A/N: A short fic (actually intended for more chapters, but decided for it to be a one-shot) Hope you enjoy and REVIEW!
I wake to the singing of the mockingjays, though it is still dark outside. I lie there for a few minutes, relishing the feeling of being comfortable, warm and protected in my sleeping bag before rolling onto my side, glancing at the pocket watch that sits beside me on the ground. It is a handsome and intricate watch, if I can say that, for I was the one that made it.
Its cover shines silver, with small, delicate flowers and plants carved on its surface. The design is simple but elegant, and reflects the surroundings of my new home. Inside the cover, a crystal surface protects the hands of the watch, which steadily plods on, never faltering, and accurate by the second. The minute hand is my favourite- it's long, and arrow shaped, with my family's and friends names carved on its dark, slim body. Each name is written with different colours, and some are accompanied by small, barely visible symbols of what I think best represents them. Of course, in the dark and without my magnifying glass, the names just seem like thin jagged lines and the symbols a small dot.
I sit up, fully refreshed by the sight of my pocket watch, and just like every morning since I moved here, I pick it up gingerly, trail the silver chain through my fingers before gently rubbing the crystal surface. A mockingjay glows, its strong body and wings pulses slightly giving an illusion of it flying. A few seconds, and the mockingjay fades, where the inside of the pocket watch shows nothing but the innocent numbers ringed around the three hands.
I have made many, many pocket watches and clocks. Most of them I made back in the Capitol, the place I used to call home. No two of my designs are the same, this pocket watch however, is the exception. My father carries the other watch with him all the time, it is identical to the very petal on its cover, save for his pocket watch being gold, and mine silver. He believes his is unique, the only one in the world. But after he left, I made another one, to remind me of our promise, my duty and, of course, him.
There were still a few hours before dawn, but I dress and step over my brother's murmuring, sleeping body before heading outside. He never really adjusted fully to our new home; he misses the extravagant parties, the delicacies, the ridiculous fashion trends he was so bent to follow. Chase- short for Chasalin- was the heart of the party, he was the one who decided which dish was best, the one who not only followed every fashion trend, but also created some himself. He fitted right in with the people in the Capitol, unlike me.
It seems so strange. I was the odd girl in the Capitol, disliking the weird hairstyles that changed every week or so, I was disgusted at the wastage of food, the endless parties which all seemed the same. But in my new home, I am at ease. People here do not colour their hair bright green and wear fluorescent purple mascara, nor do they fuss about petty and unimportant things such as what clothes they're going to wear today. They are hard working, honest and generally good people, who don't judge others by the clothes they wear.
The breeze is cool as I close the door behind me. Mockingjays fell silent, startled at the sight of me, but only for a few moments. I whistle a tune, a random tune with no meaning, but they copy me just the same. Standing there, conducting this mighty orchestra makes me feel powerful and humble. Nothing but trees, grass and flowers exist for miles around. Only a few beaten down shacks here and there are seen, but all are lived in, packed with people. The project of expanding this place officially starts today.
District thirteen, contrary to most beliefs, does exist. One thing that the Capitol does not control is nature. Over time, the injured and blackened land healed itself, slowly but surely. The Capitol had tried to destroy it again secretly, when some officials saw the wondrous flowers growing out of the dirt, but again and again plants grew becoming stronger and stronger each day until when a bomb dropped on it made nought but a small dent in the thick, flush forest.
My brother and I moved to District thirteen the moment my father saw Katniss pull out those berries. He saw the outrage in the Capitol and the high emotions of its people the perfect cover for us to escape. He, like me, loath the Hunger Games and the way innocent children are led to their death. Though we are people of the Capitol, we try to put a stop to all this. My father joined the Game Makers, planning to destroy its foundations from the inside, secretly planting flaws in the arena for the tributes to give them hope and a chance to survive. He worked his way up slowly until this year, for the seventy-fifth games, he was the Head Games Maker.
It was me who brought up the idea that district thirteen was liveable, back when I was eight. After watching the endless shows about district thirteen, I noticed the same flash of the birds wing appear, even though the shots were supposed to be taken live. I asked my father about it, when he was still a novice at the Game Making, and he brushed it off as merely a child's clueless thought. But last year, when I brought it up again, he believed me.
Using his contacts and friends in various districts, it was confirmed. District thirteen had fought back and was flourishing nicely. Then the big plan was formed. Uprisings were already happening because of Peeta and Katniss, my father and some of the old victors took advantage of this to cover up the real purpose of the arena and the force field around it. My father had moved back to the Capitol to continue to bring it down from the inside, while my brother and I stayed here, waiting for others to come, building some make-shift shacks to accommodate them when they do come.
Leaving the mockingjays and their glorious singing behind, I head towards the river, hoping the icy water would clear my mind. I plunge in, not caring to take off my clothes. The only thing I leave behind on the grassy bank is the pocket watch. It symbolises so much-so many things that are precious and valuable to me, but not in the money sense.
I float, letting my brown hair fan out and flow freely in the moving current. I am being moved downstream, but I don't care. The current wasn't strong and I know my way around this area.
Katniss and father, along with Finnick and Haymitch, will be arriving here soon. There are already several places that I have organised for them to stay. But the land that we've cleared so far, that is where the foundations of the new, shining country will be built on.
Our new country still doesn't have a name. We've all agreed that district thirteen is not a suitable name-it's the name the Capitol gave, and we, as the rebels, do not acknowledge anything the Capitol does or names. From the moment they bombed district thirteen, the Capitol no longer owned this place. They don't own the people, either, because no one can be owned by anybody. Nobody-at least the people who've suffered under the flaunting laws and restrictions- respect nor follow the Capitol anymore. They appear meek and following on the outside, but on the inside, fury burns fiercely and everlasting. They would seize any chance they have to bring this sadistic government down. The Capitol can't make anybody respect them, they have to earn it.
I hear rustles, and I see a dark shadow blot the sunlight. It's moving fast, but it's slowing down. It's the hovercraft, seeking for the cross I've drawn to help them. I quickly swim to the shore, tie up my soaking wet hair with the only hair tie I have and grab my things.
It's a new era, a new time.
Katniss, the mockingjay, along with my father has arrived. Things are changing. Things are continuing to change.
I only hope that the change was for the better.