Forgetting Isn't Everything
I remember the rebellion. Sometimes I wish that I didn't. I have tried to forget the things that I have seen, but that wouldn't be right, it wouldn't be fair to those who would never forget.
Plus now I could tell my children about my past and keep history from repeating itself.
I might have been young but I wasn't stupid.
I remember crying, tears pouring down from everyone's faces.
I remember rooms with no windows, and cold metal floors.
I remember being held by my mother. She held me tight as I squirmed and tried to free myself. Only now do I realize she needed her arms around me for comfort.
Because as I hold my own child, I know that there is nothing more calming then holding a small child.
I still see glimpses of the news clips when I close my eyes. I still see Prim's wide eyes as she was blown to pieces. The Capitol had been obsessed with showing everything on television for everyone of all ages to see.
My brothers would put their hands over my eyes so I couldn't see the screen, but sometimes they weren't quick enough.
I remember screaming and burning flesh. I remember the names of those who died.
When my mom and brothers talk about the rebellion I keep my mouth shut. Because I'm not supposed to remember.
I might not remember everything, I might have been a young child that everyone dismissed. But I still had ears and eyes, I still heard and saw things.
But I kept quiet for their sake.
My mother's job was to protect me and keep me safe. I would never tell her that I remembered the rebellion, because my job was to make sure she thought she was doing her job.
I remember the girl who was on fire.