"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's been four months since I returned from the 70th Hunger Games.
And admittedly, I've been doing better.
Healing isn't linear, and I wouldn't go so far to say that I've healed from the trauma. The nightmares are still a regular occurrence, and realistically I have more bad days than good. But when the days are good, they're really good. And I'm determined to not miss out on those few hours of peace.
"Finnick!"
I brandish an arm over my forehead to shield my eyes from the sun, skin heating up as I head up the stone pathway to his front door. I find a balance between the two baskets I'm carrying, one weighing down my elbow and the other swinging in my left hand. "Finnick!" I yell again, louder, and only a few more seconds pass before the door finally opens. The older boy stumbles barefoot onto his porch, blinking rapidly to adjust his eyes against the sun.
"What?" he asks, panic tinged in his voice, but then he takes in my appearance and the lack of injuries and his shoulders sag with relief. "You know you could've just knocked like a normal person, right?"
I smile cheekily then, lowering my arm. I set both baskets down on the cobblestone path, each filled with homemade pastries and baked goods. "We're hardly normal." I point out to him, straightening up and wringing my wrists.
Finnick rolls his eyes, but the amusement is there as he takes a few steps closer. "You're right— you're just borderline psychotic." He says this with a smile, his eyes clear underneath the bright sun. The jab is entirely meaningless and representative of our easy banter, so it's not a surprise to him when I pay it no mind.
"Come into town with me," I say at a whine, and he stares at me like I've grown a second head. I can't be sure whether the wonder stems from my tone of voice or the request in general. "Please? I'm going to visit the orphanage near Salacia Square."
Finnick raises his eyebrows then, gaze landing on the handwoven baskets sitting on the ground. "To give them food?"
I smile sheepishly. "Yeah. And play with some of the kids. They're so cute, Finn, I promise. I go every Thursday now— it's something to do."
I know what runs through his mind at that second, or I can at least imagine it. Our past conversation about searching for a purpose when there was nothing else to work towards; avoiding the path of self-medicating to get through the pain. "Better than booze and morphling, yeah?" He says after a moment, and I nod my head immediately.
"Oh, yeah. Way better. Please come with?" I say again, and he only hesitates for a second longer before he nods.
"Let me get dressed," he says, turning back and disappearing into his house. I smile triumphantly as I sit down on the grass, basking in the sun's pleasant rays as I wait. Finnick doesn't take too long, getting changed fairly quickly before reappearing and locking up. Without saying a word, he lifts both baskets up by their handles and beckons me along with him. I fall into step with his easy strides quickly.
