My Name Is Four,” I Say. “call

My Body Rises With The Water. Instead Of Kicking My Feet To Stay Abreast Of It, I Push All The Air From My Lungs And Sink To The Bottom. The Water Muffles My Ears. I Feel Its Movement Over My Face. I Think About Snorting The Water Into My Lungs So It Kills Me Faster, But I Can't Bring Myself To Do It. I Blow Bubbles From My Mouth. Relax. I Close My Eyes. My Lungs Burn.

He Pushes His Hair, Soaked From The Snow, Out Of His Eyes. "so What Are We Going To Do, Break A Window? Look For A Back Door?" "i'm Just Going To Walk In," I Say. "i'm Her Son." "you Also Betrayed Her And Left The City When She Forbade Anyone From Doing That," He Says, "and She Sent People After You To Stop You. People With Guns." "you Can Stay Here If You Want," I Say. "where The Serum Goes, I Go," He Says. "but If You Get Shot At, I'm Going To Grab It And Run." "i Don't Expect Anything More." He Is A Strange Sort Of Person.

I Am Better Off Doing As Abnegation Taught Me: Turning Away From Myself, Projecting Always Outward, And Hoping That In Whatever Is Next, I Will Be Better Than I Am Now.

That Quality Frightens Me Now, Because I Know What He Told Me: That I Was Broken, That I Was Worthless, That I Was Nothing. How Many Of Those Things Did He Make Me Believe?

What Do I Believe? I Do Not Know; I Do Not Know; I Do Not Know.