The sand squishes between my toes, coating the soles of my feet with every step I take along the shore of our district, District 4. I walk with Finnick, everyday I walk with Finnick. We look over the evening ocean and see our people's fishing boats scattered across the waves. Strong, tan people, some with dark red hair, some with brown, lift nets full of squirming, flopping fish from the sparkling salt water.
I had a boy, that one from 11 with the dark skin and darker eyes. I had him in my net, but I didn't kill him. I don't know why I didn't kill him. I never killed anyone, but all the people I should've killed are dead now anyway.
Finnick sighs and holds me. "It's that time of year again, isn't it?" He goes on about how 12 had a girl volunteer this year: insanely rare, but so touching, because she saved her sister. I don't hear most of it, though. I was a volunteer. Why did I ever think it was smart to volunteer?
"You take care of this!" Mascara shouted, storming away from our pack, the career pack, after a spat with Livia. "Talk some sense into her, you're good at that, Annie." I was sensible. I was stable. But the Games changed me.
"What's wrong? You look sad," Finnick wonders, and we stop walking. I don't answer him because he knows what's wrong. If something's wrong with real life, I shut it out, but I can't shut out the arena in my head. "Don't worry, everything's fine now. I understand how hard it is." He takes my hand, and even this comforting gesture is made maddening on Reaping Day.
The dam broke. Water rushed into the low grounds of the arena, flooding it, and drowning everyone but me. I felt the hands of other tributes, my former allies, grab at my feet, begging for help. I didn't help them. I swam away because I knew that they only wanted me to take their place in one of those twenty-three waiting coffins. Technically, they were killed by the flood, so my kill count for the Games was still zero. But I know I killed them. What a fate, killed by District 4's mad girl.
Finnick lets me cool off, looking out over the boats, the waves, the sunset. Another day gone by, another reaping. He's right: it's this time of year that always gets to me. In a few weeks, twenty-three of those tributes will be dead, the volunteer girl from 12 among them, most likely. Calming down for only a second, I follow Finnick's eyes. The sun sends its last rays of light over the sky, which is stained red, like blood. It catches on the dark bloody red of Finnick's hair and sends me over the edge.
The boy from 7 burst from the trees, chopping off Cyrus, my district partner's, head with an axe. Blood exploded from his neck, splattering everywhere. I can still feel the heat of it on my face. The 7 boy's neck was quickly pierced by an arrow shot by Steller. He bleeds so much.
Finnick suddenly sits down in the sand, the soft water lapping at this feet, and I sit next to him; rest my head on his shoulder with his arm around me, holding me close. Holding me safe. He laughs, he's always laughing. Such a bright, warm, joyous person. I'm lucky to have him. The people on the boats rejoice over their bountiful catches. Waves rock their boats. A crab scuttles past my foot. Seagulls cry out above us.
Never before and never since have I heard such desperate cries as those of my fellow tributes as the forceful wave pushed them under. So much louder than seagulls. Not one of them could swim, at least not well. Even I was afraid. Of course, I'd swum in the ocean before, and been on my boat during some pretty bad storms, but the force of that much water released from behind a massive dam... it tore apart the arena, tore apart my sanity. Even as a natural swimmer, a girl who's spent more of her life on a boat or in the sea than on dry land, I had trouble keeping afloat.
Finnick feels me shiver and gives me an assuring squeeze. "It's okay, Annie. You're safe. You're never going back there again, not even as a mentor. You're better than last year, you know. You may not see it, but I do. Slowly, I can see you coming out of the arena." He gives me a kiss. "You're marvelous."
I love Finnick, but he's wrong. The moment the Gamemakers broke the dam, they unleashed a destructive flood that literally wiped out my competition, but they also sent cracks through my wall of mental stability, shattering it and letting all my insane bits overtake the rest. And that's not something I think will ever mend itself.