CHAPTER FOUR
My arms are flailing and my body is writhing and kicking while unyielding arms once again submerge me into the salty waters. I use all of my strength to fight in vain not only against their grip but also a sensation of terror that builds rampantly. All of a sudden, I'm pulled up to the surface and held there as I'm gasping for air. Ahead of me, I see a crowded beach from where people look at me and point, laughing and clapping their hands. "She's so cute, playing with her grandpa!" someone says happily to a friend. The laughing and cheering just gets louder as I struggle and splash against the arms. I know that I am scared and disillusioned, but after a few minutes, I am certain that every person starts turning away from me. A man is suddenly preoccupied by a flock of geese flying in the sky. Children run off into the mainland, and parents chase after them. But when the last eyes start to wander away from me, I'm pushed back into the water and the grip is tighter than before. The moment I'm sure that I'm going to die, I can suddenly breathe again, feel the breeze brush my face, and hear that same man's voice. A couple seconds later, people start turning away, and my lungs are once more on the brink of bursting.
It happens over and over again, and every time I rise to the surface, I see the sun gradually lower into the horizon. I am crying, but my tears easily blend in with the sea. My face is swollen and blotchy; however it looks just like a sunburn, and I'm shivering and my skin is frozen, yet the hands hold me underwater so no one can see. I know that I'm going to die as the moon gradually brightens in the sky and people head home in large and larger groups. Now, when I am pulled up into the air and find no one there, I know that this will be my last time, that this time, I will die. I had stopped resisting a while ago, and now, I just want to think of something to ease my pain- I want to see the moon. I want to picture it as I lose consciousness, how I'd seen it illuminate my mother's face when we'd slept on the beach. With that, I turn around and instead of the moon, I'm staring at a man's face. His eyes are almost slits and his skin is dry and wrinkled. Puffy red lips sit on his mouth contrasting with the white curls sitting atop his head. At first, I only feel horror accompanied by a faint familiarity, but it is only when I notice that his arms grip mine that realization fully hits me.
My eyelids flutter open and I'm trembling from my nightmare. Memories of last night flood my mind as an acute wave of nausea hits me. The crowd had gone wild as the chariots rode out one after another. It was a pulsating interchange of energies. I felt the excitement of the stands and then my own dread, letting the two bounce back and forth until they amalgamated into an overpowering surge of madness, eventually leaving me completely numb to my surroundings.
I let out a dry laugh as I start understanding. Oh, it is such a perfect illusion! It is exactly what my mother had understood, that the Hunger Games were meant to show us how we ultimately fight against what we're fighting for. President Snow shows how there is no such thing as the good of mankind, only for the individual. According to him, rights based on ethics, freedom, and security are not absolute but relative to those who hold power. The Capitol forces us to work for its luxury and can disconnect with our suffering because it values its own comfort more. After the rebellion, the Games remind us that we would readily abandon our dogma of "humanity" and choose to kill our counterparts for the preservation of our individual lives just like the Capitol does for its lifestyle. According to the Capitol, we end up contradicting our own rebel cause, showing Panem how the way it works is justified, how Snow takes it a step further. If it is the individual who can only win, then the Capitol really isn't in control; it's President Snow, as the victor of his own Hunger Games.
As I rode in my chariot, I remember wondering how they were conditioned to see me, realizing shortly after that I was pretty sure I already knew. They saw me as entertainment, something to keep them from getting bored just like I would see the deaths of other tributes as a relief. Why both of those views are so dangerous is what really scares me, because from each perspective, they are understandably rational. But I know that we are trapped and that what we see is limited. What if people could see more? What if they could escape President Snow's grasp and just turn to look at the right time. What if they could choose differently?
A knock at the door interrupts my thoughts, and I jump out of bed to open it. Finnick, hair wet and skin shining, stands in front of me holding a training uniform and a sheet of paper. He examines me for a second before looking into my room and grinning, his green eyes dancing in the sunlight.
"My, my, I really want to know how Annie Cresta spends her nights," he says, watching me blush as I remember the state of my room. I suppress a snigger when I realize that his comment could easily be turned around.
"Doing nothing, I'm sure, you haven't already done," I reply back softly, trying to play along, my lips curved in a half smile. No wonder he's such a hit with Capitol women. They probably drool all over him when he says stuff like this.
He laughs, evidently caught off guard, and starts leaning in toward me, his voice suddenly low and silky. "Full of surprises, aren't we, Annie?" I stare at the ground and start to shake my head. It's you who's full of surprises. I think, remembering how strange he had acted yesterday, how his demeanor had changed so abruptly. From where do you look, Finnick? What do you see in all of this? I stay silent for a while until he speaks, finally getting at something more substantial.
"Training starts in an hour," he tells me, giving me the uniform and paper. "Mags and I made a list of stations that have helped in previous games. Both of you should visit them and try to find allies. They'll increase your chances out there." I'm only half listening. I already know this. I'd watched the Games every year for as long as I'd been alive and seen how the Careers worked. I know how they slowly kill off everyone else until they were the only ones left, how they finally turn on each other- kicking off a ravaging bloodbath. I didn't want to think about that right now. I didn't want to think about how I would soon just be another pawn on President Snow's board.
When Finnick finally leaves, I press my back against the door and feel my mother's necklace. I try to pretend that she's next to me, holding me and saying comforting things, but I can't; I feel her memory slipping away, leaving me blindly grappling through the dark. But I hear her voice, and in my head, I remember it fiercely telling me, "You have to find out for yourself, Annie. That's why you have to fight." And then I realize that I'm all alone in this- that I always have been.