Disclaimer: I am not Suzanne Collins.
I wake up to the sound of a soft siren like wail, the new wake up call for 13. I climb out of bed and pull on my bland clothes. Then I look sternly at the small speaker in the far corner of my room, as if that will stop the alarm. They don't give you schedules anymore, they let you structure your own time.
Ever since the rebellion over powered the Capitol everything has changed in 13. We're all supposed to leave 13 and go settle in one of the other districts. Not all at once, but little by little. I don't see why they want us out, it wouldn't exactly benefit them. In fact it would just make this country, if you can still call it that, harder to run. I've lived in 13 all my life and I am not exactly opposed to leaving. I just want the, to tell me why.
I go to the dining hall and fill my tray. Since so my people are leaving, 13 has taken on a deserted sort of quality. As I eat the usual tasteless meal, I think back to the girl on fire. I've been thinking about her lot lately, actually, so it's no surprise. The thing that's been coming to mind the most is the fact that Katniss is a plant that grows in water, not in fire. Nothing grows in fire.
It's been three months. Three months since the Capitol was overthrown. Three months since the announcement was made. The announcement that declared there was no longer anything to fear, that we should move to nearby districts to help repopulate the country, that the Capital would never rise again. Now there are no more announcements, we're all just supposed to clear out. And that's why I think about her so much. There was no mention of her in the announcement. That makes me think she's dead. And I know it's crazy and unrealistic and most likely untrue, but I can't help but wonder, what if?
I realize that I've been scraping the bottom of my empty bowl like a robot, since I didn't notice when I had eaten the last of it's contents. I go put away my tray and leave dining room.
Today I planed to get my things together and leave on a train heading for district 3. They have a lot of technology things there and I'm hoping to help fix some of it. I'm relatively good with that kind of thing, so I'm hoping to get some sort of job in that field.
I return to my compartment and survey the neat room that I have lived alone in for nearly ten years now. I made an attempt at collecting my possessions last night so things are strew around the small compartment. I don't have much stuff, nobody is 13 does, but it still seems like a lot to deal with. If half an hour I have packed up all my clothes and books, which leaves my drawings. I have taped them up all over the walls, there must but hundreds. I have drawn everything in 13, and almost everything I've seen outside of it. Most recently, I've been drawing Katniss. Not as the Mockingjay, but as herself. Just wearing normal clothes or hunting, things like that. I take the bits of information I know about her and use them in my drawings. I stare at the vast array of sketches and wonder what on earth I'm going to do with them, I can't bring them all, the box that my stuff has to fit into to be transported on the train is far too small. I decide to hide the ones I can't bring with me. 13 is full of places to hid things, if you know where to look. I take them all off the walls, and put my favorites in the box, then I gather the rest of them up, seal up the box with packing tape and place it in the corner of my room. I pick up the other drawings and leave the room. Since 13 is now so deserted I don't have sneak around to get to my hiding place. Deep in the back of storage room there's a drawer built into the wall, made so that it's nearly invisible, that's where I hide my drawings.
After the that, I hurry back to my room to pick up my box, before heading to the train station. While I'm walking I think about the drawings, hidden away back there. Surely someone will find them eventually, I tell myself, though I really hope not. When I climb aboard the train, I find it has the same deserted quality as 13, I seem to be the only traveler onboard.
As the train pulls away from the station, and my home slips away, I wonder what will happen to 13. 13, home to me for all of my life, might be destroyed as soon as it is empty. It might be turned into a military base. Either way I will miss it very much. 13 is a rather bleak and emotionless place, uniform, with no irregularities. However, when you are raised somewhere, no matter where, that place will forever remain a home to you, and as 13 is to me, a sanctuary.