Wide Awake 2

Author Note: Decided to change the story title for reasons unknown ;) Sorry for the forever-waited update, (hope you three people who reviewed didn't forget me!) and I plan on updating this again later on this week. I say this most weekends, but since I don't have school Friday...

Update day, I'm hoping! ;)

Prim's P. O. V.

Those who do it call it 'haunting', but it's not a very kind name for it in my opinion. Instead, I call it 'wandering', at least for me. Not all of us go around and scare the living daylights out of those poor living souls; some of us simply...well, wander.

I also talk to the living for an hour each night, and I always talk to Katniss. Sometimes I'm able to talk to Mother if the connections are strong enough, but it's mostly just her. I miss her terribly and I know she misses me, too; it was so horrifying to see her try to commit suicide and join me too early in Heaven.

But she's doing okay now, because of Peeta and me finally being able to talk to her, and I am doing wonderful.

She feels so guilty about my death, but it was only painful when I was alive after the bombing set off. I could feel myself being ripped apart and bursting, and then I felt myself floating, flying over Panem and coming into this beautiful place. I am forever happy and probably worship God, and I've even met a few friends.

Her name is Rue, and somehow, I knew we'd be friends when she in the Hunger Games with Katniss. She seemed a lot like me, and she's so quiet and kind, it's hard not to love her and want to be her friend. She wanders with me sometime, too, and we have great fun spreading our wings and taking to the skies, playing in the clouds.

Heaven simply is a paradise.

I honestly do feel bad for Katniss sometimes, even though she is pretty happy right now, for having to still live in Panem. And now that the Capitol planning an uprising of their own and she will be forced back into the Mockingjay suit again...

I'm worried she won't be able to take it again.

"Prim," Rue's soft voice inquires to me as we spread out our beautiful white wings, "do you think I should go visit Katniss?"

Honestly, I'd considering wandering to see her as well instead of just investing Panem, fixing small things invisibly when suspicious was low. If I could, I could become solid for just a little while, enough for the living to see me pretty well and touch me. Maybe if I went and saw Katniss tonight, we'd get enough stregnth to somehow help the coming uprising: I'd take care of the Capialites when they die if they are pure enough to live here and believe and attempt to persuade them to convince their living rebels to think differently, and she will help the war effort as an image.

Just maybe, with the two of us working together, we'll win again.

When I touch the primroses outside of Katniss and Peeta's home, they fill with life and perk up instantly.

"That's amazing," Rue compliments me, even though I can seem to heal any plant with my touch, and I smile in return.

"Thank you," together, we silently pass through the walls, coming in invisibly and unnoticed on the two of them holding their children close, Katniss singing them lullabies as Peeta rocks them gently. It's an adorable sight, truly; her daughter and son are amazing, beautiful, and happy.

It sure is great to see after everything that has happened.

Her daughter's name is Primrue Evening Mellerk, and her son is Cinna Zayn Mellerk.

Primrue's first name is kind of a given, and she is lovely like the flowers she is named for. Katniss once told me that her name was beautiful, because we two were so beautiful and lovely to her, and I blushed at that. Evening is our mother's first name as well, and even Peeta is in both of them, not only in gentics, but in the last name.

Cinna's first name is also a given, from the lovely man who made her the Mockingjay. He was so amazing to her and so amazing to everyone; he was a silent rebel who died far too soon. Zayn was our father's first name, and a Jr. was clipped to the end of his name, just for clarification from Peeta.

I am proud to be their aunt, even though I am dead.

"Sing the Tree Song, Mommy," Cinna says in his five-year-old small voice, and her face only tenses for a moment before she plasters a smile and begins.

Are you, are you,

Coming to the tree?

Where they strung up a man they say

Murdered three.

Strange things, did happen here,

No stranger would it be.

If we met up at midnight,

In the hanging tree...

As she continues, I see Primrue's eyes darken just a little bit and grow misty. She knows about the Games, and the meaning of certain songs and what they mean to Katniss.

That's good, but it's also a cold reality. It's nice to know that her own daughter knows and partically understands what she's gone through, and maybe when she's older, she can even comfort her when she has nightmares, so Peeta won't have to do it alone. But it's also horrible, because...well, if my mother had even told me anything like that about her, I wouldn't have been scared to death of her.

But Primrue and Cinna Jr. are both braver than I am, and I've known that from the seconds they were born into a healing, united Panem.

Rue drifts off to watch her family and look after both of our former Districts, but I stay, watching Katniss' beautiful family until she goes to bed early, as I figured she would.

"Katniss," I whisper, even though my voice is already light and airy to the living without me whispering, "I came to visit you."

She looks around, obviously very confused as she finishes pulling free her braid, making her long brown hair fall in waves around her hips. She is very beautiful as a women, just like she always has been, and I smile at her as I materilize a bit. She stares for a moment...stares...then wraps me a big, warm hug. Even if I am colder to her than she is to me, I know it comforts her just to feel me again, just like being in her arms makes me feel a serenity like no other.

"My precious Little Duck," she coos in my ear in a low mumur, and I tangle my still-small hands in her hair, "you've grown so much."

In this form, I really haven't. I'm still in my thirteen-year-old body, with my frail figure, my hair in one braid instead of two, and my still developing womenly features. Smiling to her gently, I step back and spread open my arms, perching myself on my toes and beginning to spin, making my feet come off the ground. I find myself giggling as I spin, wiggling my toes and stretching as tall as I can, until I finish shifting into what I would look like if I was still alive.

Technically, I'm twenty one, which means my body and figure is that of a young women. My hair is straight now and slips just past my shoulders in the back, though it also lays delicatley over my shoulders as well. I've got bangs now that come straight across, and my blue eyes are just a bit darker now, making me look haunting, just like a really am. I'm wearing a white dress, like most angels do, but I disgarded the matching, beautiful slippers. For some reason, I like to go barefoot, since I can float above any Earth rocks or glass, just like I usually stay in my twelve-year-old or thirteen-year-old form, like Rue and most angels, especially when visiting their loved ones; they stay in the form they died in.

At least I don't have to battle wounds that most people are left with; if I did, I would still be blown into bits.

"You would have been such a beautiful women..." Katniss' eyes have grown misty again, and we instantly elope ourselves in a hug. My body is still smaller against hers, but she doesn't have to lean as we hold each other close, faces hidden in each other's shoulders.

"I'm always with you," I coo softly in her ear for comfort, touching her heart gingerly, "right here."

"I know..." she sniffs, then forces a weak smile on her face, "you've turned into the strong one instead of me, Little Duck."

"I'm not so little anymore," I tease, even if it is true.

"That's right," she wipes her eyes a bit, "you're all grown up now, aren't you?"

"Yes...I guess I am..." I find myself wiping my own eyes, "Katniss...are you going to be okay? I mean...are you going to be able to be...?"

I let the question hang in the air. She'll probably promise me to try, even if she doesn't say it verbally, but I know that even she has her breaking point. I'm not sure if she really will be able to be the Mockingjay again, if she is really up for it after all she has been through.

"I don't know..." and once again we hug, spending the rest of my visit holding each other, comforting without words, "I'm sorry, Prim."

I'm so sorry.