I step into the vast underground room and look at all of the stations within it - half of the room is dedicated to combat skills, while the other half teaches survival skills. This segment of District 4's Tribute Training Center is for the 10-18 year old kids, training to bring glory to themselves and our district in the Hunger Games. I'm lucky, though. I have shown my skills to the Testing Committee for Special Cases, and I have been allowed full access to this room at the age of 8.
There are so many different things to do, so many tools and weapons that I've never seen before. I decide to just wander around, look for something interesting.
I pass the archery range, the spear throwing area, and the slingshot targets. A few of the older kids look at me suspiciously, but I keep my head held high and nobody questions me.
After five minutes of searching, I see something that interests me. A station that has nothing but tridents, the perfect District 4 weapons. I walk towards it and see that I'm not the only one interested.
A boy who can't be older than 10 or 11 is practicing with a long, blue trident. An expression of intense concentration decorates his face, but I can see the glint in his sea-green eyes that tells me that this is all just a game to him. In a matter of seconds, he has "killed" three cloth dummies with the deadly weapon. He sits on a wooden bench, and without hesitation, I walk up to him.
"Excuse me." I say firmly but politely. "I was wondering if - "
"I'm busy." he says crossly, getting up and exchanging the trident he was working with for a shorter silver one. He starts his routine of spearing dummies again.
"I'll wait." I say, and sit down. I have every intention of sitting here until he gives in and listens to what I have to say. It doesn't take nearly as long as I thought it would.
After a few minutes, he pauses and turns to face me. "You're not going anywhere, are you." he says. It's a statement, not a question.
I think about it. "No, I'm not." I reply
He sighs. "So what do you want?" he asks.
"I want you to show me how to fight with a trident.:
He bites his lip. "You seem a bit young to be in this room. Are you sure you shouldn't be in the Junior Division?"
"The Testing Committee gave me full access to this room two whole year early." I say smugly. I see the doubt and surprise on his face. I know I'm not one of the masses of muscle that's wandering around here - in fact, I'm quite small - but I can fight. I hate having people underestimate me.
He looks me over, as if he's sizing me up, seeing if I'll be able to deal with a trident. Finally, he speaks again. "Frankly, I find you annoying, but I know you're going to keep bugging me until I teach you. Fine. I'll teach you, if you can learn. I'm Finnick Odair, by the way."
"Annie Cresta." I say.
The next few hours pass in a blur. It takes a while for me to manage the grip on the trident - they're heavier than they look - but once I get that down, I learn quickly. By the end of the day, I can hold a trident decently and have accomplished some basic manuevers.
"So I'll teach you more stuff tomorrow?" Finnick asks.
I smile. "I thought you found me annoying."
Finnick grins. "I do. But I can handle annoying."
"Tomorrow it is, then." I say as I walk home. A thought is starting to form at the back of my mind, and it's that maybe I've found more than just a teacher. maybe, just maybe, I've found a friend.
I should have known that it was all too good to last. I should have seen it.
The next day, when Finnick was showing me more ways to fight with a trident, it happened. I shouldn't have been so surprised - it happens at the most inconvenient times.
The air seemed to fill with glistening, colored sparkles. Finnick was saying something that was probably about the way I was holding my trident, but I didn't understand him. And then the sirens started. Soft at first, but they were getting louder, and I knew that they would keep getting louder - just as I knew that nobody else could hear them.
I'm vaguely aware of my trident clattering to the floor. I must have let go of it, but I can't remember that. I have my hands over my ears, trying to block out the awful sounds, but they just keep getting louder and louder until...
The world jolts back to its normal self. The sparkles are gone, the excruciating sound of the sirens has stopped, and Finnick's words have become clear. "Annie...are you OK?" he's asking. I can tell by the look on his face that he has no idea what has just happened.
This is why I don't have any friends. Something like this happens, and they single me out as a weirdo, a freak. Sure, sometimes it's different. I'll hear somebody tell a joke and I'll laugh, only to realize that nobody in the room has said anything that's even remotely funny. I'll think that they're done talking when they aren't and I'll end up missing the last half of what they say. It's been happening less and less lately, and I thought that it was going to finally be over. But it's not.
My mom says that I'm "going into my own little world". Maybe she's right, but most of the time, it just seems like I'm going crazy.
A few minutes later, I'm standing on the edge of one of District 4's many lakes with no idea how I got there. I sit in the sand, trying to remember what exactly happened. I remember the sirens and the sparkles, but then nothing else. Since I feel tired, I'm guessing that I ran here.
I have made too many mistakes about "my own little world". I have made the mistake of trying to talk to people about it. They never understand. It just makes them think that I'm even more crazy. I've made the mistake of thinking that everybody does this sometimes. But I quickly realized that no, it was just me, crazy Annie Cresta. Most of all, though, I've made the mistake of still trying to befriend people who have seen me when I'm taken over by these...well, I don't really know what they are, but who have seen me when something like this happens. They always see this as an opportunity to kindly ask me if I'd like some "mental help", or more often, just insult me. That is why I'm determined to never speak to Finnick Odair again.
