I'm being chased through the wilderness. Branches pop out here and there, clawing at my face. My leg is bleeding. How long can I survive? I stumble over a fallen tree. They're getting closer. I try to get running again, but my legs are screaming in agony, and I keep tripping over roots and plants. I lose my balance again. I turn around, just in time to see a girl. Crystal takes her sword and plunges in into my stomach. I fall down, already dying.
I wake up. Cool gray light washes over the walls. This is home. This is safety, more or less. That word doesn't hold much meaning for me anymore. I can't seem to get out of the arena; no matter how hard I try. I often wake up screaming, and wake the Parthorns in the process. On some really bad nights, I go over to my old house. It's also in the Seam. It's a small, low-ceilinged house, but it holds so many memories. I haven't showed it to anyone, and no one lives there. I go and walk over to my old bed and sleep in it peacefully. It has a few dusty photographs, and a few toys from when I was little. But I usually stay here in my regular house.
I stretch out and put on some clothes. I pick a pair of pants and a shirt at random, and put on a patched-up jacket I've had forever. I open the door and walk out with steady strides.
I don't go to school anymore. Why should I? Dead tributes don't need an education. The Capitol keeps denying I exist. I walk out past this ashy little place we call the Seam, and under the fence. Not electrified.
I go up towards the river. That's usually where I meet Wren. He's dead too. He can't go to school either, so we just spend the days hunting together. I see him, a lone dark form leaning on one of the many boulders that ring our river.
"Another bad night?" he asks, seeing my crumpled hair and the dark circles under my eyes. I nod. I have been declared unstable. I lose control when I hear countdowns, when I have to go into a cave, and whenever District Eight is mentioned.
"Do you think we could actually do it?" I ask Wren.
"What?"
"Go to District… well… you know…" I swallow, "Eight."
"To see Amandla?"
Memories are rushing in. I close my eyes, stabilizing myself. What have they done to me?
"Yes." I finally say. I sit down abruptly, almost like falling.
"I'm helpless. I'm always breaking down. What happened to the old me?"
"You mean the stubborn, determined you who would never let anything get in the way of her strategies, who would always over-think everything and be suspicious of everyone?"
"Thanks. Way to go with reassuring me. I'm not sure which is worse anymore."
Crybaby me who gets nightmares and loses grip on reality or cold, unfeeling, murderous me who would survive at any cost? Some choice. Everything is frustrating today.
"What if the whole thing had never happened? What if Effie had picked two other names?" I ask, half to myself.
"Then I wouldn't have met you," he answers.
"And I wouldn't be mentally scarred."
"Aren't I worth that?" he asks jokingly.
"Definitely," I say, cracking a smile. I find that the more I smile, the more I heal.
Is Wren really worth it? I wonder. He believes I am entirely devoted to him. It's not false… it's just that I'm confused. Anything that has to do with the arena makes my head hurt and I have to close my eyes once again. I get up suddenly. Idleness makes my thoughts overflow and I might have a lockdown. It's when it suddenly becomes too much for me and I just squeeze my eyes shut and blot out reality.
I'm an embarrassment. The old me wouldn't have approved. She would have told me to pick myself up and get on with life. But now I'm not even sure who the old me was. Am I still the same person?
What if Wren decided he couldn't deal with an insane girl anymore? I'd collapse for good, and then I might as well die.
I set myself in motion. Too many thoughts are crowding my consciousness.
"Come on, let's see if we can shoot something." I tell him.
"No need. We might as well starve." I look at him worriedly. He's not supposed to do that. He's not supposed to give up. I'd collapse.
"No, you're right," he says. "Let's go."