jk, i’m always open to constructive feedback, but really – keep it respectful.
“How many times have people used a pen or a paintbrush because they couldn’t pull the trigger?” whispered Marlene.
“I wouldn’t know, I chose to pull the trigger.” I chuckled, my voice shaky with tension.
I was tired of living in a world divided by factions. A world bounded by asphalted walls and soldiers who wouldn’t hesitate to take lives. A world with no concept of freedom. I felt like a caged bird. Insurgent, relentless, though helpless.
Marlene was my only hope. Ever since we met, a spark bound us. We were immune to simulations – those stupid serums developed by factions, supposed to ‘expose’ us. Our identities were almost a threat to our own world, the cause of a whole war raging amongst the factions.
That’s why I pulled the trigger.
“If we don’t stop right now, my heart will.” gasped Marlene.
“But if we do, they will get to us. They’ve figured it out, Marlene.” I said, feeling my gun, our only defense. I couldn’t afford for things to get any worse. This night was the most traumatic of my life. Finding out everyone I loved was a traitor. All pretty, white lies. Two of us, running through wild grasslands, with no idea of time or sense of direction and at least fifty armed maniacs following us.
A deafening gunshot went off behind us. My heart – pounding, as my gaze shifted to an outline of what seemed like a house.
“Think, think,” I repeated to myself as I paced.
I noticed cans. Red cans. Flammable liquid. Perfect.
If there was anything I’d learned about survival, it was about creating distractions. I poured the liquid along the boundaries of the house. Now someone had to fire.
“Tris,” said Marlene, her breath hitched, “What are we running from?”
I mean, what was I running from? This was my home. Yet a part of me dared to crave to climb across these sky-scraping walls. I always thought I caught sight of lights beyond those walls. This thought had driven me to become a psychopath.
I heard anticipated footsteps outside.
“Tris, what do we do now?”
“What we do best, we run.”
I grabbed Marlene’s hand. Thoughts rushed through my mind. Bullet to gasoline, a fire combusting almost everything in sight.
As a sign of reassurance, I reached for my gun. But it wasn’t there. Instead, I felt the steady pressure of a muzzle on my skin, a reminder to not say or do anything stupid. I turned around.
Her defiant stare, as if these memories we had made meant nothing at all. As if I hadn’t lost my morals and pulled the trigger for her.
I looked into her amber eyes. So innocent yet so guilty.
“How lucky I am,” I murmured to her. “To have as good a friend as you. Honestly, that performance was flawless. Moved me to tears.” I hissed.
You should’ve killed me earlier, so I wouldn’t have lived to see this, Marlene.
ps. the images are the best visual representations i could find! it is a bit of sci-fi too ,, but i really hope you like it and it’s understand-able. i prefer reading it in the google doc tho. heh.