divergent-excerpt

chapter
four
I reach my street five minutes before I usually do, according
to my watch—which is the only adornment Abnegation
allows, and only because it’s practical. It has a gray band
and a glass face. If I tilt it right, I can almost see my reflection
over the hands.
The houses on my street are all the same size and
shape. They are made of gray cement, with few windows,
in economical, no-nonsense rectangles. Their lawns are
crab grass and their mailboxes are dull metal. To some
the sight might be gloomy, but to me their simplicity is
comforting.
The reason for the simplicity isn’t disdain for uniqueness,
as the other factions have sometimes interpreted it.
Everything—our houses, our clothes, our hairstyles—is
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