#ch: four.

[undones-a]

there’s still the smell of blood and bullets clinging to his senses; the soft-yet-sharp dinging of ammunition finding a home in metal and flesh; the dulled, lifeless faces of the dauntless, his family, drained of their free will and made into killers. the steady motion of the train does not knock these thoughts free of their entrapment in his mind. the soft cries of the survivors - sounds that, in the heart of the compound would be met with a sneering disgust, now only elicit arms around shoulders, hands against hearts, barely-whispered absolvements of blame - it wasn’t your fault, it wasn’t you, we didn’t do this.

four’s teeth are gritted so tightly, he fears they might crack. he’s glad tris is at the rear of the train, watching from the open doors the city below. he doesn’t want to remember the gun to her head. instead, his attention directs to ace - unwillingly, he pictures him in the training center, snickering with eric. four’s jaw clenches even more, somehow, an ache springing to life in the hinge.

‘  you didn’t go with him?  ’  it’s flat. void of emotion. the rest of his expression mimics that, his body slackening into a blank mask. it’s a stark contrast to the white-hot rage that billows from his heart like a volcano.  ‘  are you going to fight with us?  ’  /  @constantwar.

[undones-a]

the mouth of the tunnel is child-size, a pinhead of uninterrupted dark descending into depths unknown. in the moonlight that needles through the tree branches above, four’s fear is perceptible, a shadow that darkens his hard-set mouth, scarred chin. in the crevices of his mind is the blurred memory of a boy thrown into a closet by a firm hand - the considerable weight of the hardwood door as he throws himself against it - bleeding nails as they scrape pleas his throat is too sore to offer voice. his shoulders shudder at the recollection; the palms of his hands, resting in the dirt and mire and only inches from the space, recoil suddenly; sounds of pursuit fail to register, left idling on the doorstep of his hearing as he wanders through the fogged wasteland of remembrance. 

his mouth fumbles for an excuse - four feels it press against his teeth but can’t will it any further, too fearful of how childish it’ll make him seem, how fucking scared, how absurd (  it’s a perfectly natural fear, some conscience within him attempts to reason, though eclipsed by his pride  ) that someone like him should tremble at confined space. he jerks from the entrance, heels digging into the muddied trench, breaths hitching as panic sets his nerves ablaze. 

“  ----there has to be another way.  ”  it ventures dangerously close to self-betrayal; four grits his jaw, exhales strained air.  “  we don’t know what’s on the other side. could be worse than this.  ”  /  @duresce