I Feel Like Myself, Strong

He Doesn’t Scowl, But His Mouth Is So Tense That I Know He’s Angry With Me. 'don’t Be An Idiot,' He Says. 'an Idiot?' Is He Talking About The Blanket? 'you Were Lying.

Maybe It's A Little Depressing To Think That My Vision Of A Perfect World Is Actually So Messed Up, But I Think It Means That I Don't Really Understand What 'perfect' Is.

Four!" I Call Out. Why Am I Calling A Number? Oh Yes. Because That's His Name. — Tris.

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.

Sleep,” He Says. “i'll Fight The Bad Dreams Off If They Come To Get You.” “with What?” “my Bare Hands, Obviously.