Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games, as much as I would love to. My stories do not pursue getting any gratification from such an activity. All rights belong to Her Lady and Master, Suzanne Collins whose brilliant mind came up with Peeta and Katniss. The awesomeness of it all still astounds me.
"General Everdeen?"
The door to my chamber opens, as Alma Coin's sharp voice carries through the permanent darkness, a morbid but nevertheless faithful companion these last few months.
"Yes."
"It's time."
I rise from my chair, looking at the person standing in front of me.
Time has not been very kind with the face of the woman I now know for more than ten years. Her eyes that once had the unnerving ability to see straight to my soul are sad and full of concern. Their color, once seen as slush, is barely visible anymore as all attention is drawn to the dark purplish circles beneath and to the folds around. Her hair is no longer framing her angular face but hidden by the green beret she took up wearing several years ago. Only her mouth and voice retain the same unyielding mien that reminds me of the iron woman I met after being saved from The Quell.
Aren't we all different? Aren't we all changed?
Survival of the fittest. That's what the old books say, I at what cost?
The taste of these words is bitter. Almost like roses. Like Snow. The Games. The Victors that kill in order to win and by winning they lose it all.
I shake my head, clenching my teeth in frustration. There is no point on continuing with this train of thought.
Alma Coin.
The woman with a will of steel. Fearless leader of what once was District 13, now presides over ruins and a handful of still surviving rebels.
And me, the once upon a time face of the revolution.
Amazing how I never expected for us to grow on each other.
It took five years for us to put our differences aside.
It took two more years for us to trust each other and start working as a team.
Unfortunately, by that time, there was no rebellion to lead. Only ashes, and smoke, and death, and ruins of what once was a dream.
District by district, all fell to the clutch of the Capitol. Districts 12 and 13 were erased from the face of the Earth. First by bombs, then by fire and in the end by mutts. Heinous creatures with eyes of our loved ones, that still roam the ashes above. Always searching for thirsting for blood.
All hope was lost. Or that's what we thought.
The first ray of light that pierced our perceived darkness came several years ago. It was an idea, aninsaneidea that became our last resort. Beetee's experiments with the force field and his incursions in old physics book, written by some ancestor named Einstein, gave birth to a theory that could bend time and space. The question that needed an answer was how to send the essence of someone (if spirits do indeed exist) into the past and merge it with its past self. Thus, operation Mockingjay was born.
And now, the moment is here, and I find the palms of my hand sweaty again from anticipation. I feel my chest constricting and my breath coming in and out, in short, controlled gasps, while my hand tightens on the gun holster that encircles my hips.
Alma Coin loses her composure for one second, pity flashing through her grey eyes.
She takes one step closer. A moment later, ever so suddenly, she steadies herself, and in her most icy tone, she sneers.
"Enough! Get your act together Everdeen. This is not some fucking pity party."
She is right.
"I know." My answer is curt and strong.
She is right.
I am no longer the weak, frightened, impressionable girl that fought for her life in the Hunger Games.
I am no longer the girl from the Seam, daughter of a coal miner.
I am no longer just KatnissEverdeen.
I am the Mockinjay, leader of the Rebellion.
And I shall conquer this.
Resolution, hatred and sheer determination runs through my veins as I take one step closer to President Coin. I nod once, in thanks, as words between us are hardly ever needed anymore.
We go through the deserted corridors of what once was the headquarters of District 13.
The destruction and the rotten smell of death persist, an everlasting putrid reminder of the ultimate bombing from so long ago.
The debris was never cleared, the buildings never repaired.
Whatever for?
Cleaning it would not help us remember. Cleaning it would not make the wholes from our hearts fuller. Cleaning it would not bring the lost one's home. Or back to life.
All this destruction, in time, became a shrine. The wind composed its own anthem while carrying the ashes away, caressing the ruins, clothing them in dust and flecks of grey.
As we reachwhat remains of Beetee's lab, my hand hesitantly goes to my pocket, where my fingers curl on the worn surface of what once was a promise. A single, beautiful, white worn pearl.
"Coin, Everdeen", Beetee nods, voice cracked and tired. "I calibrated the force fields and set the time. We have sixty seconds from when it will start compressing."
I silently take my place, in the round crystal compartment, situated in the middle of the room.
"I will follow you Commander, if by the end of it we still stand!"
Coin flashes me a real and altogether rare smiles while sealing the entrance and leaving me alone.
Her voice fills the soundproof space.
"Sixty, fifty nine, fifty eight, fifty seven…"
My vision blurs as long repressed memories start rushing back.
"Fifty. Forty nine, forty eight…."
I see a small girl, petting the world's ugliest cat, a sweet smile on her lips, sun playing in her golden locks.
I find my lungs constricting as panics settles in. Is this going to work? Am I going to die?
"Thirty three, thirty two, thirty…"
I see blue eyes, ashy blond hair and a warm and beautiful smile.
Death should be a blessing, a release I will gladly embrace should this fail.
I smile.
"Sixteen, fifteen, fourteen, thirteen…"
The woods, the meadow, the lake, the mokingjay pin, the dandelion in the spring, a burnt bread.
My smile does not falter.
"Two, one!"
And all I see and feel is darkness.