Hi reader! I had this story rattling around in my head for a few days and figured I'd type it up. I'm not sure if I'm going to continue it, so if you think I should I hope you'll leave a review!

I stared blankly into the corner of the completely white room. Well, I thought it was the corner, but everything looks the same in this room. This alone is enough to make me crazy, as I spend nearly all of my time here.

But I was already crazy, white walls or no white walls.

I closed my eyes and tried to see something else, anything else. But my body ached, and the cut left across my temple by a guard is still bleeding, the red droplets sliding agonizingly slowly down my cheek, and I couldn't leave this place, not even in my head.

I wished so badly that I could just reach up and wipe the blood away, but my hands were secured with rusty restraints to a chair which was, unsurprisingly, white. Instead, I just looked down at the only non-white things in the room: my body and clothes, and the restraints on my wrists, ankles, and across my abdomen.

As usual, I examined the black thread that held together my clothes. They had dressed me in the same clothes that the tributes had worn during my first Games.

How fitting.

By now, though, the clothes were blood spattered and torn in several places. I suppose they were that way in the Games as well.

Voices start to ring in my head, a million of them. I can only pick out a few: the lethal voice of Cato, the nauseating screams of Rue, the strong call of Gale, the steady shout of Peeta, the sweet croon of Prim. The voices get louder and louder, completely uncontrollable until my ear drums are screaming and my head pounding.

I thrash around, trying so hard to get it to stop, if only just for a moment. The rusted restraints tear at my wrists, but I can't bring myself to care. The voices blend together, still louder, always louder, until I realize that they're not inside my head.

They're being fed into this damn room from some outside source, some sort of yet another sick joke being played by the Capitol. I stop my thrashing and the screeches that had unconsciously been flying out of my mouth. I force myself to take a deep breath; they want a reaction. Every inch of this place is covered in video cameras, I know that much.

All they want is some sort of reaction.

I will not give them even that much.

So I level my gaze to the wall in front of me, and the white walls suddenly seem blindingly bright. But I ignore it, and the voices, as the best I can. Eventually, after some immeasurable amount of time, they stop. The silence leaves my ears ringing, but I ignore that too.

I cannot feel, I cannot hope.

Those are the things that will destroy me.

The lights in the room go out then, and I'm left blinking through the thick black that the light leaves behind. I close my eyes, because I know that it's the easiest way to pretend that it isn't that dark at all, that I'm simply waiting for sleep to find me.

I start going through what has become my routine of sorts to keep my body functioning. I tense the muscles in my calves until they shake and cramp up, and then tighten those in my thighs until they do the same. Slowly but surely, I move my way up my body with this process, and then move back down.

It's not much, but it's all I've got.

It's only with my body functioning that I could hope for an escape.

When I'm finished, I let my body relax, exhausted even by such small amounts of physical exertion. I can't recall the last time I've eaten, though I can't exactly tell time very well in here anyway. There's no sunlight to tell me what time of day or night it is, a fact I try to ignore. I'm trying to keep my mind intact as much as possible. I know exactly what Snow is doing to me now: keeping me alive, but just barely.

He's letting the world watch the Mockingjay deteriorate, physically and mentally.

There's just one reason why I know that the Mockingjay is who I was meant to be: Snow told me of it himself. Capitol spies had managed to discover the plans to make me into the face of the Rebellion.

But they had taken Peeta instead.

For this I was grateful; my Boy with the Bread was somewhere safe, and I was more than willing to be here in his place.

After what seems like quite some time, the blood on my temple dries and I drop off to a fitful sleep. This is interrupted by my own screams from the ever-present nightmares, and followed by the opening of the door in front of me. It looks rather strange to see it open, considering I assumed it to be part of wall.

Regardless, light spills into the room around a dark figure that approaches me at a stiff walk. I shy away on instinct, but I can't move very far. The person, whoever it is, unlocks all of my restraints, but not before securing a silver metal band around my ankle.

As if I knew my way out of here anyway.

He pushes me in front of him, and I can feel the unmistakable sensation of a gun poking into my spine. One wrong move and I'm dead.

He nudges me along through the labyrinth of halls, all completely white. I see only two other people, and sight of one nearly breaks my heart. It's the girl I've come to know as Annie prodded along by another guard. In the split second ours eyes meet, I can see that she has gone through far more than I have. Her eyes are wide with fear, and her entire body is shaking. I think I manage some look of reassurance, but I can't be sure. Either way, she's gone in just a moment, shoved through one of the countless doors that line the halls.

Almost immediately after Annie disappears, I leave the hall as well. I find myself in another white room, but the focal point here is a metal table. The guard motions towards it, but when I don't move, he calls out for other guards. I panic internally, but don't show it on my face.

They file in, pick me up, and toss me onto the table with enough force to bruise my shoulder blades. Before I know it, I'm strapped down, unable to move at all. One man in a lab coat shuffles in, a syringe in his hand.

"What is that?!" I demand, unable to keep my voice from rising in panic. "Tell me what that is!"

He proceeds as if he hasn't heard me at all, yanking my sleeve up and plunging the needle into the soft skin inside my elbow. After having experienced so much pain while being captured, I don't even flinch at puncture of my skin.

That is, until white hot, scalding pain spreads through my veins. I scream, writing around, unable to stop my reactions. My mind swirls until suddenly one memory is brought to the front of my thoughts. I watch Peeta shove me away, and run in the other direction, the second arena the backdrop to the memory.

Is that what happened when the roof got blown off the arena?

I couldn't remember. I hadn't been able to remember.

Until now.

How could he?

So as I said before, if you think this story is worth continuing, I'd love for you to leave a review : )

Thanks for reading!