~June 24th 2012~

The Sun newspaper.
Annie Cresta, pictured below, struck gold at the Olympics last night. This makes Cresta the youngest female to ever win a gold in rowing- being eighteen. Annie was awarded with yet another gold medal for Team GB when she came first in a Single Scull race against Russia's Lorna Sckinzoff, America's Nina Robberts and Japan's Hamako Ito. Cresta won by far, Ito in second, Sckinzoff in third and lastly, Robberts. Annie was very emotional as she accepted her victory in front of the millions of people tuning in to watch her win. After the celebratory flowers were handed out, the rower's partner; Finnick Odair ran onto the stage and swept her off her feet. A happy ending for a well deserved win.

~July 1st 2012~
Annie's POV:

I had already begun vigorous training for the 2016 Olympics in Rio. The hours in the boat were long and the time I spent with Finn and my friends was ever shrinking. Did I really want this? I had won once, why did I have to do it all over again? I couldn't be a rower forever- once you're past your sell by- that's it.
I thought about what my future held as I rowed further into the ocean. I pictured retiring at forty, Finnick still working as a diving instructor. I imagined picking my teenage kids up from school and doing a bit of food shopping for the upcoming week. I dreamed of an ideal life. Row after row after row, I was sweating more and more in the mid summer heat. My training shirt was soaked in salty sweat and sea water and my hair was sticking to my face. I kept furiously rowing until I had no idea where I was. Suddenly I realised I really didn't know where I was and suddenly I realised there was no land around me and suddenly I realised I had no food or water. How far had I rowed? I looked around desperately but I could see no sign of humans and the sun was beating down on my unprotected body, making me sweat even more. I sat in my little boat for about an hour when finally I realised no one was coming for me. Finnick was at work until 4:30, father was dead, mother was dead. The only one who could help was Mags- my trainer but how was she to know I was stranded somewhere in the arms of the ocean?
"Help!" I stupidly called. Nether the less, it was something to do and kidded me into thinking someone was going to assist me. "Help! Anybody?" My mind was resolved into believing not a soul was close enough to even see me as a pin point let alone hear me. Fabulous.
I quizzed myself about if I could row back ashore except I had no idea which direction to go and I hadn't the stamina left. I noticed the sun was setting and remembered that my drawstring bag containing my phone, a towel, a water bottle, and a pack of dried raspberries remained at the shore. I could've sworn I started to salivate at the thought of my favourite snack whilst I fretted about the fate of my lonely bag. My legs began to cramp up as the minuets ticked by meanwhile I attempted to think up a SOS plan without success. I schemed up crazy, extravagant saviour plans which involved being rescued by mermaids and hijacking a helicopter to pass the excruciatingly slow passing time. I fought fatigue and eventually surrendered, falling asleep with my head on my knees. I awoke to find my boat rocking and my oars slipping away from me. "Crap!" I exclaimed, my mouth nastily dry. My arms were flinging about, trying to retrieve the reluctant to return oars. Finally I got both back and my eyes gave in to the tears behind the flood gates. When I'd finished crying, my eyes were sore and puffy and I desperately needed a drink. I recalled a quote I'd read once which I finally understood; 'water, water, everywhere, nor a drop to drink.' I knew sea water was not drinkable but I didn't really see the harm in it personally, so I cupped my dry hands and scooped some clear water up which felt somewhat soothing on my coarse skin. My chapped lips met the shockingly salty liquid and I gulped at it, returning my hands in the plentiful sea several times. The delicious water burned my throat and stung my sinuses but felt surprisingly good. Supposing I counted correctly, I drank the same measurement of beautiful water 17 more times before the vomiting began. The bubbling mess erupted in my stomach and shot up my throat, then it all came out in beautifully repetitive patterns- vomit for five seconds, pause ten seconds, vomit five seconds, pause five seconds. It was a nightmare. And the worst of all was that no one could hear me screaming for help.
I passed out minuets after beginning vomiting and when I woke, the sun was coming up. My stomach felt queasy as I had just threw my guts up and not eaten in a day or so. The intense training and my usual food guide had been completely thrown off, as I ate quite a lot in order to stay healthy. I thought a was going mad, as being alone was a scary concept for me these days. When I was alone it gave me time to think of my past and my lack of ability to think positively- considering both my parents were murdered when I was fifteen, and my father went through a stage where he enjoyed abusing my mother when I was from four to six, but that was eradicated when he was arrested for drink driving. By the time he returned the next year, all was forgotten and forgiven it seemed, and as a young child, I was incredibly easily manipulated; I loved my dad, he was a good man at heart. Whereas I forgave my troubled father, I never forgot what pain my mother experienced to stay with whom she loved. One beating particularly dawned on me with such force, It somehow stayed tattooed on my mind.

~December 25th 2000~

"Merry Christmas, Annie, my sweet heart." My mother's gentle tone soothed me as her beautiful hands passed a pristinely wrapped red, large parcel to me. My young fingers fumbled as I struggled to untie the perfect bow which sealed the gift, I was presented with. Finally the bow my mother had made unfolded and the pearl ribbon lay lifeless on the knee of my brand new cat pyjamas. My father sipped at his freshly produced tea and his handsome face warmly smiled at my lack of intellect. I tore the crisp expensive wrapping paper off the present and let my eyes behold the glory of the pink Furby toy that every six year old desired. I squealed with delight and flung my arms around my taken mum.
"Thank you so so so so so much, mummy!" I jumped around my living room with excitement, letting my lilac dressing gown bounce about with me. "Thanks, daddy!" I sprinted towards my father, accidentally sending the boiling mug of tea flying all over him. Time seemed to be frozen whilst my father shrieked in horror as the boiling beverage spilled over his chest. The blue pyjamas he wore were now a murky purple to match his red face. My temperamental dad raised a hand to slap me but before he could, dearest mother was standing in front if me.

"Don't you dare, Dale." Mum warned. Suddenly my father shrunk from The Incredible Hulk to a man with tea dripping from his night shirt.

"You'd better move, Cathy." The floor seemed to shake as my mother's head did too, making her long, flawless platinum hair flow in the air. Without another moments warning, my father's hand was smacked hard across my mother's cheek. She let out a small noise of defeat before father was laying into her; punching until she was shrivelling mess on the floor.
"Mummy?" I whispered whilst father left the room and the crimson blood was setting into the cream carpet. "Mummy, come on." I tried pulling her up but she was unconscious on the floor. Surely father's beatings would've killed me. A minuet later, dad returned with the medical box, crying his eyes out.
"Cathy, darling, I'm so sorry." He whimpered as he tried to clear up the bloody gash on mother's forehead after she had gained consciousness. "Annie. I love you." I nodded, trying to pretend nothing had happened, but it had.

~July 2nd 2012~

I desperately looked around, silently begging for a beacon of hope. I felt my weak body swaying from side to side, not able to get the hang of controlling myself. My stomach churned in its emptiness, making me gag although there was only salty air to throw up. My whole body was uncontrollably spasming and all I could do was allow myself to have a seizure and let the tears dribble from my sunken eyes. I was as good as dead.

~July 3rd 2012~

The Sun newspaper.

Rower, Annie Cresta, was rescued from the centre of the sea last night. Cresta, picture below, was found unconscious, dehydrated and starving by three fishermen just nine days after her heroic gold win in the Olympics. Doctors at St. Gareth's Hospital tell us that the eighteen year old will physically recover soon but her mental state will never be the same again. Mags Cohen, Cresta's rowing coach said "Annie is normally a bright and beautiful girl with fantastic rowing ability. Whatever happens, Finnick and I will continue to support her throughout his tragedy, Annie will never be alone." Whilst a rehabilitation programme is constructed, the champion will stay in St. Gareth's Hospital.