Mental Snap

My eyes dart around the arena, searching for a place to make camp. It is about two weeks into the 70th annual Hunger Games, and I am genuinely surprised that me and Maddox, my district partner, have made it this far. Though we are both covered in a mosaic of scratches and our bodies cry of exhaustion, we are relatively well off at the moment. Years of living in District 4 gives us an advantage in fishing. We are staying confined to the swampy part of the arena, where there is plenty of water for us to lay nets in. But even this cannot distract from the reality that there are six other tributes running out there in the night that want me dead.

I'm in the final eight. I have to repeat this several times in my head for it to sink in. This means they will be interviewing my grandmother back home, since she's the only family I really have. I never knew my father, and I was separated from my mother at a young age because she was mentally unstable. Mad. I remember my grandmother taking me to visit her a few times when I was younger, but I was always frightened by her, the way she would look past me and laugh at something I couldn't see. Even now in the arena, I feel a shiver run down my spine at the memory.

Yes, they would interview my grandmother. Of course, they would probably interview Finnick, too, if…if he were not here with me. Not here in the arena, but in the mentor room, carefully watching over me. He's the only thing keeping me fighting in these senseless Games.

"Um, hello, Earth to Annie," I catch Maddox saying. You can never escape the Games for long.

"What's going through your head? We need to find a camp now."

I never knew Maddox back in District 4, but I can tell we would have gotten along. He's pretty young, just fourteen, and small at that. He makes up for his small stature with spirit that shines in his hazel eyes. My instinct would be to protect him since he's like the little brother I never had, but there can only be one victor. Still, I know I will never be able to kill him, or anyone else for that matter.

"Sorry, I guess I just got distracted," I reply with a sigh. Then I motion to a thick wall of bushes to our left, behind a large and threatening looking array of thorn bushes. "What about we spend the night in those bushes? I doubt anyone would bother looking there."

"Hmm, maybe your right. Those thorn bushes in front of it should conceal us," Maddox says with a degree of reluctance in his voice. Neither of us want to go through a thorn bush, but our choices are limited. All the trees on the swamp floor are tall and branchless until the top, so climbing isn't an option. "Too bad Finnick won't send us something to protect our skin. I bet he would if you'd ask for it."

Almost immediately, my cheeks flame into a blush, but I manage to get out "yeah, some protection would be nice."

It's funny how fast the silver parachute drops down. After enduring some teasing from Maddox, I slide the thick plastic sheets over us and we crawl into the thorn bushes. From there, we are able to enter the thick matting of the other branchy bushes and do our best- without success- to make ourselves comfortable. We have had no shortage of gifts, though its hard to imagine we pulled in many sponsors with our poor training scores. Luckily, Finnick has a never-ending chain of rich admirers who will throw money towards anything he requests. I know it's helping me and he doesn't return any of their affections, yet I can't hold back the feeling of jealousy that runs through me. Technically, Finnick is Maddox's mentor, but he only volunteered to help protect me. Only females can mentor female tributes, but Finnick is basically doing both jobs. I haven't even seen my mentor, a militant looking woman who won about thirty years ago, since the first day of training. Finnick's looking out for Maddox, too, but it is painfully clear that he is not the priority.

Just thinking of Finnick brings back an onslaught of memories and a pang in my heart. I think back to the day we met, when I was just an eight-year-old girl sitting on the beach. In the distance, men were unloading their ships after a day of hard work. My attention was focused on them as I absentmindedly twirled my finger in the sand . Suddenly, something large splashed out of the water and grabbed my ankle, causing me to jump back with a small shriek. The source of the attack was a ten-year-old boy who was now laughing hysterically as the waves withdrew around him.

"That wasn't funny!" I exclaimed, letting my long brown hair shield my face to hide my embarrassment.

"Yeah, it was! You should have seen your face!" he countered, his words muffled with laughter. He was bigger than me and his hair fell in bronze waves over his forehead. I could see that his eyes were a striking sea green, much like mine, if not a little brighter. After a minute, he stopped laughing and took in my unamused expression. "Oh, come on, it was just a joke. My name's Finnick."

Though I was still a little upset, I was happy that he didn't seem to be teasing me anymore. "I'm Annie," I replied softly.

Finnick smiled slightly and half-whispered, "So, Annie, do you want to come for a swim?"

"Why are you talking like that?"

"Huh, usually when I use that voice I get whatever I want. People think its adorable, especially the ladies," he said with a chuckle. "I guess it doesn't work on you. I've never seen you around. Do you have any friends?"

I looked down at the sand and said, "Not really. I live with my grandma and she home schools me. We take care of each other. I've seen other kids my age, but I guess I'm just too shy or boring to make friends…"

The young boy pulled himself next to me on the sand and looked into my eyes. "I don't think you're boring. Maybe just a little hard to figure out. If you want, I'll be you're friend, Annie."

From then on, I knew I would always have someone to count on. The more time I spent with Finnick, the more I came out of my shell and was comfortable in my own skin. He introduced me to his own friends and soon they became my friends as well. Despite this, I was still a little reserved with everyone besides Finnick. He was the only one I could truly be myself with; the only one I could spend a whole day with speaking in jokes and sarcasm; the only one I could trust with my secrets.

When he returned from his Games, things were a little different. On the outside, he was still the sarcastic, charming boy he had always been. I'll admit it was hard to watch him kill people on T.V., but that feeling was overshadowed by the joy of having him back home. The boy who had always been popular was now famous, and most of our exchanges were amidst large groups of people who seemed to follow him like dogs. Most of them were girls. Even at the young age of fourteen, Finnick's boyish cuteness had been exchanged for dazzling beauty that had middle aged women head over heels. Even though I couldn't deny he was the most attractive person I knew, I was still only twelve and honestly didn't see him as anything more than a friend.

Even with his newfound popularity, Finnick was still approached with caution. After all, he was a trained killer now, and people never saw him in quite the same way. I didn't see a dangerous boy, but a damaged one. Underneath all the humor and, well, seductiveness, there was a young man more hurt than he led on. On night on the beach where we first met, Finnick finally confided in me how the images from the arena never really go away and how they haunt him through nightmares every night. That was the first time I saw Finnick cry, and it seemed so natural to let him lay his head in my lap and help him through it with reassuring words.

An owl's call in the distance brings me back to the Games. Through the branches, I can see Maddox is sound asleep next to me, but I have been floating in a place between consciousness and slumber. I'm aware that I need sleep if I want to survive the next few days, but my brain has other ideas. I find myself wishing there was an off button for my mind. It seems like I should be worrying about what horrors will await me in the morning, but as I close my eyes, my thoughts drift back to one person. Finnick.

About two years ago, rumors of Finnick sleeping with Capitol women reached District 4. He was still out of town for the 68th annual Games at the time. I was walking home with Shelley, a friend introduced to me by Finnick, when she told me the news. At first, I refused to believe it. Hadn't Finnick and I joked about how ridiculous Capitol citizens are just weeks ago? I could see no reason for it, so I was especially surprised a few weeks later when Finnick admitted to me it was true.

"Why Finnick? Why them? Do you think any of them actually care about you?" I demanded. For the first time, I realized how much I cared about him, and that a friend wouldn't feel this jealous. It bothered me that he was letting himself be bought by women he didn't even know, all while I'm sitting here and missing him.

"I wish I could explain. Just trust me that there is a reason. I'm not offering my services because I'm into dyed skin or hot pink hair," he said, the edges of a smile playing around his lips.

I stared into his eyes, searching for the truth. "Then why don't you just tell me? I'm sure, if the reason's as good as you say, I would understand. We're best friends. We don't keep secrets from each other," I let out, but then I had to drop my eyes because here I was with the epiphany that I had feelings for him, and I had no intention of telling him that secret. He clearly wasn't interested anyway, what with all those Capitol women.

"I know, Annie. I trust you more than anyone. You mean a lot to me, and that's why I can't tell you."

After a few silent minutes and a battle between longing, jealousy, and sadness in my heart, I muttered a quiet "okay," and let it pass.

We put the incident behind us and acted as if it never happened, though it never erased from my mind. Life continued normally until the reaping of the 70th annual Hunger Games. One second, the time it takes to read my name, Annie Cresta. One second, and I knew I was doomed. It didn't set in right away. I was still piecing together what had just happened when two of my closer friends embraced me.

My mind was in shock, but I managed to hear, "Poor Annie! You're way too soft and sweet for the Hunger Games! Oh, I wish it wasn't you!"

Reality set in. I was the female tribute for this year. I would go and most likely die in the arena. As I made my way to the stage, I caught sight of Finnick. His beautiful face was in shock and his jaw looked like it might hit the floor. I looked back for my poor old grandmother, who was now having trouble walking, but couldn't find her. I never heard Maddox's name called because the continuous track in my head was a steady plea to myself: Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry.

I was bewildered when I saw Finnick rush to the train. Was he here for a final goodbye?

"Annie, Annie, I'm here. Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere," he said between gasps, not even in his seductive purr.

The tears were dangerously close to overflowing. "How is that? Are they letting you stay because you're a victor?"

He embraced me and wiped away a tear that had escaped from my eye. "I volunteered to be your mentor. Well, technically I'm mentoring the boy, but I promise I will be there for you. I won't take my eyes off you the entire time."

Ridiculously, I feel a surge of warmth in the dead of night in the middle of the arena. Even thinking of him makes me feel so safe, so warm. For the first time, I know he loves me back, too. The last time I saw him before I was ushered off to the hovercraft, he told me everything. I learned that his visits to Capitol women were to protect loved ones, including me, from President Snow's threat. He said he was already falling for me, but admitting his feelings would only put a target on my back. Seeing me put in harms way was what really made him realize he loved me, and now that I'm already in danger, there's no point in holding that back from me anymore. His kiss sent electricity through my body, covering every inch with warmth. It was a perfect moment made bittersweet by dire circumstances.

Now here I am, in the place of nightmares. I realize that my mind has kept me at least half conscious all night, as the sun is finally rising. Final eight, I repeat in my head. Maybe, just maybe there's a chance that I could win this and return to District Four with Finnick. My hopes go crashing down when I remember that survival skills only get you so far. If I want to win, I will have to emerge victorious through a bloody fight to the death with a fellow tribute. Something I know in my heart that I can't do.

The loud boom of a cannon makes my jump. Maddox bolts up, awakened by the sound. We both watch through the branches as a hovercraft scoops up the body not thirty yards away from us. Whoever just killed that tribute is probably still close by.

An hour passes, and we are still huddled under the branches. Finally, Maddox begins crawling out to survey the area, and I pull him back with my arm. It causes a pretty loud rustle, but it's less risky than going out in the open.

Annoyed, he leans toward me and whispers, "We can't hide here all day. I'm sure that whoever was here, if anyone even was here, is gone by now. I'm going check our nets."

Fear leaves me unable to communicate. I follow him to the edge of the thorn bush, but I don't dare move past this point. I remain in place with Finnick's plastic cover draped over me for protection against the sharp tips of the plant.

"See, it's fine," Maddox says. He even goes to the nearest net and comes back with three fish. I'm about half way out the bush when it happens.

I've said before that it only takes a second for everything to change completely. Within a second, the male tribute from District 2 jumps out from behind a tree. Within a second, the long sword slices through Maddox's neck like it is a piece of the green tinted bread we make in District 4. Within a second, Maddox's head is detached from its body and airborne until it hits the ground and rolls to my hands. Within a second, I completely lose my grip on reality.

I am screaming. Not any normal scream, but a wild, crazed one. I cannot connect this sound to my body or my body to myself. Suddenly, "myself" becomes an abstract term. The boy from 2 is still here - or is he? The bigger distraction now is the dozens of decapitated heads rolling towards me. Some of them open their mouths, pleading for help, while others turn their eyes toward me and make a strange sound between a laugh and a scream.

The swamp moves under my feet, so I must be running. Where am I? How did I get here? I'm vaguely aware of a stream of incomprehensible words coming out of my mouth. The ground is no longer mushy and wet; am I out of the swamp? If this is real, the bright orange trees with corpses singing to me must be real as well. Voices pester me in my mind, and I clamp my hands over my ears to shut them out. Stop! Leave me alone!, I think, but they make no effort to quiet down.

Somehow, I have ended up lodged in the branches of a tree as the dead continue to taunt me. I hold onto the bark so hard that I think blood begins gushing out my hands, but I can't be sure. I need something tangible to help separate what's really happening from what's not. Time loses all meaning as the visions dance before my head. I see myself slaughtering people and my mother laughing and welcoming me to her realm. It hurts because I know in some deep part in my mind that there's something much more important than all of this, some clue to where I am and who I am, but I can't make myself remember. Both real and imaginary are painful and confusing, and eventually I stop fighting to make the distinction. Imaginary is my new reality.

How long will this go on? I am trapped, a prisoner to the terrifying visions of my own mind and the world around me. The only noticeable change comes when I feel water pooling around me, covering my legs and arms. I must not be in a tree or on a battlefield after all. No, surely I am back in District 4, wading out in the water on the beach. I feel as if a huge weight has been removed from my chest. Even with my eyes closed, I can see the blue sky filled with flocks of seagulls. In the distance, I can hear the ships pulling in after a day of fishing. The sun's rays warm my skin as I realize I could stay here forever and be perfectly fine.

Forever doesn't last nearly long enough. I feel my body paralyzed in place and the waves around me disappear. Whatever peace of mind I had is clearly gone, and the awful visions and voices come back full force. I see unfamiliar faces and am unable to discern whether they are here and tangible or one of the cruel corpses that follow me. Thrashing. Screaming. Crying. This is all I'm able to do, and it still can't fight the unknown. The only words that manage to pierce through into my consciousness are " …predisposed to it. The shock just set off the snap needed to break her mind."

So it's true then. I'm really hopeless, broken. A freak too unstable to fit in with normal people. Even this realization is difficult for my mind to hold without being distracted by another terror.

"Annie, it's okay. You're okay. You made it. Don't worry, Annie, I'm right here," a voice coos, and I stiffen as I feel an embrace. My mind can't connect the pieces. I don't know who this is or what I have made it back from. A voice whispers to me to get away, and I find myself pushing the man off of me. I back into a corner, terrified and feral.

The more I look, the more familiar his face seems. "Annie, it's me, Finnick. Please don't run away. I'll never hurt you," he says. "Look into my eyes and try to remember."

For some reason unknown to me, I listen. My eyes meet his sea green ones, which are glistening with tears. A memory from what seems like a lifetime ago enters my mind. It's the two of us on a beach. I am holding his head on my lap, surprised to see tears falling from his beautiful face. I hear myself encouraging him while he lets out his feelings. For the first time, my mind finds something to hold on to. Of course I know him. He is my best friend, my lover, my reason to fight.

"Finnick," I say in recognition and cross over into his arms.