Finding My Sanity {A Hunger Games Story}

Chaptor One: My Anchor

This chapter is actually something I wrote a year ago, so it may not be as good as my other chapters. I attempted to revise it as well as I could. It’s 5 am. .-.

And just so you know, Valley is the one telling the story. But she tells the tale after all of this has already occurred. However, this story won’t be in past tense because, as Valley recalls her life, she is placed back in each scenario, so it seems present to her. I hope you can understand that. x3

My scarred hands no longer frighten me. I understand where these scars originated. The times I blacked-out and went into rages, banging and clawing at the walls, determined to escape this room that they encased me inside. It is very barren. White, as well. That is all I see—white. When I wake, I lie in my sheets, utterly petrified, because I believe I am going into the light. I don’t want to die. This room, so white and plain and suffocating and inescapable—frequently drives me into terrible rages. But would anybody take note of this? No. Because I’m safe here.

They agreed to remove those red blocks from my hands, but I mourn my decision now. There is far too much white. To be quite honest, I have forgotten what colors look like. Doesn’t pink look something like purple? Isn’t my hair...green? No, my hair is yellow. I ponder. I once called it something different, but my mind is too battered to recall. My eyes are green. That I am certain.

 I blink a few times and stare at the ceiling. There are no visible lights here. Yet, there are no shadows. Not even underneath the bed. The room somehow radiates this all-powerful, white light. I cannot even have the comfort of seeing shadows. Except when I close my eyes. I do not wish to close my eyes. Please.

I deliberate how testing it might be to reach the corner of the room from my bed. It is quite the arduous task to judge distance, as well. Nothing to estimate or compare one corner to another. No point in musing it, either. I just pray the white floor doesn’t liquefy and consume me before I can accomplish the feat.

I do manage to make it across without an incident, and I proceed to huddle in the corner, hugging my knees and rocking to comfort myself. I am empty…alike the room. All that remains in me are the basic things, exactly...like the room. A bed, toilet, maybe a chair, if I am good. But the bed is the only thing that remains at all times.

I want to leave. This place isn't nice. It is very mean. The hidden door taunts me, reminds me I cannot leave. The soft walls crush me—this is the farthest I can go, ever. Even as I attempt to console myself, the room is shrinking. The horrendous sound of jabberjays suffocates the air. I continue to rock myself, shielding my face in my knees. No. No. No. The jabberjays wail to me, but I cannot comprehend where in the world they could be.

I am screaming now, my sanity crumbling beyond repair, along with my consciousness. The jabberjays merely join me with their screeching voices. I throw my head against the wall. Again. Again. They don't leave. "GO AWAY!" I croak, my protest halted by my immature voice. I clench my fists and press my head, hoping to crush the gut-wrenching wails.

I attack the floor and frantically claw at everything. I will find the jabberjays. I will kill them all. The wretched mutations imitate his scream, his very last cry. His call for me.

Somebody—something snatches me. I lose every ounce of sanity. "No!" I protest, my own cry barely explicable. My body loses itself in a fury of limbs and nails and teeth as I lash out at my captor. Becoming free, I plunge across the room. No matter how fast I run, they are faster. His screams, the shrinking walls, my chaser, are too much to bear. My limbs quake and give in, but I must crawl. Always survive.

I am now pinned to the ground by my chaser, who is much brawnier than I. I am puny and malnutritioned, my bones more fragile than twigs. I am utterly vulnerable.