It's bright. My eyes burn, water, sting. It's so loud, voices buzzing and warbling to me, through me. Colours blur and spin. My body hurts. I didn't realize there could be so many layers of pain, types of pain arching from the ends of my hair to the ends of my toe nails. There is the sensation of hands grabbing and pulling at me. I want to hit out, make them stop touching me. I would, too, if only I could force my limbs to cooperate and use my voice for something other than screaming. Screaming. Another part of me that's broken, I am hoarse, voice almost gone.

I can see more clearly now. People wearing institutional gray jumpsuits. I'm on a stretcher of sorts in a cement walled room. It has the sensation of being underground. I'm not sure how I know this, but I think you just feel it and know. I'm trembling, whether from cold or shot nerves or fear I'm not certain. I can't bring myself to answer their questions. Probing me for answers to the tortures I've endured.

I hear the people in gray commenting about the bruising and cuts to my face and body. I hear them whisper about the skeletal appearance of my body sparking discussion about re-feeding, dehydration, and IV fluids. I feel a cuff around my arm become tighter and see it slowly deflate. A beeping sound initiates more discussion about low blood pressure and tachycardia. I want to yell and hit out because they are touching me. I just want to be left alone, but I am too weak to fight them anymore. They ask me questions more urgently now.

"Do you know where you are?"

"Can you tell us your name?"

"Do you know the date?"

All I know is who I am. I don't respond to them out loud. A dark haired man wearing a serious and open expression steps forward. He moves into my line of sight and asks me to keep my head still and warns me he would be using a light to look at my eyes. I brace myself because my eyes, while they have adjusted, continue to water and burn. I flinch when his hand makes contact with my head, and he asks me to again keep still. He flashes the light quickly into both eyes. I can't help it. I look away. I flash back to the torture and am lost to the world for a moment that feels like an eternity. I come back and feel my body relax slightly from my intense rigidity. The people are murmuring amongst each other. The dark haired man pulls rubber tubing with ear pieces off of his neck. He begins to explain he is going to listen to my chest with it when I hear footsteps pounding outside of the door and louder voices from that direction. I feel my heart speed up, tripping over itself as I breathe faster. I am scared and confused. Are they here to help me or hurt me? The door behind me opens. I hear Johanna making a commotion and people in the room turn to the door. I do too because I can't bring myself to leave my back unprotected.

I see her. Katniss. No. I can't let her near me. How can they not know the evil she's done, and if they do know, how can they stand to let her walk among them. She approaches, teeth bared, arms extended. NO! Don't touch me! I have to kill her first before she kills me, hurts me, like she always does. I grasp her throat tightly. I can hear her breath stutter, croak, and wheeze. I hear it stop entirely as my grip tightens further. She turns a shade of purple I've only ever seen in the Capitol. Her eyes become blood shot with tears streaming down her cheeks. I feel her nails scrape against my wrists, feebly now as I watch the light leave her eyes. I feel a sharp pain deep in my skull. Darkness.