[writing] free writing: august 12, 2010
My eyes have adjusted to the lack of light. I can make out the silhouettes of the others as they stand together in groups of twos or threes. Though we're all supposed to be quiet, it's hard not to catch the whispers. The one thing that's going through all our minds is how we're going to manage this.
We hear a sound and the door at the far-end opens. My fingers curl, gathering Tris' shirt towards the center of my palm. I feel his lips press against my temple as his free hand comes to rest against the small of my back. Slowly now. That is what he's telling me, and like one carefully choreographed corps we all take quiet, uniform steps to where tall drapes hang from the ceiling.
This place used to be a theatre, long, long ago. Or so I have been told. These days it's used for the bi-monthly town gatherings where one of the technitians hook up the antique projector to show us a three-hour long series of clips -- newsreels pieced together by God-knows-who from Out There.
As we settle into the shadow of the curtain, I feel tremors course nervously under my skin. The cold of this place is something I am unused to. This is what I tell myself. I am not afraid. I cannot afford to be afraid. Being afraid means that I cannot predict my body's reactions, and that is something that I cannot allow.
A shaft of light catches on one of the two people who've come inside. I recognize him and realize that I am holding my breath. I let it out slowly.
It's Timothy, with his glasses slightly askew and his mop of hair falling over his eyes. Timothy who just yesterday was showing me how to check the water-levels in the underground well.
I step back when he lifts his eyes in my general direction. I've made the mistake of watching him for too long and now I know that he sees me. He didn't earn the nickname Owl for nothing.
For a moment I find myself giving in to despair. I want to turn to Tris and tell him: We've been caught. Instead, I allow my hand to seek out his, even as I keep my eyes focused on Timmy, praying for... something. Anything.
He looks away after what seems like an eternity. My head feels light, my knees wobbly. I shut my eyes and surrender my weight to Tris' sturdy embrace and Timmy's footsteps fade.
"He let us go." Someone whispers, and everyone gathers around me and Tris. A second, smaller hand comes to slip fingers into the spaces between my own and I hold on tight.
"We go in threes," Tris' voice steadies me. "Go in groups of four if you plan to take on two of the children."
Was supposed to work on the projects, but none of them were cooperating today. So instead, I did this.