The Forgotten Days

▬▬ 𝟎𝟒 ∙ 𝝩𝗵𝗲 𝗩𝗶𝗰𝘁𝝾𝗿

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽

˚✩ ⋆｡ ✩┊ 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐃𝐚𝐲𝐬 ┊✦ ˚ · .

▬▬ 04 ∙ 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚅𝚒𝚌𝚝𝚘𝚛

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

THE MOST important thing I've learned is that the Capitol lies. They lie about being a victor and life after the Games. Even more, they lie about the victors themselves, me included. Once in a while, I can hear the Capitolites babbling on and on about the lies the Capitol has fed them, hushing each other and casting me sympathetic smiles when I'm around. A particular few infuriate me the most; I can still hear the rumors snaking their way around the Capitol.

They say that I am normal.

I am not normal.

I've survived a death game and I'm one out of 68 who've managed to do it, dead or alive. Who else can say that they've killed more than they can handle? Who else can say that the haunting ghosts of the tributes' faces still plague their nightmares? Chances are, they can't.

Not unless they're a victor.

They say I am okay like I haven't been harmed in the Games. As far as they know, they've cured all of my bodily injuries.

I've suffered more than just physical injuries. I've suffered mental ones. I've woken up more nights than not, screaming in terror because I see Mila dead again, lying motionless on the floor with the blood spilling out incessantly. Once I get my emotions under control, I can't bring myself to sleep anymore, partly for fear of the nightmares that are destined to come, partly for the headache that formed, pounding rhythmically with my beating heart.

If I was okay, then why can't I swim in the ocean anymore, something that even toddlers can do? Every time I wade in too far, when my head is almost submerged, I get a flashback of when the town was flooding and I was close to drowning in the same water I've grown up around. And every time I wonder, if Mila wasn't there to save me, would I still be alive? Or would I just be another nameless, faceless tribute who succumbed to the lethal poison?

No one can bring me back to the ocean. Not Finnick, not Annie, not even my family. Isn't that sad, the daughter of the sea can't bear the sea?

But maybe, the biggest erroneous claim they make is that I am alive.

I can't deny this. I am, after all, alive. But not truly alive. I am just a shell of who I was, with the most infinitesimal bit of my soul left. Very few can bring that part of me back.

This is what the Capitol has done to me.

These are the lies they utter.

And not a single soul has bothered to question if they were true.

✯✯✯

I rummage through one of the small boxes stacked in the corner of the room. Pulling out a purple piece of paper, I tap a few buttons on a device embedded in the table and search for instructions. I begin to fold the paper lengthwise, then horizontally and diagonally. With the calming sound of crashing waves floating in through my open window, I'm consumed in work and everything else is blocked out.

Somewhere upstairs, I can hear my mother humming a folk song as she taps her foot rhythmically on the floor. I can imagine her with an old scrap of fabric, some string, and a needle, working away to create yet another dress for me.