Someday, I'm going to illuminate my room with Christmas lights. When the war's over and I get back to District 12, my home, I'm going to steal the lights that we keep in the basement and make them bright my bed. I want to see the world of my dreams in colours; the dirty green of the trees that cover the sun's smile in the summer, the yellow birds that sometimes sing by my window, my Moms' light pink smile, Katniss' brown hair that I sometimes get to braid. All that would be heaven compared to the grey I've been living in. It almost seems like District 13 doesn't want its citizens to dream. Maybe because they want to keep them working like machines, or maybe because they're afraid that if they dream too high they might fall and break. Either way, they're no more than breathing robots.

Even here, sitting in the hovercraft that will take me to the Capitol, where the battle runs like a cowboy's movie that I used to see with Katniss and that we never got the chance to finish because the power always goes down, I feel the dreams flow in the air along with the oxygen that I find so hard to inhale. We must be at least twenty volunteers form all genders and ages and I'm not the youngest by far. All of us have some kind of fainted grin in our lips as we hold our first aid kits close to our chests. We don't smile because we're exited to get in the middle of a battle older than most of us; we smile because we're glad to be part of it. In a few short minutes we'll have the chance to save lives. I heard some electronic voice saying that we're being transported to President Snow's mansion, where a group of kids is barricaded. Apparently the Capitol made bombs rain upon them and now they need our assistance, our help.

One day, back to the time where I could barely reach the kitchen sink to wash the apples that I had helped my dad pick up, I asked my mom why she would put so much effort into helping the sick men that from time to time find in our kitchen table their bed for the night. I could see how tired my mom looked. I remember noticing that she would ask Katniss to read my bedtime story because she needed to get back to her patient; the story was our moment.

She took me in her arms like I weighed no more than a feather, smiled to me and said "I do it because of the fireworks."

It was not until I healed my first patient, a little kitten that had broken a leg somewhere in the village that I understood; The warmth in my heart should be enough. It's like it hugs its self tightly, making us smile. No. There were still the fireworks. The explosion that seems to happen inside us. Seeing the one we haled back to its feet triggers the blood, our very own powder. Besides, the colours make it look even better.

Just like promised by the invisible voice, we reach the Capitol in no time. I've never been here. Only people who live in the city or were once invited can vaunt of seeing the greatest city ever built on earth; At least that's what they make us believe in. And still here I am, setting a foot outside in the tinged red snow. It should feel better than it does. I always imagined that a choir of bells would start ringing at the same time my lugs filled themselves with the Capitol air. But the only thing I hear is the loud chants of pain and despair. The shouts of childless mothers, brothers without a sister, and simple citizens that have only seen blood in television, were children have to go through the exact same thing as them. Death.

As soon as it's allowed I run towards the carpet made of dead body's, desperate to find one that still moves. The search doesn't take long and I find a crying girl almost immediately. She's pointing at something a few feet form here. A parachute. What gives life to the unfortunate brings death to the lucky ones.

"It's okay, I got you now." I say trying to calm her a bit as I take off my matching white jacket and cover her reddish shoulders with it. The girl isn't surely that much younger than I am, and is clearly from the Capitol. The pink eye shadow that covers her eyes for some reason makes them look darker. The perfect reflection of the panic she feels inside.

I'm about to kneel down to examine the wound she had in her leg when I hear it.

At first it's nothing more than a whistle. A dim whistle brought to me by the same wind that stages millions of screams and pleaded words. I don't need to turn around to see who's calling my name. I could recognizer her anywhere. What makes me turn is the need to see her. See that my sister is alright and still alive.

"Prim!" Katniss' voice calls, losing itself among the other voices that fill the air like dense clouds. She's running to me, though I see how much that costs her. The wounds are bloody and ugly under the fabric that covers her body. After I'm done with the little girl I'm going to take care of my sister just like she always took care of me.

Her name flies from my lips with a shot of visible joy when I see it. At first I think it's the fireworks combusting like the flame of a candle that is wet by alcohol, like the one that almost burnt Buttercup's tail a few years ago. But why are the fireworks here so soon and why they only have one colour? They should be the melody of the warmth that fills the heart. But what I feel is another kind of warmth. The same kind that can burn my skin and melt my bones to ashes.

I catch the sound a second later, and it's only there that I realize it. I'm on fire, and in pain. I feel the warmth starting to burn really bad and plead to whoever is making this to me to make it stop. But I can't speak. My lips seem to no longer exist, just like the rest of my body. I fall on the cold snow, as my eyes stare the emptiness that is the white. Such a peaceful colour without really being one.

I let my spirit meet my body on the ground, and give myself to the darkness, dreaming of the lights that will light the faces that I leave behind.

The end