THG: Guest of 13: Tapes

 After they've taken the food tray out the one who comes in regularly comes back in. He has that annoying click-clack board. Someone stands behind him at the door.

“Keller. My name is Keller,” he waves that one away though and the door is shut, “Do you remember where you are?”

“This is not the Capitol.”

“No,” he sounds slightly appeased? Is that a word? “This is not the Capitol. This is District Thirteen. District Thirteen was not destroyed. This is not District Twelve.” He sounds like he's said these things often, “You cannot go to District Twelve. It's unsafe. Let's just move on, shall we?” He picks up a chair from one side of the room and moves it so he's sitting sideways to me. He can look at me and the fake window that I'm set up to be facing.

“Fine.” There's a very familiar feeling surfacing of want to stab him in the eye with the pen thing that he has poised over the flat thing.

“Alright,” his tone says he'd have moved on anyway. Click-click-cli-click. It's starting already, “I thought we'd try something different today. See if we can clear up some of those memory problems you've been having. Fortunately with the way things have gone. We have footage of some of the more recent sections of your life. He looks down at the board and presses some things with the pen he likes to hit against it. The window changes and smaller windows come up. I can make out little people and here and there seals and images in the squares, “Let's see. We decided this would probably be safe.”

A forest at night fills the screen. There's a group of...kids, in dark clothes, colored jackets. It's a small clearing with a fire, they seem to be talking but at first there's no sound. Boys, girls, dark hair, blonde hair, is that one me?

“Hey, lover boy, are you sure you want to keep on with her? I could show you a much better time,” dark haired girl crawling up me.

“Leave him alone, Clove. Even if he wasn't whipped you know they give us shots before we come in here.” Sarcastic tone, “Don't want a repeat of forty-three.”

“No fun,” she pouts, sitting down hard on my lap, folding her arms, “Well, there are other ways,” leans in close to my face.

“Clove!”

On the screen the image has changed. Same group, but the forest is different, running fast, chasing a dark blur. Camera moves to focus. It's her. The sound is on, can hear branches cracking, breathing hard, or am I just remembering actually what's there? Is this real? She climbs up a tree, quick, lithe, hands sure of where they're going. One of the group with me tries to shoot her with arrows misses horribly.

“Stop,” I tell her, “Don't waste them, moving target is hard to hit.” Is that me though? It doesn't sound like me.

Then the other blonde boy he starts to climb after her, but he's angry, not thinking, he's holding a sword in his hand. It means he can't get proper purchase. They're goading him on though, “Yeah, get her, Cato!”

“She'll have to come down sooner or later,” the one who looks like me says, “We should wait her out.” Alien thoughts float through, finding a way to lead her down while they're asleep, finding a way to get the bow from Glimmer while she's asleep, finding ways to help her. Why would I want to help her?

Buzzing, choking death all around. Trying to get away.

You have to run! What are you doing? Get away. Get away. Keep going!

Come on, lover boy!

The playback freezes.

We must have known how dangerous she was. That's why we treed her. Tried to stop her.

Where were we though?

“Does this seem familiar to you?” Keller asks.

“Maybe?”

Keller makes notes on his thing, “What seems familiar?”

“I see her in the tree. Hiding. That looks...like me...”

“Hm.”

“It doesn't sound like me.”

“Everyone's voice sounds different in their own head instead of outside. I don't think I sound like myself when I hear myself played back from lectures.”

Convenient. “If you're not just lying to me.”

“This was taken during the 74^th Hunger Games,” he continues.

I survived the arena.

I am from District 12.

I am a prisoner of the Capitol.

Remember who the real enemy is.

“When does the real stuff start?”

“Excuse me?”

“This seems really slow today...is Lethate out sick? I think you're gonna get fired.”

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

“I don't know what you're talking about so I guess we're even.”

He looks down at the pad he's holding, “I'm not—who is Lethate?”

I sit back. This has to be some sort of trick. I'm not going to say anything else. This is stupid.

How can he not know? He's trying to confuse me. Trick me into saying something...or...or...what were they...what were we doing?

She'd built a fire.

A strange choking, coughing sound.

Blood spattering on a jacket in the dark, pleading eyes.

It was a kindness.

They were monsters.

She's the monster. Dressed up all pretty. Trying to kill me.

“Let's try something else,” I hear him say.

Maybe now it'll make sense. Maybe now. He hasn't done much with things. That's for sure. There's been no needles. No burning. Maybe he's not allowed to touch it. Maybe that's the thing. But no. He's put me to sleep before, hasn't he? But it's not been burning. He has me confused. Damn it. And all this mess about Thirteen and not the Capitol. Just more tricks. Best to just not say anything. Just keep quiet. Keep quiet.

“Alright,” he says in my direction.

The screen changes again. It's dark, much darker. There are no trees. Rocks. It's all rocks. I feel it deep inside my chest. Danger. Danger. Danger. Where is she? She's going to be there soon. Have to get out. Have to get out. She will come. She will come. With the claws. And the scraping.

“Well, that answers some questions...” he sounds almost sad.

But then there's the needle.

It still doesn't burn.