THE INTERVIEW

I twiddle with the tie around my neck. For years I had dreamed about this. A chance to meet the Mockingjay, Katniss Everdeen, or I guess it's Katniss Mellark now. You heard stories about her growing up. The Girl on Fire, the girl who defied the Capitol, who shot Coin instead of Snow the day the Rebellion ended. The girl who went crazy and was for years was locked away in District 12. I personally always hated that one. We owe her and others who fought for the Rebels our lives, our free lives.

I hear footsteps coming down the hall towards the interview station. Soft chair has been placed here for the Mockingjay's interview. I don't know what to expect from her. For years she's been declining any type of statement or interview that involves the Games or the Rebellion. I guess old age has softened Mrs. Mellark. Peeta, Mr. Mellark, died last spring and I think that might have something to do with her sudden openness with the public media. I feel a frown cross my face as I think this and suddenly, I'm looking at her. I'm looking into the Mockingjay's fierce grey eyes.

She's traded the braid and bow I've seen on TV and in history books for a low bun and a shawl. The crisp autumn air must be getting to her. Her left hand grips tight to a cane, but besides that Katniss Everdeen – Mellark stands tall and proud. Not at all a crazy old lady. Her granddaughter is trailing behind her. She has the same nose and hair as her grandmother. She's beautiful.

"Mr. Coleman, I know my granddaughter is quite the sight to look at, but please, refrain from openly gawking at her," Mrs. Mellark's clear voice rang.

I looked down in embarrassment. I'm sure to get fired now.

"I apologize Mrs. Mellark, it-"

"Katniss, please. And don't apologize, let's just get on to business," as she gestures to the chairs set up within the circle of cameras of the interview station.

I feel my cheeks darken and I stutter, "Of course Mrs. Mell – Katniss."

I guide her up to her seat, and as she sits, Katniss grips my arm and I feel just how frail the Mockingjay has become with age. I can also clearly see the scars now. The jagged one on her arm from where Johanna Mason cut the tracker out of her arm in the Quarter Quell, the burn marks from the fire bombing in the Capitol that killed her sister, and the scars in her eyes. The emotionally wounds that never fully healed. But I know she doesn't want my pity, so I shake the sight from my mind's eye and take my seat across from her as she thanks me for the assistance. Her granddaughter leaves the room, making sure Katniss knows she'll be right outside if she needed her. Katniss waves her off and focuses her clear gaze on me. The cameras are rolling. We begin.

"So, Katniss, after so many years, why now? Why say yes to an interview?"

"As you can see Mr. Coleman -"

"Alector, please. It's only fair if I get to call you Katniss, ma'am," I smile.

She returns the smile before continuing, "Alector, as you can see, I'm not getting any younger. I know my time is limited and I think it's time the world learns a few things before I go."

"Why do you feel you're so close to umm… going?"

A far away look glazes her eyes as she answers, "Peeta, he – he's been my rock for so long and now that he's gone, I honestly don't know what to do. Our children and grandchildren are grownup and have made lives for themselves. Panem is in good hands with President Tolley. There isn't the need for the Mockingjay or someone of the old world anymore. The memorials have been built," she pauses and clenches her cane, "Panem has moved on, has grown from its past. I think it's time I have a bit of peace, don't you think?"

Her eyes focus on mine and I can't help to agree with her. Were it another person, I would have tried to comfort her for the memories being brought up, but this is the Mockingjay, so I merely reply, "I think you deserve peace more than the rest of us. But, Katniss, why did you ask for an interview? As I said before, people have been trying for years to get you to speak on television or to release a statement. It's baffled all of us in the news world."

"Ah, the big question," she smirks, "You do get to the point, don't you? Yes, it does seem quite sudden, and for the longest time, I wasn't sure if would follow through on asking for one."

She pauses for a moment, her lips pursed as she looks down. I take this time to look at her. Her once dark hair is white but stubborn dark strands are sprinkle lightly across her scalp. Katniss isn't the petite girl we see in the history books anymore. Her hips have filled out from the years of being able to eat enough and raising children. The scars have faded. On first glance, the Mockingjay looks frail, but now I see the strength. The position of her jaw, steadiness of her hands, and sureness of her movements tell of her strength. The never-ending wrinkles upon her face show her to be the grandmother she is. There are smile lines aplenty around her eyes, but the frown marks on her brow are just as much. A hard life, but a good one in the end.

"After Peeta… after Peeta died, the nightmares from the Games and Rebellion began to come back in number. We kept each other safe at night, you see? We both had nightmares about our experiences, but when we were together, we could face them. As time passed, it got easier to face them. They became spaced out, but after Peeta… it was like a barrier broke and now all the things that once plagued my sleep are after me again. I'm tired. The nightmares only remind of me of how little the world really knows what happened to us. To all of us, the tributes, the victors, the Rebels…" She trail off before taking a breath, "I've decided to write a book on my time in the Arena, the Rebellion, all of it. I see the memorial broadcasts, but people don't understand what we went through – the pain we felt. Panem needs to know."

I'm shocked, "A book?"

"Yes. Well, more than one. There's so much to tell. I've written some already, up to the end of the Quell, but I've still a long way to go. I've asked that these not be published until after I'm gone."

"But didn't you say you wanted the world to know before you… pass?" I lean forward, eager to hear her response.

"It's more of the matter of getting it on paper before I go… There are some days when even thinking about writing hurt, so I'd rather not have my inner thoughts exposed while I'm still here. There are things people will question, things I'd rather not have to be asked about or have to explain."

"Oh… well, I have one last question, if that's alright?" I say as the pain in her eyes becomes more evident with the passing seconds. I think it's right to cut this interview short, after all, her thoughts and mind will be open to us soon (hopefully not too soon).

"Of course Alector," Katniss says with a nod of the head.

"Why a book, or uh… books? Wouldn't it be easier to record yourself speaking – even if it's segments at a time?"

"I suppose so, from that perspective at least. I'm still lucid, but my short-term memory is wearing. I find it easier to pick up where I left off if the words are in front of me. Also, film can only capture so much. If there's one thing I've learned from the bedtime stories and novels I read to my children and grandchildren, it's that books give the most detail. That's what my story needs, the detail, the emotions and actions that I couldn't put into a recording of myself."

"Well… Thank you so much for your time Katniss, we are so thankful you chose our station to interview with," I say as I lean forward to shake her hand.

Her hand meets mine halfway. It's a strong grip, even for an 88 year-old. From the look she gives me, I can tell she's glad it's over with. The lights dim from the cameras and Katniss' granddaughter comes back into the room. She makes her way toward us and assists Katniss in rising from her chair. I catch a glimpse of something on her shawl as she rises. No way… it's the mockingjay pin. The one she received before her first Games. It's tucked neatly into the folds, impossible to see unless she bends over, like she just did to rise from the chair. As she straightens, the pin disappears again. We exchange goodbyes and the two Mellark women head for the door… but the words spew from my mouth before I could stop myself.

"If you had to do it again, would you?" I almost shout, seeing as they were almost to the door.

Katniss and her granddaughter turn back to me, "Do what?"

"Volunteer, fight in the Rebellion, would you?" I can't believe I'm asking this, why am I asking this?

She shakes her head and smiles sadly, "I would volunteer in a heartbeat. Prim meant more than anything to me… I would do anything to make sure she lived, but…" She still ended up dead, I could almost hear her say, "There are things I wish I could change. Like perhaps taking care of Coin before she authorized the firebombing, or somehow making sure Peeta was saved from the Quell… but all I can say Mr. Coleman is… that there are worse games to play."

And with that she turns away and walks straight and tall out of the door. I stand there for a moment, thinking of what she just said. I know what she meant by "worse games" and understand where she's coming from. Yet, I still can't believe I asked her that… it must of hurt like hell to answer. A few hours later, the interview is aired across Panem, and people jump at the notion of getting to read Katniss' thoughts. People are constantly calling or writing the station, eager to know if there was anything else the Mockingjay said. I always said no. The question I asked… I shouldn't have. The world doesn't need to know that too.

Some months later, I receive a package at the station, addressed from the Mellark Family. I know what's inside and I gulp the lump in my throat as I open it. On top of Katniss' books is a letter. It read:

Mr. Coleman,

I wanted to thank you for your attitude towards my grandmother that day during the interview. Please know she greatly appreciated it. Other reporters would have cared less about her feelings or emotional scarring. They would have ignored the effort it took to speak about the things she went through. Grandma asked me to get you copies of the books before they hit the shelves. She said you would appreciate them. She's a peace now. There are no more nightmares to haunt her. Thank you again for your thoughtfulness in treating my grandmother with the respect she deserved.

Sincerely,

Primrose

Her granddaughter, the one who accompanied her to the station the day of the interview, wrote it. Primrose, she was named after Katniss' sister. I pick up the books with care, as if they were newborn children. These are the words of a hero… and of a girl who reshaped Panem forever. I open the first page of the book titled The Hunger Games and begin.

When I wake up, the other side of the bed is cold…