You can't change the past, can you? You can't go back in time, and stop something from happening. The world doesn't work that way. You're stuck with your decisions, and in turn, the consequences.
I used to be free. I used to be just another face, just another care-free citizen. I used to have a future worth living. I was full of life. Passionate. Creative. Now, however? I'm on the brink of insanity, I'm a slave, and I'm considered a traitor. Was what I did really that bad? Did I deserve this? Was that one little action enough to cause an avalanche of pain in my life? Was what I did actually considered traitorous, rebellious, and worthy of punishment?
Was it enough to take away my voice? To mutilate my tongue, so I would be condemned to eternal silence? Apparently, what I did was enough.
I sit in my cold room, my arms pulling my knees close to my chest. It's so cold, and I try in vain to conserve my body warmth. My room is void of everything but a dresser that was obviously used for several, long years, and a simple, lumpy bed. I have a candle on my dresser, which is right next to my mattress.
The lonely flame flickers, casting long, wavering shadows across the room. The candle is more of a source of light, not of warmth.
I can't hold back the flood of tears waiting behind my eyes. They break free, and I silently weep into my arms. I cry out, but the sound is more of a pitiful squeak than an actual sob.
A memory is tugging at the edge of my consciousness. But I don't want to see it. I don't want to remember. I want to live in the present, not the past.
But I can't. I try in desperation to avoid thinking about that fateful day, but I simply can't.
"Avalyn Riez. Former citizen of the Capitol. Traitor of Panem, on 2 accounts of treachery. Aged 16. Parents: deceased. No siblings. Begin the operation." A woman's voice speaks.
I look around for the source, but find none. I'm chained to a cold metal hospital bed. It's the only thing I can see in the strange room. I try to move my arms, but both my wrists and elbows are pinned down with metal cuffs to the table. My legs are confined in a similar way. My head is held immobile by two separate metal arms. They force my head on the table, and I can't move a millimeter in any direction, for the pain that shoots into my skull is enough to prevent me from doing so.
A man walks into the room, not bothering to talk to me. There's an earsplitting clang, like the closing of a huge metal door. He has a needle in his hand, and he flicks the side of it, grinning evilly. He shoots it into my arm, and suddenly, my body freezes up. I can't even blink. My senses are magnified, and I can smell rubbing alcohol. The sharp stench makes me want to hurl.
The man picks something up, but I can't see from where. My eyes are frozen, still staring at the ceiling. The man sits down in a chair, and pries open my mouth. A sudden wave of fear runs through me. I can't cry, but I'm shaking and sobbing on the inside.
He sticks something in my mouth, none too kindly, and I feel a warm substance being squirted on my tongue. A split second later, a splitting pain ripples through my mouth. The warm liquid is blood, I realize. I hear the whir of a saw, and I don't even have the comfort of closing my eyes as my tongue is severed off. I can't cry, I can't gasp, I can't do anything but lay in mute horror as I feel and hear my tongue being removed. It hurts. It hurts like nothing else I've experienced.
The blood begins overflowing, and my mouth can't contain it. The man places something else in my mouth, similar to that of a dentist's tool. It begins sucking out the blood, making a disgusting slurping sound. I can see the hose, and the blood coming out of my mouth is so much, that I begin to think that the man just went ahead and ripped off my jaw. There's no way this much blood is coming from my opened mouth.
Something prevents me from blacking out. I can't escape the pain. The peacekeepers, or whoever they are called here, want me to feel everything. Feel the initial dread that my tongue will be removed. Feel the pain when the first cut is made in my flesh. Feel the absolute horror and revulsion as blood, saliva, and pieces of my maimed tongue are sucked from my mouth.
They want me to be afraid. To feel pain. To feel helpless. Hopeless. Angry. Dismayed.
And it's working. If I could cry, I would. If I could scream, I would. But I can only sit in silence as the operation continues. I don't even have anesthesia to relieve me of my pain. Just my thoughts. Just me and my thoughts. That's all it'll ever be, from now on. I would never again be able to speak in coherent, complete words. Laughing, talking, and singing were being ripped from me as my tongue was.
It was finally reality. Finally, I was what I thought I would never be.
I was an Avox.
The man quickly washed out my mouth. Not with the cool graces of water, however. The acidity of alcohol flooded my mouth, burning every open wound it crossed. Essentially, my entire mouth. I couldn't spit it out, so it pooled in the back of my throat before being sucked out. I felt like retching, but I still had no control over my body.
The man shoved a piece of cotton in my mouth, to collect the remaining blood.
I didn't get stitches. Stitches were used to heal wounds. In my case, they didn't want me to heal as fast as possible. They wanted me to feel the pain of the gaping hole in my mouth for as long as I could.
My restraints were lifted, and slowly, the drug in my body wore off, and I could move again.
I slowly walked into my new room, escorted by the man who performed my operation. He was holding onto my shoulder so tightly that I was beginning to feel my pulse.
He threw me into my new living quarters. I left my old life behind, and entered my new life. The life of an Avox. The life of silence. The life of pain.
Tears were cascading down my face at this point. The sobs racked my body as I silently cried into my hands. The memory was burned into my mind. Each recollection of pain was permanently engraved into my mind. I would never forget it, as hard as I tried. It would always be there.
My eyes fluttered shut, and I yawned. The yawn didn't feel right. Lack of a tongue and whatnot. I slowly fell into a troubled sleep, still crying.
A/N: So this is the first chapter of Unspoken Secrets. Avalyn is an Avox, but there's so much more to her than that. What did she do that was considered a serious offense? What could she have possibly done to make her an Avox? Well, I would tell you, but that would ruin the surprise. (;
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-BeautifulDisasters