Convergent (Part One)

Her: Chapter 26

The woman is dying. In my head, she lies at my feet, bleeding, fading away. But she still has enough strength to yell.

"Go, Beatrice!" she shouts at me. I fumble down the hallway, tripping over my feet as I go. But I can't leave her. How can I leave someone that matters so much to me? I can't leave. I can't. I won't. "No."

"Go!" She shouts one last time. Then her body stills and everything in me stops. But before I can take it in, the scene shifts and then I'm looking at a boy around my age. He holds a gun and it's pointed at me and then there's a shot, but it isn't from him. "I'm sorry," I gasp. A plume of smoke billows up from under me and I see I have my own weapon. More importantly, I know I didn't want to kill him.

I start running, away from the ghosts, down the rest of the hallway and out the front door where the lady from earlier stands. I don't notice her as I pass, running away from the images surging inside me.

More faces. More foreign memories.

In one, I'm flying over the city, falling through it, watching it spread its wings out beneath me. I hear water roaring, a huge gate. Knives being thrown at a target. There's black. Tattoos flying over bone. An explosion.

"Stop!" I shout, as I barrel into the road, grabbing my head as if I can force the pictures out.

But they don't stop. They keep coming, one painful cut after another.

Names lit on a board.

A muffin on a girl's head.

Falling into darkness.

A glass cage filling with water. I hear gunfire; see the inside of a gun. I flinch away from it and fall to the ground, clutching my hands around my knees.

But then, out of the chaos of blood and death and darkness, I see blue.

Deep, molten blue, seeing straight through me. Eyes, watching so intently as if they can pick the very thoughts from my mind and I suddenly can't breathe. My whole body starts to shake.

"I love you," the eyes seem to say, and then I hear it. Suddenly, the eyes have a face, a beautiful face that I feel I know. Before I can respond, the image of me does. "I love you, too," I say. And I mean it.

I grab my head, feeling the rush of images I don't know, but knowing that I was there. That I experienced all of them.

Needles held to my skin.

A girl hanging over a chasm.

A hand pressed to glass.

"Stop," I whimper, my fingers holding on to my head, as if I expect it to shatter. "Please, stop."

A boy, waving to me just as an explosion blankets him in white.

"Stop!"

Then there's a room. A man is in front of me. Shots ring out and suddenly, fire appears over my chest, lighting inside my stomach.

"Faction before blood," a male voice says. I put my hands over my ears. "Stop!"

Then everything does. The colors and images stop, held, suspended in time.

For a second, I think it's over. But then I hear something different. One scream followed by another and then I watch as the world turns red.

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