What schemes of events lead me here? To die a horrible death at the hands of the Capitol? To watch countless others, including friends, be tortured? I remember the old me, the one who laughed and joked at the Hob, who would do anything just to procure a smile out of someone. Where did he go? Did that me die when I became an Avox? Did he die when I intervened at Gale's whipping? Or was he already disappearing slowly, with each passing day? I don't really know.
All I know is that I wish more than anything to get away. To be somewhere else other than the hurtfully bright white Capitol walls, where victims get tormented. To get away from the constant screaming and horrible noises issuing from the other rooms. To be able to give into the pain, cry and be obedient. But I can not. I must not scream, like they want me to, or to tell them to stop, even if I severely need them to, and I must not weep at the misfortune of others, like they want me to. I must not be a piece in their games. This is my final stand, my last small form of rebellion. To not listen.