The Mockingjay Parade.
A time to celebrate. When every person and child from every district come together to celebrate the anniversary of the rebellion. Despite the fact my generation know nothing about it, because most of us weren't born and the people who were around at the time refuse to speak of it, they still make time to have a huge celebration parade. One that goes through every district, with loud music and color. The worst part is it features the remaining former tributes, and any children they may have. Why, I have no idea. Maybe so they can prove that there can still be life after trauma. Or maybe to make the former tributes feel better about themselves.
Either way, it still means I have to stand around on a colorful float day after day for at least a month.
Who am I? Finnick Odair. The second. My father, by the same name, was a former tribute. He was killed during the rebellion. Unfortunately, that still means I have to take part in the parade. Which means day after day of being constantly reminded of what a great hero my father was, how brave he was, how charming he was, etc. For me, it's just a constant reminder of someone I never met.
You may be wondering why I don't just walk out. Well, believe me, I've tried. But my mother forces me to participates. She says it's in respect to my father. And if I argue with her, she bursts into tears. Believe me, you do not want to see my mother in a state of hysteria. So I force myself each year to get up on that stage. I force myself to smile and wave and at least look like I'm enjoying it. I listen patiently as person after person approaches me and tells me how much I look like my father, and how brave he was, and how charming he was, blah blah blah. By the end, it's all just becomes a blur. It used to tire me, putting on this act all the time. Now it's just become natural.
But this year was different. This year, the moment my mother and I left our Capitol apartment, owned simply for when the parade comes around, there was something different in the air. It was much quieter. Much more cautious. At first, it didn't bother me too much. But I knew something was up when my mother froze, staring wide-eyed at something upon the float. I followed her gaze. And that was when I saw them.
Two adults. A blonde male and a dark-haired female. Two children. I had no idea who they were. All I knew was that the adults must be former tributes. I presumed the children, who were much younger than me, were theirs. None of them had ever come to the parade before.
"Mom, who are they?" I asked, my voice low. My mother jumped. She must have blanked out or something. But now she was back. She glanced up at me, her normally soft eyes still wide. Her gaze returned back to the adults and their children.
"You see her?" My mother pointed at the dark-haired female. I nodded. "Finnick, my dear, it is because of her that you, that all of us, are here today."
I knew who they were now. There was no way I couldn't.
Peeta Mellark, Katniss Everdeen and their two children.
The Mockingjay had turned up for her parade.