Prologue
"To the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure." ~J.K. Rowling
There was a tug. Barely even prominent. Not like the ferocious jerking motion from the mutts in the Capitol. No, not like that at all. This one was different, pulling my body as if a rope had been tied around my waist and slightly yanking force was applied to the other end. Oddly enough though, it wasn't painful. In fact, I felt absolutely nothing, but as with many things, that fact didn't last long enough.
The scene around me shifted, and I was no longer held captive in the blank environment of the dead. They say when you die that there is a light, or perhaps some sort of slap of realization. However, I am here to tell you that none of that is true. Not even in the slightest bit. There is no revelation, no bright fluorescent glow, when you die there is just simply nothing except for a cold sort of emptiness that seems to gnaw at what's left of your being, a feeling in which you learn quite quickly to become accustomed to.
But at this particular moment, all that seemed to change.
It began to come back in parts – miniscule increments that would gradually appear, each one building onto the other. The first was color. Various sorts of grays and blues, all sorrowful and longing. Together they morphed, generating an astonishingly beautiful image of hope and loss, two things I was very much familiar with at the time.
Next, was sound. White noise that seemed to be utterly cacophonous and blaring dominated my ears in a sort of screech, shocking my body into a fervid state of terror. My hands rapidly flew to my head in a desperate attempt to halt the deafening audio, but its effect was inescapable. It may not have been so absolutely egregious in the past, in fact it is something that would have gone unnoticed, considered only to be a normal, daily aspect of life. But, if life is taken out of that equation, then it is a whole other situation entirely. Ever since my time ended, my body hadn't known any entity other than silence. When that state happens to change, it is particularly impactful. However, that was not the most haunting side effect. That spot was reserved solely for the voices.
I can tell you now that sound and speech are two very diverse concepts. One can harm you, but the other can completely tear you apart, leaving little to no sanity left for you to grasp. The words, the people in whom they belong to, all swirl maliciously inside your mind, suffocating your brain with noxious fumes of recollections and wistful thinking. Even though you are aware of your position, the abilities and capabilities you lack, you still possess a puissant desire to try and fight death, continuing to reach for that anchor that will bring you back to the living you care about. That feeling, that urge of persistence and perseverance that dwells despite reality, the power of determination only increasing when loved ones are involved, is what eradicates all hope in the end. Though, no matter how frequently I remind myself of the inevitable fate, I still managed to fall prey to the sweet, enticing voice.
But on this specific occasion, it was different.
Instead of dissipating into my faint bubble of desperation, this time the speech stayed, racking the inside of my skull like a throbbing headache, morphing into a distant ringing present inside my ears. I felt my hands slap against the side of my raw cheek, the violent cupping sound not even able to drown out her voice. How? What? Questions racked my brain swirling in with the sweet laughter and cries that eventually formed words, which then became complete comprehensible sentences. At that point, the torture only continued. I began to decipher certain oral fragments of my life, memories that were never to be forgotten but somehow, after the underground attack in the Capitol, managed to be pushed carelessly to the back of my mind. Whispered secrets under our breath on the shores of the evening sea, pointless jokes that many others would fail to understand but consisted greatly of my childhood days, helpless sobs and pleas that existed between us after my Games, the babble and seemingly meaningless speech after hers, and most of all the miniscule yet meaningful phrases spoken into each others ears as we roamed the dark and militaristic halls of District Thirteen, were all featured.
Almost instinctively my eyelids dropped in attempt to shut everything out, the noise suddenly becoming too much to bear. But the audio was intrepid and desired to make itself known no matter the pain it could be causing. Is this what it is like? To be caught in the whirlwind of your own insane mind? To be tormented by the past that you adore, but aren't in any way able to visit once more? Is this how she felt, as the vivid images of the arena dominated her thoughts?
My eyebrows furrowed further, clenching my eyes shut with an unknown vehement strength, as fresh tears welled, enforcing the acknowledgment of their existence through a stinging, salty burn with a gradual development. If it was even possible, my brain began to focus on and perceive more specific sounds that were not as significant before. Rapid footsteps and zealous cries rang through the dank air, as another nameless face announced an arrival. Other voices joined the mix, but most were too vague to be recognized. I still refused to open my eyes. The joy and complacency that my body happened to sense was incongruous and utterly unwanted. I didn't need this. It only made things worse. Was there anyway it could possibly leave or vanish? I don't know, I still don't. However, it was one particular phrase that enforced me to do the complete antithetic of my former state.
"Finnick!"
There was another voice, but my complete attention was directed upon the scene my eyes deciphered as soon as they were deemed the freedom that allowed me too possess sight. A stark wave of nausea washed over me, and discomfort swiftly replaced any previous feeling that existed within my being. The tears that that had only moments ago been contained by willpower now carved shimmering rivers into the blood-stained filth upon my cheeks. I don't recall falling, but only a sharp pain shooting up my knees as my body heaved forward, numb with passion and saturated with confusion. Before me, a thin framed girl clad in simple gray threads began bounding through a maze of dark, underground hallways as her unruly chestnut- hued tresses flailed behind her in a flash of curly strands. She ran wildly, navigating through passing citizens with a skill that could only be fueled by pure hope and desire, and somehow, I knew. She was chasing after a person who wouldn't return.
The sickening feeling worsened, as my stomach writhed and churned with a sort of vengeful intention. Despite all, bafflement and vulnerability alike, the pitiful words still managed to slip from my lips.
"Oh, Annie."