Innermuse A/N: This may be the last time I update for the next few weeks, because I'll be moving and painting our new house, so please excuse me. I have not abandoned this story, but I may just be really slow at updating for a while. Today's tribute, the lovely Flynn Lillison, is brought to us by EmmaCrane. Read on, fellow fanfictioners.

This could be a story, says a Voice in my head.

Yes, some of the other Voices agree.

I'm about to drown, and still all they can think about is storytelling; figures. I slowly put my arms out into the water, and try to orient myself. I swish around as the air inside me grows thinner. My head feels light. Which way is up?

I think it's that way, a Voice chimes. Clinging to the only hope I have, I flail my arms around, propelling myself forward and hopefully to the surface. My lungs are burning now, and the edge of my vision is black, like a picture frame.

Suddenly, my head bursts into real air. I open my mouth, but don't gulp air in wildly. I let it flow in slowly, savoring the feel of it, sweeping over my tongue and down my throat, bringing me new life.

"Thank you," I whisper to my Voices.

I hear abrasive, grating laughter from above, and I whip around even as I float, and look up. Some of the other kids from school stand there, towering many feet above me, laughing with each other, thinking they've gotten rid of me at last.

"Hey!" One of them catches sight of me, and points, aghast. The others stare, and, if they hadn't just thrown me off a cliff to drown me, they would look comical: mouths gaping, eyes wide, speechless. But the fact that this is the third time they've tried to kill me in a month makes it almost terrifying.

"How did you survive?" Drew, the ringleader, says, practically screaming at me. His face is almost purple with rage.

I simply smile in my sweet, calm way, and say, "I swam up."

The others sort of laugh at that. Drew is obviously offended, his pride hurt. Before walking away with his friends, he yells, "I'll get you next time. You're not immortal!" Then they're gone.

I swim to the rocks and pull myself onto the shore, shaking violently. I had almost forgotten it was December. Shouldn't I have died of cold in seconds in that water? Any regular person would have drowned.

But you're not regular, the Voices remind me softly, You have us.

I enter my room and stare at my reflection. Big green eyes, long red hair, and a pixie body all add up to my doll-like, almost childish appearance. Even in looks, I'm not like the other children of the District. While they're all more hardened and weather-beaten in appearance, I look small and delicate: like a fairy.

I decide to put on a thick black hooded sweatshirt, as well as tight flannel pants and tall boots. I flip the hood up and stare at myself again.

You look nice, a Voice whispers kindly, even though I know they don't really mean it. They just don't want to hurt my feelings after I almost died again.

The mirror reminds me that I'm different from the others. I was born with my Voices, but I don't think the others have any. I'm airy and ethereal, and not good at making friends. I stare into the mirror, and it's hard to think of me, so tiny and frail, as intimidating, but I sometimes think the others are scared of me anyways.

We're not scared of you, says a Voice that is very familiar.

We love you, chimes another, somewhat similar.

It's Finley and Breeze, my boyfriend and sister, who only exist as Voices in my head now. Well, I suppose that's not entirely true: Breeze is still alive, but she is an Avox in the Capitol now. Finley, however, is dead. He died as a tribute in the 69th Hunger Games; I know because I watched. I watched as the girl from District 2, Glance, who ended up being the victor, drove a spear through his stomach—all the way through and out the other side.

I shudder and turn away from the mirror. Looking at myself is fine; it's when I find myself that I stop.

I close the door behind me and head to the square.

Of course, I wasn't expecting that just minutes later, standing alone in the square, I would hear my name called and freeze. I had always thought that the whole 'beauty pageant' business was somewhat suspicious, but now I was forced to be part of it.

Here was another thing like the hatred of the others, or my loved ones' deaths. Here was another thing that I couldn't escape.