"Humanity desires entertainment to remain pacified- television, parties, gossip magazines, literature. They are useful devices, when regulated." Snow watches me, interpreting my silence as disagreement. "You do not agree." He states.
"Literature ha...
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It was another quiet day in a house that doesn't quite feel like home.
I can vaguely hear my mother's footsteps pacing just outside the door of my private study. Her slippers lightly tap against the hardwood floor in the hallway, a consistent and strangely comforting sound. I assume that she wants to talk to me, but can't quite figure out how to approach it. I'm grateful, in some awful and twisted way, that she's struggling. The last thing I want is to have another serious conversation about my sick brain with her.
It's been about two months since I made it home, but healing with time is still a foreign concept to me. I go to bed every night exhausted with the menial events of the day, and wake from nightmares that don't let me find rest. My throat is sore from crying out in my sleep so much, and all the mugs of tea in the world can't seem to soothe it, nor me. I wonder about the other Victors, especially the ones that have grown old. Why am I the only one that's still so broken? Why am I the only one struggling to find the energy to get out of bed every morning? Why am I the only one that considers taking my life every waking moment? Why are they all seemingly okay, and how can I trick myself into thinking the same?
My eyes follow the waves that crash against the private Victors' beach. At the very back of the independent study that I'd claimed as my own, a wide window stretches from wall to wall. It provides a perfect view of the ocean and beach, so I'd pushed one of the couches to sit underneath the sill for my daily entertainment. I rest there now with a blanket wrapped around me, trying to find sleep for my drained bones. Sleep, however, has plans of its own— it doesn't want to visit me, not even when the sun slowly starts to set and my mother's comforting footsteps are nowhere to be heard. I listen to the water and try not to think about how eerily similar it is to those final moments before Lux, when the arena was flooded as a final push to end our Game. Everything eventually goes back to that point— I don't know why I try to fight it so much.
There's a knock at the door, and I consider the amount of energy it would take for me to get to my feet and open up for my mother. I decide that I can't, and with a hoarse voice, I reluctantly call out: "It's unlocked."
I witness the twist of the knob, preparing to see the familiar form of my mother entering the room. Instead, it's a tall boy with bronze hair that steps in, pushing the door shut behind him. He smiles at me when he sees me, and something about how he doesn't immediately treat me like a wounded animal makes me feel good inside. I know I'm a mess, but it's nice to be treated otherwise every one in awhile.
"Finnick," I say, tone slightly surprised. "To what do I owe the honour?" I say sarcastically. He snorts, leaning back against the door frame.
"I'm here collecting taxes," he tells me. I raise my eyebrows.
"Taxes," I repeat. Finnick smiles.
"Yes, taxes. There's the Proximity Tax, in which you have pay to be in the same room as me so frequently..." Finnick almost breaks when he sees the look on my face, managing to push on. "There's also the Neighbour Tax. Can't be neighbours with Finnick Odair for free, can you? What example would you be setting for the children?"
