CHAPTER TWO
I see myself projected on the screen, my eyes wide and my fingers shaking. I brace myself and slowly make my way to the stage, just focusing on keeping myself steady. Everyone stares. They see their Annie. They see the Annie who, as a little girl, built sand castles and pretended to be a mermaid. They see the Annie who kicked Burly Brian in the groin when he tried to steal her ice cream. They see the Annie who, frantically searched the waves, screamed for her mother the night she went missing. They see the Annie who, after her mother's death, came back to school and didn't talk to anyone. They see her winning the annual poetry contest and reciting her poem at city hall. They see her composed and always smiling with the few she talked to. They see her silhouette lowering a fishing net into the bank of the bay in the early morning hours. They see their Annie- the Annie they think they know. They don't see the real Annie. They don't see the girl who feels disconnected from everything around her. They don't see the girl who has nothing to hold onto. They don't see the girl who can't discern for herself the real from the unreal. They don't see how she's afraid of living, not dying. They don't see how she doesn't understand why she should fight at all for her survival. They don't see Annie.
On stage, the blood rushes from my face and my knees lock. I fix my eyes on the horizon, afraid to meet the eyes of anyone I know. They call the name of the male tribute, but I miss it. I find him in the crowd, walking from the group of seventeen-year-olds. He's a career, well-built and capable of fighting. When his pale grey eyes meet mine, I know that he's human, that it's hard for him too. Standing beside me as the sun reflects off his cropped black hair, he gives me a reassuring smile, and I try to return it.
"Ladies and Gentlemen!" cries Pearl Paarz, "the tributes of District 4!"
Within moments, Peacekeepers usher me into a room attached to the side of the stage and shut the door when they exit, leaving me alone with my wild thoughts. The room looks fuzzy, and suddenly, I'm trying to hold onto everything. I scan the room, attempting to plaster it into my memory. Teal curtains with light circles cover the windows. As far as I can discern, the carpet is grey, the sofa is salmon, and the pillows are green, and for the moment, I'm safe, alive, and still in my home district.
There's a knock at the door, and Phoebe enters, her eyes brimming with tears. She just looks at me for a moment before running to the sofa and squeezing me into a tight hug.
"Annie", she pleads, "you're going to come out of there. You're smart, Annie. That's better than any brawn that they could have. You'll come home. I know you will." With that, she rambles on about how nothing would ever change when I would come back and how she'd come to my house at Victor's Village every day after her shift at the plant. I shakily laugh with her pretending that everything she said would really happen- until her time ends, and she is forced to leave me.
A few of my classmates enter, assure me that everything would be all right, and promise to cheer for me. As they leave, a wave of nostalgia hits me, and everything seems even more surreal. Mavis enters and tells me that I was always a good girl. She gives me a photo of my mother and her when they had finished school along with stack of paper and a few envelopes to write home while I stayed in the Capital.
When my father staggers in, my mind can't place him. To me, he looks like any other man. I don't feel any attachment, only a painful emptiness in my chest. We don't say much. I just sit still as he holds me. Before he leaves, he fastens a silver chain around my neck with what he says is an abalone seashell as the pendant. The look on his face tells me that it was my mother's.
We finally board the train, and I find myself leaning over the rail, watching how approaching trees somehow end up far behind me in fragments of a second.I wonder if my life would pass like that- blurring past my sight until it would reach its end. As we cross over a composite of strewn rocks, I am jolted up and down, and my mother's necklace keeps hitting my chest like a dagger. I miss my district. I miss my home, and I miss everything I love.
For a few minutes, I try to just focus on breathing in the fresh air, but I hear footsteps behind me. Turning my head, I find that Finnick had come from the adjoining compartment, restlessly knotting the strings of a tether bracelet. I let myself study him. Up close, he looks even more attractive than on stage. His bronze hair is blown back by the wind, and his skin bears slight traces of sun. Though his face is hard and his features are chiseled, his eyes hold a trace of softness. He wears a white button-down shirt over dark pants, clothes naturally accentuating his toned figure, and to me, he looks nothing like the fourteen-year-old boy who, on television, had ruthlessly wielded a trident through his opponents during the 65th annual Hunger Games. He looks poised. He looks adapted.
He sees me and flashes his grin while I awkwardly nod and let my eyes fall to the ground. Walking over to stand beside me, he leans his elbows over the railing and watches the sun descend into the horizon, painting the sky with streaks of color. He lets a minute pass, sighs, and turns to me with a humorless smile on his face.
"The Capital doesn't get to see this, you know. They turn their lights on the moment the sky starts to darken."
"The Capital doesn't get to see a lot of things," I mutter angrily, thinking of how disjoint it was from the rest of Panem. Its citizens don't see streets lined with starving people. They don't see how the districts slave away on the other side of the country. They don't see their children kill each other in giant bloodbaths. They don't see anything.
He studies my face for a second before asking, "Annie Cresta, right?"
"Yeah," I say resignedly.
"I think I've seen you before," he pauses before continuing. "You read a poem that one Sunday near the mayor's house. I remember liking it." When I smile in acknowledgement, he pulls himself off the railing and motions for me to come back inside with him. I follow him into a large dining car and find Mags and my district partner already seated at the table, watching a replay of each district's reaping. I find a seat across from them and stay silent, playing with my food. Finnick, sitting beside me, bites into a piece of bread and joins in on the conversation.
"Sponsors won't be a problem, Drake," he almost purrs, using a hand to brush his hair back, "You'll have me." Mags snorts, and I let out a soft laugh.
"Well, Annie doesn't think so," Drake challenges, winking at me. I sink into my seat and let my hair cover my face. Of course he could joke about this. He was a career. He didn't need to take my last days seriously.
Finnick gives me his signature look, "I'm pretty sure she does." With that, he suddenly reaches behind him and switches off the television. His face grows grim, and he studies Drake.
"You've clearly trained for this. What can you do?" he asks. Drake grins and goes off on a list of weapons he can wield, strategies he learned from previous games, and the "obvious" weaknesses of each district. As he talks, I can picture him as a boy, eagerly analyzing killing techniques while parents somewhere grieve for their child. I feel bile accumulate at the back of my throat as I realize that that was real for him, that that was his way of moving forward.
Finnick's expression looks satisfied, but as he glances at me, I see his confidence falter.
"And you, Annie?" I meet his eyes hesitantly and try to think. What skills could I possibly have?
"I-I know how to tie knots, and I can swim. I can run. I can catch fish…" I try to smile at him, but he doesn't return it as he shares a look with Mags.
"Plenty of tributes have gone in there unprepared. Just be sure to pay attention to the trainers and try to learn as much as you can." I just nod in acknowledgement as I try to suppress forthcoming tears. It's true, plenty of tributes had gone in the arena unprepared just as plenty of tributes had died the same way.