Dr. Imogen Lapointe {wip}

CONFIDENTIAL PSYCHOLOGICAL EVALUATION

Examination Conducted a. 7 of the Hunger Games
Certification of Authenticity @ Dr. Lapointe

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5/1/a.7

She leaves the water running, thoughts pre-occupied on prescribed papers without even an edge of an unwanted crease. 

Seconds, minutes, meander into avenues of absent minded angling over lines of text while a kettle burbles well overfilled in the sink. Seal split by the run of her nails, wax not yet dried beneath them, she starts to wonder whether a pot of tea is truly in order or perhaps she should start off the Monday morning with an open bottle of a.2 Merlot. That's when recognition finally comes across her cognitive consciousness, a slight tsk slipping out from between her taught teeth. She's far from the kitchen now, she's sitting in that same chair at that same 63 degree angle by the bay windows of her private study. She doesn't even stand as she hears the water running in the distance. "Hugo, I left the sink running. Could you be a doll and put the pot on for me?"

There's a muffled reply from the head of her staff followed by the sound of a turning faucet. One task handled she can return to the one in her hands. By now, her glasses have fallen towards the point of her nose and she is peering over them as though a replica of her own Mother. How she would have loathed even the inclination that she would age only ten years earlier, but now it's something she doesn't bother with ridiculing. Aging is articulate, ancient, and inevitable. It is also a prime point of intrinsic observation into the human psyche. The way the mind copes and adjusts to the body's natural growth and eventual failure is one of high fascination to her. For a second, she spares a glance to the series of cataloged notebooks, all handwritten in her signature calligraphy, that line the levels of her study's shelves. A small hmph floats freely from her. 

Page one volume one, she did note that she is clearly within the boundaries of OCD. A self diagnosis, of course, yet the opinion is that of an expert after all. 

Her focus finally frames back to the letter, her eyes dancing over President Imperiosa's freshly signed signature. That time of year again, although it's not like she had forgotten. The calendar pinned to the board just to left of her desk literally has the dates highlighted in a calculative clear red. Aging has many points of prime observational value, another age group is that of adolescents. Brains still growing, forming new connections, there is rarely a time as influential to emotions as that tethered to youth. Both elative and traumatic experiences leave powerful prints on the internal psyche of the youths. Those are some of the exact words she had written those eight years ago, aren't they? 

The letter lands on the desk with a short spurt of air as she pulls open a cabinet by her feet and lets her fingers flutter through several sets of files. With a single movement, she pulls one free and sets the near seventy page report down on the desk in mirror to the letter. Each document is a child of the proud President, not quite twins, but siblings sharing the same origin. Her eyes read the title of the report as if she hasn't read it a hundred times over already: Official Psychological Evaluation of Potential Post-War Anti-Rebellion Tactics. So formal, but the subtext is obvious: potential effectiveness of punishments for the District. 

She flips to Section II. A. 1. The Games. There they are, those exact words just as she thought:

    'Both elative and traumatic experiences leave powerful prints on the internal psyche of the youths. Both population bases, young and old, would naturally experience immense psychological alteration due to the nature of the described Games. It is my professional opinion that of the listed possible deterrents, the 'Hunger Games,' would come with the largest scaling possibility of psychological deterrence and overall increase of internal District distrust due to the competitive Darwinistic nature of the event.'

Her eyes then go back the letter: her annual summons to attendance of the Games Council. What a clever move by the President, a well laid trap. One different opinion, one mildly altered observation and what a different world it could be. Would the Hunger Games have been nothing more than an additional footnote in that report? Would the President have been able to leverage her hand in knowing what could come to tie her into its continual creation? She says the word trapped in her mind, but was she really?