Author's Note: Starting a new project while working on another one is baaad, I know, but sometimes you just need to get those ideas out of your head before they completely derail your brain. Recently I was inspired to write these by The Hunger Games series and Gustavo Santaolalla's score of the new film Biutiful (both of which I don't own and am only borrowing for creative purposes). Lengths, settings, and perspectives will vary. I've played around with the song titles from the soundtrack a little to suit each chapter (though I probably won't write something to each song). Anyway, it's something different that I'm enjoying writing and I hope you'll enjoy reading. :) As always, feedback is much appreciated. Without further ado...
Almost Beautiful
Slowly, silently, she dips into the water. Still when she arrived, now rippling with her presence, she hopes that she's the first person to touch it since those dark days. Nature has guarded it, kept it as beautiful as she remembers, and she is glad. Just as the pond saved her life at age twelve, it saves her again at seventeen, making her feel useful and dutiful when Sundays just aren't enough.
First she swims on her back, delicate strokes disturbing surface plants, hands reaching to catch sunlight falling through the trees above. Dark strands escape from plaited grasp and the water takes them gently, stirring them along as she goes. Submerged, her ears gather nothing but the flow of her fluid motions beside them. Her wings flutter, surely and steadily, propelling her as though she were flying through clouds. This was one of the first ways her father taught her how to be in the pond. Face to the sky, she was amazed how easily her body could float. Swimming came to her as naturally as climbing trees or shooting off arrows.
Next, she turns and dives with little effort, opening her eyes beneath. The pond is as clear as day. Small life forms rush to conceal themselves behind large rocks while bottom grasses sway soundlessly as she passes. She travels in a large arc around the edges of the pool, arms and legs pulling in different sequences, combing the water and making shapes for her to move through. As she approaches the middle, she is happy to feel that the exercise has left her hardly winded. Her lips find a real smile to form around. It doesn't hurt to smile here, in this place that is known to only them.
She's never felt bad about keeping it to herself. Not once had it occurred to her that she was being selfish in this aspect. She could have told Gale at any time, but even having him here would trample on her father's memory, despite the fact that he's the quietest creature she's ever met. She might welcome Prim, if only the young one could be welcomed by the forest. Selfish. She refuses to acknowledge the meaning of the word even as it hangs in the forefront of her mind.
What do you think of me now, Dad? She wishes he were around to answer because he was always so straightforward. Never had anything to hide the way she hides from everything now.
All of the sudden she feels too big for the pond and rises, taking in more than enough air to sustain her lungs. She allows the water to come to a halt, encompassing her listless body. Katniss is the tiniest of islands, hovering at the center of all things that she wants to push away from the one thing she longs to hold onto forever. Katniss, ever resilient, thrives in the depths below, calling out to her by their shared name. She allows herself a moment to sink to the bottom, buries her hands in the dirt, becomes one with her roots.
The long braid down her back is heavy with pond water and burden as she drags it beside herself to shore. It is two months before President Snow will wait for her in the office at her new house in the Victor's Village. Two months before he gives her a warning to change Panem before her chance is up. She will fail both regrettably and purposely, and another month later she will find herself tangled in the web of a Quarter Quell with those she never thought she'd ever have to meet in the arena.
Not long after, District Twelve will be one of the first victims of horrendous fire bombing and purging at the hand of the Capitol. By an order emitted from Snow's unnaturally plump lips on bloody, rosy breath. The flames will spread into the woods some, searing away all traces of Katniss Everdeen in their path. The lake will no doubt hold its own, but the same will not be said for her pond. It will dry up and become nothing more than a dirt hole, as the Gamemakers made happen to all of the springs in the 74th Hunger Games. And when she is allowed out to hunt in a district she can't quite call her own, she will steer clear of all bodies of water, for the reminder of what is gone will hurt too much.
Presently she is not so aware of these grand-scale commotions. The spark that Cinna created and the fire that Peeta fanned. All she sees is the pond, and all it has is her. She wants to pluck it up and take it home in her pocket, drink it all and carry it with her as she walks, use it to extinguish the arsons she has unknowingly committed. But all she can do is swim in it, soak it into her skin until her fingers and toes become wrinkled, watch helplessly as it evaporates from her clothes and back into the air.
To ease her heart, she fills a flask to the brim, which she stows on her waist. She picks arrowheads, some for her and some for dearest Prim. Tonight she will use the water for tea, the roots for stew, and she will braid the flowers into their hair. She'll tell Prim about this place and what it means for her, for the both of them. The young healer is no wood nymph but she needs to know, just in case.
Just in case Katniss is lost on the Victory Tour, stolen away by the cameras and the Capitol, Prim needs to know where to find her again.
