A Fan Fiction story I wrote

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My fan fiction story is based off The Giver by Lois Lowry. I would upload it on a fan fiction website but I have to wait until 2:25. Anyway, I'll give you the first chapter.


*This is a story of Jonas if he never left. In the book, he’s almost thirteen at the end. This takes place right before the Giver comes up with a plan for Jonas to leave – only he never thinks of this.

Chapter 1
Jonas sat on the bed, crying over what he saw on the television screen. The Giver solemnly sat beside him, knowing that any attempt to assuage his pain would be futile. He sighed, still feeling the pain of when he saw his daughter, Rosemary, killing herself. Despite the morbidity of it all, the Giver savored the feeling that he had someone to share his joy and sorrow. The Giver gripped the sheets of his bed, consumed with a mix of emotions. Jonas then looked up at the old man as he told the story of Rosemary, a girl who was also selected for the position only to become overwhelmed by the memories. In the end, Rosemary requested Release because she wanted an escape. Jonas saw the anguish the Giver’s face expressed. It was as if they shared the same pain. He rubbed the tears off his face and stood up.
“Giver,” Jonas said, his voice knotted, “I think I’m starting to understand your pain. I always thought I understood it before, but I didn’t comprehend it the way I do now.”
The Giver shifted his position to face him and replied, “I felt the same way, a long time ago.”
“And back and back and back,” Jonas interrupted, saying the line almost rhythmically. This provoked nostalgia for the Giver.
“We become aware that we know nothing,” he said quietly, with that same soft tone he would use when simultaneously revealing and hiding the importance of such a lesson.
Jonas raised an eyebrow at the irony, “But you said that they know nothing and we are the ones with the wisdom.”
“To know how little we know despite what we learned is a part of our wisdom, Jonas. We never stop learning.”
“Maybe,” Jonas shrugged before sighing and asking with a tear, “Does betrayal always hurt this bad?”
The Giver nodded, “Yes. Pain is different for everyone, as well as how they cope. I hope you do this well. You can always come to me.”
Until I finish training. Jonas smiled weakly before leaving, careful closing the door behind him. Once he did, he leaned back, trying to control his tears. He then looked down at the pavement, so plain and gray. He walked to his bike and rode off with hesitation. Thinking of how he could stall himself, he stared at all the plain buildings adorned with colorful gardens, colors only he saw. He saw people contently riding home, all oblivious to what he endured. He wondered how long he could hold back the tears as he came close to stopping in front of his old, plain house. What was once his home now seemed like a foreign, scary place where he would always be alone. He rolled his bike up to wear his parents’ bikes were and headed inside, immediately removing his shoes.
“Jonas,” Lily chimed, “You’re just in time for the evening meal.”
“I’m not hungry,” he replied, sounding aloof, “I’m going to bed.”
“But Jonas,” his sister countered, “you’ll miss the Telling of Feelings.”
Feelings, HA! Jonas thought sarcastically and bitterly, but he didn’t dare say this aloud. He tried to gather his patience before speaking to Lily again.
“Lily, I’m very tired from training and I would appreciate it if you told Mother and Father that I won’t be accompanying them.”
“Okay, Jonas-Bonus,” she replied, much to Jonas’s dismay. He now despised that nickname.
He quickly went to his room, closing the door and undressing for bed. He lied on his bed, staring up at the ceiling before burying his face in his pillow to cry. He heard his family cheerfully talking about their day, which mostly consisted of lies. He knew that now. What hypocrisy!
His days ended in bitter nights for a month. Sometimes he would have solemn dreams. One of them was of resting in the soft soil only to open his eyes and see his family shoveling dirt over him, as if he was dead. He woke up only to come back to the harsh reality that is his “community”.
He thought his life would always be mundane other than for the memories transported during the later part of the day. Today, though, he found something strange. He had sat apart during lunch, as he always did, and watched his former friends talk about their jobs with great fervor as they always have. He wondered why it had to be this way. Jonas then looked solemnly at his food, which he barely ate. There were too many knots in his stomach. Besides, there would always be some tomorrow, and the next day.
Jonas, you are not starving. You will never be starving. He thought about that day, long ago, when he was younger and more innocent. More naïve. Yes, he thought, I’m not starving from hunger. That doesn’t mean I’m not starving in other ways, in ways no one will ever know. He took a small bite of the bland food when he heard an unfamiliar voice.
“Is this seat taken?” she asked. Seeing that he shook his head no, she sat across from him and continued, “I’m sorry. You look like you want to be alone, but everywhere else is jam-packed with people and I sometimes get claustrophobic. I hope you don’t mind, I’m new here, so everything seems strange. I could use a guide.”
Jonas looked up to see a girl about his age with brown hair and brown eyes, the generic look. She wore the same expression some children wore. He looked closer and saw that part of her hair near her neck was red, like Fiona’s hair. She wore a tunic, like his, but without an identification tag. He did one of those fake smiles and sighed.
“Sorry, sometimes I ramble on. I usually alternate between doing that and not talking at all. Sometimes I don’t know when to start and stop. It’s always been a problem of mine. I can’t see your identification tag, what’s your name?”
Just then, an Instructor came to the scene, “Rhiannon, do you know who this is?”
“No, that’s why I asked his name,” she replied as if the Instructor asked a stupid question.
“This is Jonas, otherwise known as the Receiver of Memory. He must be treated with the utmost respect. He has the highest honor in this community and sometimes prefers to be alone.”
Let me speak for myself!
“What the hell is a Receiver of Memory?” she asked.
“First, I must correct you, for your language is imprecise. Precision of Language is very important here. Without it, what we say can be misinterpreted,” the Instructor continued, to Rhiannon’s boredom, “Now, the correct way to ask your question is ‘what is a Receiver of Memory’, do you understand?”
Rhiannon sighed bitterly, “Yes.”
He was about to continue when Jonas asked, “I apologize, Instructor, for interrupting, but is it permissible for me to have a brief discussion with her?”
“Yes, Receiver.”
The Instructor walked away, still standing somewhat near and Rhiannon giggled and mocked, “Precision of Language is very important. So are rules and regulations.”
Jonas looked at her with confusion and Rhiannon quickly picked up that she was doing something wrong again. The mere idea that she rejects the community’s ideals just as much as he did made him smile a bit. He thought about the possibility. What else did she know and feel? It may not be as much as he could feel, but her presence was like having some fresh air.
“Rhiannon, may I ask you a few questions?”
“Yeah,” she replied nonchalantly.
“What did you mean when you told me you were new here?”
She tapped on the table and replied, “Oh, sorry. I came to this place last night. Ya see, I somehow went from where I lived to fields where a bunch of things were growin’ and I decided to look further, only to end up here where some curfew officer found me and asked why I was out past curfew. Then he found out I wasn’t from around here and took me to some Council.”
“What happened then?” Jonas asked, almost beaming with curiosity when another Instructor interrupted them.
“Rhiannon, I apologize for cutting your break short, but you were requested by the faculty for some additional work. You are a bit behind on your studies.”
Jonas stared at both of them with curiosity and confusion. He remained seated as an annoyed Rhiannon was escorted back into the school. Wouldn’t the Council have considered Release for her? Why would a council that rejects those who couldn’t cope welcome a newcomer? This puzzled him. I’ll ask the Giver about it today. Just then, Fiona took her place at the table.
“Hello, Jonas.”
“Hey,” he replied, his thoughts a million miles away.
“Is something wrong, Jonas?” Fiona asked.
Jonas focused on Fiona’s expression. Sometimes he would be fooled into thinking that Fiona just might be able to feel the way he could feel. Hanging on the false beliefs again, Jonas? Once more, reality let him down. He sighed silently.
“No, Fiona. I just need some time alone.”
“Alright,” Fiona acquiesced.
He watched her walk away before looking at the school building, thinking of the strange girl with the oddly colored hair. Who are you, Rhiannon?