a/n [The chocolate cake to go with my cream A.K.A. dedicated to the awesome Lils.]
One time when I was younger, I saw the sliver of a glowing moon through the foliage of the trees. I'd seen the moon plenty of times, but it was just a floating rock in the sky. It meant nothing. Though that day, it meant something. Maybe it was the way the leaves fluttered in the wind and covered and uncovered moon, flickering the light into my eyes to reflect off of my irises. Or perhaps it was because I was lying down with my back against the rough soil caked with fallen leaves.
I had been lying there all afternoon, fed up with my brother who didn't want to play. It wasn't fair, and my small arms folded over my flat chest and my bottom lip puffed out because he told me life isn't fair. I told him that repeating a comeback you've heard millions of times isn't a very good comeback, before running out the flimsy back door and into the little forest A.K.A. my makeshift backyard. It might as well have been, the loggers haven't been to this side of town since before my father was born—which was, like, prehistoric times—and the tree line practically starts at our back porch.
It was my mistake, however, to run out in my brand new mint green sweater. It wasn't a problem that the back of it was going to be incredibly filthy when I arrived home, but more so a problem when I faced the summer sun with nothing to block it but the thin oak leaves, and my probably-thicker-than-wood sweater, of course. I didn't move though, and I didn't complain. When I didn't come back to the house in a few hours my brother and my mom and my dad would all start fretting over my absence, leaving my brother far too guilt ridden with the fear something terrible had happened to me out here.
Despite that fact, it wasn't anywhere near his fault. I was a troublemaking child, an attribute that makes me proud to this very day. I would refuse to talk in school if the teacher called on me in class, a habit that she eventually stopped, I would stomp outside in the rain and then trudge inside the house into my room leaving a trail of mud in my wake, I would rake all of the fallen leaves into one giant pile and jump in it, only stopping when my parents told me my chore time was over, abandoning the un-raked leaves in the yard, and I would throw tantrums where I left the house and ran into the woods, just like I was doing now.
Usually I stayed in the untouched woods for an hour or two, then run back inside and continue pouting in my room. I'm not sure what prompted me to stay out so late that night, but I did. I believe the moon was praising my stubbornness.
That was a long time ago; the date was, almost exactly, seven years before I moved into the victor's village, which had no oak trees in the backyard, but instead a grove of pine trees, the most commonly lumbered tree in District Seven. It was a significant difference, mostly because I had no more teachers to hide from, no more dad to sigh and clean up the leaves I left alone, no more mom to grab the mop and wipe away my muddy footprints, and no more brother to argue with and perfect my comebacks on. I was stuck with an empty house on an empty lot in the middle of fucking nowhere.
Even the moon looked different from here. It was slimy and plump. It didn't shine as bright. Though I only ever looked at it through the small, curtain-less kitchen window that I never bothered to cover. Over time the unwashed window was caked with grime, so the moon was just a blur anyway. It seemed to be fading with my life; an analogy worse than the blood that dripped through my dreams.
I thought I was brave when the tears slipped past my lid. I used up every ounce of my "Jason dumped my backpack in the rain and my homework is absolutely ruined" acting skills when that one, awful name echoed away from the poor sound system. My name. My goddamn name that everyone would chant when I emerged from that fucking arena. It was despicable, yet I forced the water from my tear glands and wept like my life depended on it, which it did.
It took a while to realize I wasn't invincible. The steady words of "there was a mishap in the woods this morning" to "he just collapsed during lunchtime, there was nothing we could do" made everything come into focus just seconds too late.
The moon sliver, now fat and mocking, laughed at me from the starry sky. It would never be alone, not with all of those blinking lights, not with the sun that would rise tomorrow. It wasn't fair. I acquired every breakable item from those shiny, polished cabinets and threw them up to the moon. My aim was incredible, my strength was unbelievable, but each ceramic dish crashed to the ground only a few yards away. I slept on the ground directly under the moon's light that night, and I woke up to the morning sun feeling more rested than I ever had before.
I received a note from the Capital a few months before my victory tour informing me of the requirement to have a talent now that I was a victor. I asked if my habit could be hacking away at the Capital citizens with my axe. I didn't need a talent after that. I did, however, land an appointment with the president. I felt honored that he trusted me to be in the same room as him without killing him.
Naturally, it was my fault that he killed them. I was stubborn, arrogant, and loud. If I were he, I'd have just killed me. But I was Johanna Mason, and it just gave me all the more reason to spend day after day plotting how to kill the oh so loved President Snow.
I remember one moment when I was very, very young. Jason was seven at the time, and he was just still a little sweetheart boy with rounded cheeks that turned pink at the slightest things. He was everything I wasn't. I was in our 'backyard' chopping at the little tree at the forest's edge under my dad's supervision when my brother came outside with a lollipop he managed to obtain. He only had one, and he offered it to me. I turned my nose up at it and went right back to hacking at that tree trunk. I never understood why I turned it down, now I can't picture anything better than Jason handing me that bright red pop.
Actually, yes, I can picture hundreds of things better. I can picture—oh, I do picture—my axe cutting straight through Snow's pale neck in one clean strike. Though I know that's not possible, for instead I would have to hack it like I did to that little oak tree so many years ago.
My appointment with the president was at four o'clock sharp. I boarded the train in Seven at three. I arrived slowly, and with small, steady steps I took all the time I possibly could getting to his mansion. It loomed over me, shining white under the moon's reflected light. It was eerie. I couldn't imagine a better place for such a repulsive creature.
All of it was my fault.
The meeting went dreadfully. If I wasn't such a sarcastic bitch I might've been spared. But Johanna Mason does what she wants, she'll always do what she wants, and so I propped my feet on the edge of his desk and flashed the biggest smile I could manage.
All of it was my fault.
His tone was condescending, but his own smile was blood-caked and mischievous. I knew that I wouldn't win, somewhere deep within me. I already won though, I protested. I finished his Games and I won, I won, I won. He wouldn't drag me through that again. He couldn't. Oh, but Johanna, dear, he could. Screw it all, I thought. I didn't have to listen to him, or his—my—country, or the stupid Games. I was content in my giant new home and if I had to live there alone then so be it. He was evil, but he wouldn't kill my family. Then all of his leverage would be gone.
All of it was my own damn fault.
Sometimes, when I close my eyes, I can still see it pressed against the black. The moon, with it's speckled surface and the rusty edges. It's got a background of stars, though it sits up there alone. It's completely alone, just like me.
My dad used to tell me something, another one of his fucking quotes that's been around forever, he used to tell me you're not as alone as you feel. Well, I feel pretty damn alone, and I don't see anyone around here trying to change that. I know what he'd say to that too, he'd tell me to change it myself.
I'm lying down on the ground, tears springing up in my eyes. I wipe at them furiously because Johanna Mason doesn't cry. They still fall though, and create cold, wet trails down my cheeks and onto the pine needle ground. The moon isn't a sliver anymore nor is it full. It's cut right in half and I think it's beautiful. It's light—the sun's light—peers down at me, seems to ask me if I'm all right. I nod my head because I'm always all right. I'm better than all right. Never better. The tears are coming out faster now and this is nothing like when I was younger. The moon was tougher then, but it's softened up. It's useless to me now. I storm over to the door and slam it behind me because I'm tough, remember?
Though when I fall asleep I keep the curtains drawn so the moonlight can still reach me. We can be alone together.