Welcome Back

Something gargantuan is going to happen. All of this knowledge goes unsaid from everyone that I have come into contact with. Their bodies speak this information. Hey Effie, they seem to shout, are you ready for this?

I have attended no additional meetings with that strange figure. Eventually, I decide that rendezvous was simply a mirage, some sort of falsity that my mind created. Attendants check on me less frequently. At this moment, everything seems almost tranquil. I cannot remember anything from that ominous period known only as before.

"Miss Trinket?"

In my stupor, I have not noticed an attendant approach my lodging. Now, I sit up with zealous, awaiting this long desired speech.

"We believe that you are ready."

"Ready? Ready for what?" I immediately say.

"Your rehabilitation nears completion. We have decided for your reemergence into the Capitol."

The words go over my head. For quite a while during my stay, things seemed to blank out. Qualities like character traits, emotions, feeling in general, and memories were hard to come by. My vocabulary has improved somewhat, though. It seems that I am quite well versed in official speak, so to say.

"I do not understand. Rehabilitation? Was I sick?" I ask sweetly.

"Unfortunately, I cannot discuss your personal matters. Please stand and accompany me to meet President Snow in visitation."

Slowly, I get to my feet. The President of Panem is here to see me. Previously, walking was a challenge. I stride with a gait of a royal, following the assistant gaily. He leads me down a narrow pathway with lots of beeping lights and sirens. Remembering rooms has not been easy. This hallway looks unfamiliar, however I feel confident that I have been here before.

"Keep close, please," ushers the assistant.

I close the gap between us. The closer we get to this strange, foreign destination, the more I experience a queer sensation. Upon the departure door, I almost envision myself being shocked with emotions. By the time I step into visitation, my emotions have returned almost in full.

"What is this?" I squeal, feeling the effects instantaneously.

"You are experiencing the acquisition of pathos."

"Excuse me?"

"We have arrived. Please proceed directly to where the President is sitting. There, you will receive further instructions."

We have reached a heavy, caged door. Through a small, bulletproof window, I can see into visitation. A well-dressed man sits at a table, inspecting the contents of visitation. By the exit door, two armed guards watch over him. I press my hands eagerly against the pane, almost trying to diffuse through the glass.

"You are not to speak unless spoken to. You will not try to harm anyone. You will follow instructions as they are given. You will not try to escape."

The last of these orders strikes me as tantalizing. Until this point, escaping seemed pointless. I had no clue where I was, and I still do not know. I assume that my humble abode is some sort of hospital or prison.

"Please proceed directly toward the President."

A loud buzzing noise sounded and the bold door opened automatically. The pathway was clear and it took about twenty paces to reach my destination. I counted these aloud as they came. Finally, I reached the table where the President sat. Looking up slowly, I felt an awe of power radiating off his person, and something else. A strange sensation seemed to reach in my heart, but it vanished as suddenly as it had appeared.

"Miss Trinket," the President spoke with the hint of a grin, "Please, have a seat."

"It is an honor to meet you, sir," I curtsied before sitting opposite him.

"Indeed," he grunted, folding his hands in his lap.

He wore a handsome brown suit that contained the seal of Panem on the pocket. His face looked fierce, determination played out of his eyes. He seemed to search my soul.

"I am sure that you have a lot of questions. Is there anything that you would like to know?" he articulated slowly, as if I had trouble understanding him.

Thousands of questions pounded my skull, demanding to be released. Some inner part of me, one that had returned only recently, bade me to remain silent. For a minute, I struggled internally with myself, whether or not to question the President.

"Why have I been placed here?" I finally asked.

The President issued a bemused chuckle. It sounded almost like a choking noise, conceived from somewhere deep in the throat.

"You were sick. A group of your colleagues had placed lies in your head, causing to internal strife. Eventually, you became so ill that you began to act out, forcing me to intervene and place you here for your well-being."

"You placed me here," it was an accusation, not a question.

"Yes," he affirmed and repeated, "For your well-being."

Something seemed awry about our conversation. While he spoke, a strange odor ticked my nose. It was a mix of perfume and something unlikeable-a strong spice. The more he explained I began to envision flashbacks.

I saw a man. A handsome person with fashionable facial hair. His dark eyes gazed into mine hypnotically. The vision faded as the President concluded his explanation.

"Am I going to be released?" I questioned carefully, not wanting to anger him, yet feeling suspicious all the same.

"I had in fact stopped by to bring your release papers. And to see you off, of course," he stated simply.

He pushed an envelope toward me. On top of the envelope sat a white paper with small font. A signature line loomed out at me like a deadly snake. He produced a pen from somewhere inside the suit and delicately handed it over.

"Please sign the bottom," he looked me in the eyes.

Every part of my conscious squirmed under his brutal gaze. I so desperately wanted to throw the pen and run away. Now, the idea of escape seemed ideal. It seemed that the return of my emotions brought about feelings of negativity, something that I had been long depraved of. I signed the line with a shaky hand, not daring to meet his eyes again.

"In the envelope, you will find additional information. You will be released as of now, and I will escort you to your new establishment," the President rose to his feet and held out an arm.

I stood up gracefully, flattening the hem of my outfit while doing so. I accepted his arm carefully and cautiously, hoping that my rudeness was not showing. We proceeded to the armed guards, who stood apart upon our arrival.

"I am pleased to announce that you are our newest inductee into Games school. I expect to see you there come the start of the semester. We can expect great things from you."

I registered this with more pleasantry than normal. Actual excitement flooded my body at the prospect of some direction to take. Games school was not familiar to me; however, this was an unimportant matter for this moment.

"Thank you very much," I responded enthusiastically with genuine feeling attached.

Perhaps, my intuition was wrong about the President. After all, I did not blatantly dislike him. What was there to be worried about in the first place? He guided me out of visitation, and out of the facility that had hosted me for so long.

We reached the main doors, the doors that led to my freedom. Outside felt cool and inviting as we stepped through. Birds chirped brilliantly and radiant colors surrounded me.

"Welcome back," mused the President.