a/n [Written for Caesar's Palace's Monthly Oneshot Challenge. Also, this is for my wonderful Lils. Merry Christmas, dear!]
"...I've caught the eye of an inquisitive-looking little girl in a lemon yellow coat…
"'We might need to split up,' I say under my breath. 'There's a girl–'…
"'Who is it? Can you see?' he asks me…
"The little girl who was watching me kneels beside a motionless woman, screeching and trying to rouse her. Another wave of bullets slices across the chest of her yellow coat, staining it with red, knocking the girl onto her back. For a moment, looking at her tiny crumpled form, I lose my ability to form words…I am transfixed by that lemon yellow coat."
—Mockingjay (pp. 339-340)
She was almost five and currently in a pickle. To her right was a lemon cake with little pink roses and candy swirls and chocolate daisies. To her left was a two tier vanilla cake hidden under layers of edible rainbow sparkles. Her mother stood impatiently behind her saying things like, "It's just a cake, dear," and, "Whatever you choose will be fantastic," and, "I have a hair appointment in ten minutes!"
But the young girl didn't care about her mother's hair; she just needed to make sure her party was the absolute best. She has already picked her outfit: a pink dress with a ruffled skirt lined in yellow ribbon, five yellow barrettes to keep her hair in place on the top of her head, and yellow sandals that were one size to big, but she was positive she'd grow into them by the time she was five (because she would, after all, be a big girl then.)
Her house was decorated with pink streamers for the occasion. Twelve kids had come—well, thirteen actually, but her sister didn't count—bearing gifts in a multitude of colors. The birthday girl kept peering over at the stack on the coffee table, just to make sure they didn't disappear.
The day was full of dancing and singing off key, laughing and trying on her mother's heels, and braiding hair and coloring. Everyone was exhausted by the time the cake rolled around—it was the vanilla one with the sparkles, everyone loved it—the birthday girl was positive her party was a success. She blew out her candles, choking slightly on the sparkles, and wished for something big and pink and shiny.
Lilana Mayes was exactly ten. She was old enough to realize that the world was falling down around her. It had something to do with the girl on the screen with the hard grey eyes. She looked threatening to the young girl, so Lilana used to hide behind the flowered sofa whenever her face was on the television.
She remembers precisely when she first saw that girl Katniss—what a strange name. It was a week after her parents finally relented to her endless begging to watch the Games. Everyone in her class watched the Seventy-third Games but her and that quiet boy in the back of the class. Though for these Games, she sat as close to the screen as she could, her nose pressed at the bottom until her father told her to scoot back. ("You'll get an awful headache, dear. We wouldn't that.")
The first day was the reaping, and immediately Lilana's favorite was Clove because she liked her hair. It was brown and silky and exactly what Lilana wished her messy curls looked like.
Day two was the Parade and she was stuck watching it from inside her house even though she could hear the crowd if she stepped on the front porch. District Eight was the prettiest, and she asked if she could have the hair clip the girl wore. Her mother said maybe.
Day six was the interviews, and afterwards all everybody could talk about was District Twelve. Lilana was confused why no one was discussing the beautiful dresses. Katniss's turned into flames, and the little girl even had wings!
Clove killed three people, which seemed a bit harsh to Lilana, but she understood that the girl was winning. But then she wasn't any more, and the man who killed her ran away. Lilana wept for Clove when she went to bed while her parents hovered nervously in the doorway.
That girl Katniss won instead. Her was pretty and dark, too, but she didn't seem very nice. She just wanted to go home. She took the other boy home with her, and Lilana was confused.
"Doesn't only one of them win?" She tugged on her mother's sleeve.
"There's been a change in the rules," her mother answered. "Isn't it wonderful? The star-crossed lovers get to stay together." She didn't look very happy.
She was only nine when the Arena exploded during the Seventy-fifth Games. She thought it looked beautiful on the screen at home. It didn't seem so beautiful when it came back to the Capitol.
"Come on, dear. We're almost there," her father whispered, tugging her along the crowded streets.
"Almost where, Daddy?"
"Almost to the president's mansion." Her mother picked her up to carry her.
The second her hand escaped her father's grip, spikes shot out from the wall. She heard a scream as she watched blood pour from her father's stomach. She was abruptly dropped, but scrambled up from the ground. Lilana reached for the striped shirt that was quickly becoming soaked. Snow fell from the sky; one snowflake landed on the tip of the blade. Her fingers reached out to pick it off, but a woman with a strangled voice grabbed her had and tugged her away.
"Come on, dear," her mother pleaded. "We aren't too far away now."
"But Mommy!" she protested.
"Aren't too far away…"
Lilana pulled her hood down over eyes. They were in a hurry to leave the house, and her mom stuffed her into a yellow jacket a few sizes too big. It had just come in the mail, a birthday present from some distant relative. Lilana had never met her, but she was forced to write a thank you letter—which would never be sent.
They're running down another street that's filled with hustling people all running to different places. A man brushes a little to close the small girl, slamming her into a doorframe. Her mother stops immediately, tending to her child.
Lilana is shaking, whether from the cold or the fear, she isn't sure. She is sure that she wants to go back home and curl safe under her covers. Her father will bring her a cup of hot chocolate, and her mother will place her stuffed bear by her head. Lilana pictures it and a tear slips out between her eyelids.
Her mother brings a hand to Lilana's cheek, and the girl opens her eyes. Her mother looks at her daughter and knows that she's much too young for all of this. She wishes that her baby could grow up to be a wonderful woman with children of her own.
"I love you, dear," she whispers.
Lilana's lip quivers when she meets her mother's eyes. She's about to reply, but a familiar face catches her attention. It's Katniss, and her grey eyes are still hard, but she looks at the girl, her eyes soften. She turns and whispers to her companion. She's reaching out her hand to point, but the sound of gunshots forces her to retreat against the wall instead.
Bodies collapse to the ground, blossoms of red peak out through brightly colored garments, blooming into giant stains. Lilana's mother is among the fallen. For one awful second, Lilana stands still. Then, like an explosion, she drops by her mother's side and screams. Her voice is loud and high and very, very far away.
She never said it. She forgot to whisper, "I love you, too, Mommy," and plant a little kiss on her mother's cheek.
She's sorry, and she starts sobbing. Her tears slip out, and little apologies are muttered from her lips.
What was the last thing she told her mother? She doesn't know.
On her birthday, precisely five years ago, she wished for something big and pink and sparkly. She should've wished for her mother's life.
There are more gunshots, but they sound miles away.
Lilana feels something burn across her chest. Her head cracks on the pavement behind her. Everything is dancing black spots and staggered breathing and hot, hot, hot.
She was almost five and currently in a pickle. The lights in the store were a bit too bright; they hurt her eyes. She squinted, but she couldn't see anything around her. She held up her own hands to find she was holding something. It was a small cake with yellow frosting and a single candle in the center. Lilana closed her eyes and blew out the flame.
Then she faded away to the soft sound of someone singing her to sleep.