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Chapter Three: Free
A/N: YES, I know the last time I updated was September. NO, I am not sorry. AP English waits for no mere mortal. Enjoy anyway, review if you wish.
POV: Annie Cresta
"As I walk through the streets of my new city
My back feeling much better, I suppose
I've reclaimed the use of my imagination
For better or for worse, I've yet to know."
- Be Calm by fun.
I saw Johanna Mason earlier this morning, I recall as I try to go to sleep. She was as I have never seen her: vulnerable, weak, and scared. I think this may be the only time that my willpower is stronger than hers. I want to tell her about the mockingjay on the bread, but of course the Capitol would be listening, and besides that Johanna somewhat scares me. I don't believe she likes me very much.
I haven't seen any other victor. The only thing I know is that Finnick isn't in here, since they keep asking me where he is, and the thought soothes me. Wherever he is just has to be better than here. I picture him sitting on the porch of his house in Four, staring out on the beach and waiting for me. The image of the waves is enough to make me drowsier, and I finally drift into dreams.
I wake up to mass hysteria.
This is not as unusual as one would think it would be. A few weeks ago, for instance, a group of prisoners attempted to disarm and attack a Capitol guard (bad idea). It seemed like after that the noise level among them didn't die down for days. Of course, all those who cried out for justice were silenced by starvation, and those who started the riot were immediately put to death.
This morning, however, is different. The prisoners are not the ones screaming and cursing. It is the guards. From my fellow jailbirds, I hear both shrieks of terror and cries of joy. What in Panem is going on? I'm quite frightened, so I wrap myself up in my thin bedsheet and curl up in the corner. Maybe I'm hidden now. It's the best I can do.
I hear shots. More screaming. Finally, a loud clank and a gentle voice: "Annie? Annie Cresta?"
A nurse? No. I slowly look up to see a boy's face. He looks strangely familiar. His grey eyes and mess of dark hair mark him as being from Twelve. I thought Twelve was bombed. No survivors, the Capitol told us.
I cannot speak, so I give a slow nod.
"I'm..." he hesitates, as though he's unsure what to call himself. "I'm a friend of Finnick's. I'm getting you out of here."
Finnick. Oh my god. Is he all right? Is he waiting for me? Does he know I'm alive? Is he all right!
"Do you trust me?" he asks.
Do I have a choice? I rise to my feet, knees wobbling somewhat, in my sheet and all, and follow the boy out.
The next thing I remember is a hospital. I almost scream because I'm positive I'm still in that prison and that the boy who saved me is surely dead and that I'll never see Finnick again.
One thing keeps my mouth shut: I feel better. A doctor inspects me, pokes and prods me, makes sure there's nothing too physically wrong with me. Later I see that she has written in her curly medical script: "Bruises, cuts, burns, scars; underweight, neglected; no major internal damage". I suppose I'm one of the lucky ones. She orders a mental exam to make sure I'm not psychologically damaged and I laugh so hard I'm sure I'll cry.
Somehow I pass that test as well, and I wait. Doctor Avalea needs official permission from the hospital to release me. In the meantime, I wobble over to the small room's bathroom and find a hairbrush. I yank the knots out of my hair (and probably half my hair along with it). I try with no success to wash some of the dirt off of my skin and out from under my fingernails. I long for a proper shower, but at the moment I'm just glad to be alive.
Two quiet knocks at the door. "Miss Cresta?"
"Yes, doctor?"
"You're free to go."
Free to go? I don't even know where I am. My silence must be an indicator of my confusion. "Do you have anyone waiting for you?" she asks.
"Yes," I say uncertainly. This isn't technically a lie. I have no idea who will be out there, but there has to be someone who will help me. Right?
I stumble out of the miniscule bathroom and wrap myself in my sheet again to possibly protect myself from the mysterious chill in the air. I step out uncertainly into an immense room, where doctors shout orders over their shoulders and everyone seems panicked.
I look around, desperate to see just one familiar face.
I notice him before he notices me.
