Solemnness hung over District 6 like an ominous cloud, ready to bring a storm down upon an ill-prepared town. The people moved with a certain sluggishness at work, even less enthusiastic as usual- as though they had gone from being depressed to sucking out every inch of positivity from anything around them, like some vortex of misery.

Nate and I had gone to work, as usual. We had built and deconstructed and rebuilt as we had every day before. The whistle blew at two, we were to go greet the victors with open arms and clean faces. After all, the people in the Capitol had to know we were well off.

When we were let off at one, I met Nate outside of Hanger 13 and silently took his hand. I admired the unusually clean street as we slowly made our way home, taking our time walking through our home.

The inhabitants of District 6 had been forced to scrub the blood of their brothers off the road, leaving it looking as good as new. The whipping post had been taken down, and the area around it had been repainted- no amount of scrubbing could remove that much blood. Warning signs about stealing and tardiness and curfew had been covered with posters about the Victor's Tour. The poor and starving had been thrown from the street so they would not ruin this pristine little town.

No, everything had to look just right.

Nate and I helped each other clean up- washing each other's hair in cold water, cutting nails with knives and brushing teeth with a mixture of mint leaves and what little toothpaste we'd actually been able to save. I even put on some make-up I'd stolen from the past Victor's stylists. Finally, I braided my dark hair. No one wore their hair like this, not unless you were asking for the Peacekeepers to keep an especially close eye on you.

Nate hardly blended in with the crowd, being not only tall but having a crop of tawny toned hair against the dark chocolate brown that was native to our district. Everyone knew he was a bastard- the result of a Peacekeeper from District 2 becoming too friendly with a local. He never knew who is father was, but it was for the better. We found it funny, our little inside joke, that the son of a Peacekeeper was a rebel. Usually he despised his attention-grabbing hair, but today it was the most powerful tool he had.

When it was almost two, and we were dressed, we sat on the porch for a while, watching the Peacekeepers patrol. We'd each bough something special for each other, something that would make our last moments happier. I'd sold every piece of clothing, jewelry and miscellaneous object I had to buy us a small block of chocolate. It wasn't as though something as luxurious as chocolate was going to be sold in a transportation district.

Nate had bought us each something small to wear. No one had noticed when a sheet of gold had gone missing, nor when the mechanic from Hanger 18 was had stolen away into one of the small blacksmiths shops to use the machinery. He had one of his goofy, lopsided but adorable grins on his face as he told me to turn around a stuck a small, golden pin into my braid. My hand went back to touch the cool metal and I shared his smile. For himself, he had made a rather clumsy looking ring, but I admired the work he had done, nonetheless. I teased him, telling him a tiara would have suited him much better. We sat quietly, eating chocolate and leaning on each other.

When the second whistle sung out at two, we stood our hands interlocking tightly and our lips coming together.

This would be our last embrace, from this moment one we could not afford to look out for each other. We strived towards a goal far greater than the two of us. His arms wrapped around me as his lips came next to my ear and he whispered, "You are the bravest woman I have ever known, and I love you."

In return, I kissed his cheek and murmured back, "I love you more than I could ever have imagined. Wherever you go, I'll follow. I promise."

From that moment we were silent as we gripped each other's hands and slipped into the crowd that was being herded towards the station. The horde was thick, but we managed to make our way to the front of the crowd, right in front of the podium.

We didn't have to wait long for them to emerge, wearing the finest Capitol clothing and fake smiles. They weren't fooling anyone. Katniss, who had been painted as a light in the darkness, looked like she was a candle flickering in the wind, so close to being snuffed. Her eyes were dead; void of anything remotely close to emotion. Her mouth was forced into a smile, but it quivered every now and then, as though she had been holding it for days and couldn't remember how to let it drop. They'd covered her in make-up, but no amount of concealer could cover the heavy, dark bags surrounded her eyes. She was beginning to look like a morphling.

The male tribute, Peeta Mellark, stepped forward to speak first. He read off the card, glancing perhaps twice at the crowd. But when he did, his eyes automatically looked towards Nate. He was the only colour in a sea of dull, mousy brown and grey. When Peeta backed away from the podium there were no cheers- no one wanted to celebrate forced words. It was like strained conversation where silence would have been preferred to hearing about something so boring and simplistic as the weather; basically, no one cared. When Katniss came to the microphone next, it was much of the same. 'Brave warriors from the district… blah blah blah… noble sacrifice for honour… yarda, yarda'. Katniss, the Mockingjay, had succumbed. She'd turned into an obedient puppet, hardly bothering to hide the strings that were pulled by Snow. I didn't blame her, of course, the Games would do that to a person. District 6 was notorious for having Victors that turned to mind numbing drugs to allow them to sleep at night. But I'd had hope, even if faint, that she would inspire the people around me.

No matter, they wouldn't forget our sacrifice anytime soon.

Finally, Nate could take it no more than I and tugged his sleeve up, revealing his mockingjay tattoo. I followed his lead silently, my eyes never leaving Katniss. In unison, Nate and I raised our hands, three fingers held out in a salute. We had the pleasure of hearing Katniss' breath hitch as she stumbled to a pause in her speech. It was quiet as we stood there, the people around us staring at the young girl and boy, no older than 19, who had just declared themselves rebels and enemies of the Capitol.

Many of them knew us, the mechanic and the conductor. Bright children with bright futures- or at least, as bright as they got in District 6.

Almost instantly, the Peacekeepers began to shove through the crowd. No one fought them, but they didn't hand us over as easily as they could have; and that was enough for me. They weren't willing to help the Capitol. All they needed was a push in the right direction.

The first Peacekeepers restricted Nate, taking either of his arms and dragging him back. He grunted as they shoved him back and his hand slipped from mine. I didn't move to stop them; the next Peacekeepers were almost upon me. But I stayed, unmoving. I did not look at the guards, I did not blink. I wanted my face to be burned into Katniss' mind. I wanted the Peacekeepers to remember me. I wanted the Capitol and District 6 to know that I was here, that I fought, and that I did not fear them, nor death. I kept my eyes firmly locked on Katniss', willing her to stand up. Perhaps not today, nor the day after, but soon. I hoped when it mattered, she would consider the girl with the stoic face, but courageous actions, and the boy with the tawny hair and brave eyes, and she would gain her mettle; that she would remember our stand-so simple, yet valiant- and she would earn her wings.

I hoped that with any luck, she would set this world on fire and rise anew, no longer a girl, but a mockingjay.