He's One Of The Last Friends I

Uriah Drops His Tray Next To Me. It Is Loaded With Beef Stew And Chocolate Cake. I Stare At The Cake Pile. “there Was Cake?” I Say, Looking At My Own Plate, Which Is More Sensibly Stocked Than Uriah’s. “yeah, Someone Just Brought It Out. Found A Couple Boxes Of The Mix In The Back And Baked It,” He Says. “you Can Have A Few Bites Of Mine.” “a Few Bites? So You’re Planning On Eating That Mountain Of Cake By Yourself?” “yes.” He Looks Confused. “why?” “never Mind.

It Reminds Me Why I Chose Dauntless In The First Place: Not Because They Are Perfect, But Because They Are Alive. Because They Are Free.

I Have Realized That Part Of Being Dauntless Is Being Willing To Make Things More Difficult For Yourself In Order To Be Self-sufficient.

I Laugh, And It's Laughter, Not Light, That Casts Out The Darkness Building Within Me, That Reminds Me I Am Still Alive, Even In This Strange Place Where Everything I've Ever Known Is Coming Apart.

I Started Writing Because I Decided I Was Too Old To Play Pretend In The Backyard. Then I Found That I Could Create Those Imaginary Worlds On The Page.