XI
I didn't speak for twelve weeks.
Maybe subconsciously it was a sign of mourning for the Districts. I don't know.
They canceled my Victory Tour mid-way through; probably, they gave up on me. Probably, they got tired of me screaming or shaking uncontrollably in the middle of delivering my lines. I made the spirit of the Games look bad. I think there may have been talk about institutionalizing me, but in the end I was allowed to go home.
The quirks that had made me a social outcast before were now heightened. I laughed at random times, in sudden bursts, at things that were quite unfunny. My day dreams were so vivid that I often got utterly lost in them; when I was brought back by a gentle hand or a worried voice, I had no idea what had been said or, sometimes, where I even was.
And, oh, the voices. They were so, so loud:
They have to be stopped! Something has to be done!
They can't keep killing us! Why do we let them kill our souls?
Life isn't supposed to be this way!
Someone, please help me!
Don't find me! Please!
Don't kill him!
PLEASE!
And then my brother's voice, the strongest, would fight to be heard:
Annie! Hide!
Don't think things like that, they'll get you into trouble!
They'll kill you.
They'll take Finnick.
They'll take you away from the sea.
They'll kill you!
Kill you!
KILL!
All day, every day. The sounds of the dying, the screams of my nightmares. Sometimes, I really felt insane.
When I got home, I asked for my mother, and they pointed me to the sea.