Chapter 1
My name is Katniss Everdeen. I am 17 years old. I was a Victor in the 74th Hunger Games, a terrible thing that turned young precious children into killers. It almost turned me into one, except that it left scars in me that take forever to disappear. I won by threatening to swallow some nightlock with Peeta, the boy with the bread. But until now, I still don't know why I did it just to save him and myself. Nothing would have happened, the bloodshed in the rebellion and my sister's death, if I had either ate the berries myself or sent an arrow at his heart. I would have lived with a broken heart to my dying day, but at least thousands of innocent people wouldn't have been killed in the war. Yeah, Prim. I should have done that to save you from being burned to ashes by the bombs crafted by Gale, my closest friend other than Peeta.
The cold-blooded plans of that monster President Snow forced me and Peeta into the Games once more during the Quarter Quell. Before I set foot into the jungle arena, I swore that I would keep Peeta, the friend that actually loved me with all his heart and even suffered a beating so that I and my family wouldn't starve, alive. My plan was going to work. But then the secretive and manipulative rebels, with Haymitch on their side, came in and scooped me up with Finnick and Beetee, living Peeta and the others to the cruel hands of the Capitol. The rest is history. But Peeta is now as hurt and cut as me. He was hijacked by the Capitol so that he could be turned into the monster they failed to turn him into in the earlier Games. But occasionally back at District 13, he used to scream obscenities at me, at they would knock him out with morphine. Monster or not, he is still the boy with the bread. Many times they would also have to knock me out too, as I would scream for him and try to get to him, to tell him how sorry I was, that I didn't end it all when I had the chance.
"Katniss?" Greasy Sae's old voice comes from the kitchen. "I'm going to the Hob. Are you coming with me?" Normally, I would have said no. I would be too busy thinking about my painful past, my lovely sister Prim and everything else that is slowly killing me inside. But I say yes. Greasy Sae looks sort of surprised, and then silently triumphant that at last there's some progress for my part. "Good." she says. "I''ll be gong in a few minutes. I need to get a basket and so on." Then the old woman shuffles off. I really need to thank her for sticking around to cook and wash for me as I'm not really steady yet. She's been good to me in so many ways. I know that I'll have to branch out and live on my own without needing Greasy Sae to do chores for me. She isn't my servant. I think about that most of the time.
I go to my room and open the wardrobe. Familiar clothes stand out. My father's hunting jacket. Some clothes that somewhat cross between the designs of the outfits of the 74th and 75th Hunger Games. However, the brave valiant patterns do not give me a leap of horror and dismay with the memories of those two hell-on-earth events. Instead, they give me a kind of hope, that I would be fine despite the thousand nightmares I would have all week, asleep or not. Every piece of garment has the mockingjay on it. The symbol that united the districts together so that we would be free from that cursed President Snow and the Hunger Games, despite many thousands losing their lives. Now, it is the symbol that keeps me living, for now. I guess I'll have to thank Cinna, who survived the torture in the Capitol and was rescued by the rebels on the last day of the war. He specially designed many of my clothes for me, to remind me that I could live again, without any fear.
I find myself wearing a grayish shirt with my father's old jacket over it, and a pair of dark long pants. I put on my hunting boots and walk with Greasy Sae out from the Victor's Village. I am awed by the sight of houses that look as modern and furnished as the one that I live in. Gone are the rickety shacks the people of District 12 lived in. Gone are the dark mines, in which my father died. Instead, a factory for medicine and a big hospital replaces them. I hear from Greasy Sae a few weeks ago that District 12 is now the main producer of medicine. As for coal to generate the country's electricity, Beettee, a dear friend that had suffered with me in the Games and in the Capitol when we were trying to burn down Snow's backyard, decided to turn to wind energy as an alternative. It wasn't hard for them to find a good windy place at District 2-the hill that used to be the Nut, the Capitol's ex-stronghold.
District 12 has recovered and moved on faster than me. Greasy Sae and I arrive at the new Hob, a sparkling and a more busier place than its predecessor that was torched long ago. Gone are the scanty and parched wares on grimy wooden shelves. Instead, plastic boxes stacked with fresh fruits, vegetables, meats that used to be as expensive as gold for us and even more brands of alcohol (good new for my old mentor Haymitch, who's still a drunk, unfortunately). The prices are much lower than I expect. A mother can bring back home a feast from the Hob for the family at this rate. Besides this abundance, food stalls await with steaming pots of soups and delicacies, just like the old times. But dog is not the only thing on the menu. I see the familiar green noodles I savored at my first Hunger Games being sold by a bald man. The lamb stew that was my favourite dish in the Capitol sits on a platter at a crowded table. Things have changed, really.
A few people recognise me and smile. I nod at them in return. Some of their smiles seem sympathetic. I can't help thinking whether they know what I have gone through as the Mockingjay. Just then, a bell starts ringing out of nowhere. Heads turn and hands drop whatever they are holding. The sound is familiar to my ears, as the bell has always sounded when a blaze is around the corner. The smell of burning reaches my nose. But it is not from Peeta's new bakery.
"Fire." I say to myself and leave Greasy Sae to see what's going on.