So, uh…
Heh.
Readers!
How are you? How's life been?
If you haven't left me or if you haven't grown old and died in the time it's taken me to update…heh-heh… Well, now is the time to throw the tomatoes at me and boo me off the stage. If you're still out there, then… I'm sorry!
I've been a very, very selfish author. And here's why: I put this story on hiatus because, and for this reason only (not because I didn't have plans, not because it wasn't fun to write)—wait for it—I only got EIGHT reviews on my last chapter, The Kiss. And in all fairness, it was a crappy chapter. I didn't bother to fix the fact that most of it was in bold; it wasn't written really well, it was rushed… Crappy chapter. I only deserved eight reviews. But when you look back to the nearly twenty reviews on some of the chapters I've written, I guess eight is a tiny number. But now I'm lucky to get five reviews on my main story, I Will Rise, so looking back on the reason why I put this story on hiatus, where I got tons and tons of feedback… I feel like the freaking biggest idiot in the entire history of literature. …Okay, not the biggest, but I don't want to step on anybody's fandoms ;-)
So! Aspiring writers, here's a lesson to learn: Don't be as greedy as Wjj.
I seriously doubt I get one review on this. Prove me wrong, Catoniss fans!
KATNISS EVERDEEN
The Victory Tour approaches with a too much speed. I get a banquet here and an opportunity to feed the hungry of my district there, things that distract me from the coming confrontations with so many people I don't want to confront—specifically Cato, who's seen me break down and who's seen me be far more irrational that I should ever be, especially around the practical stranger he is—but it doesn't stop time. Time still whips by me far too fast, disturbingly reminding me of Clove's knives, which brings shudders and memories and nightmares that leave me thrashing in bed at night and screaming until Prim comes and tells me that it's okay, she's there, I'm not in the arena anymore.
When it does come, I find my heart rushing and my mind whirring so quickly that I can't keep up with it, and I feel a lot like mush. Cato will be waiting for me to arrive in the district that shares a small bit of bordering with his own district. It's the third-most feared district for me to be touring in, especially as Cato's…date. But then, it will be better than other districts. They'll like me, I hope. Or they'll hate me.
Rue. Thresh. Rue. Thresh.
District Eleven.
There he is. Tall, muscular, and looking as deadly as ever upon first sight, even though I've seen a calmer side to him now. He's terrifying. I'm supposed to love him. I'm supposed to be barely containing myself in front of him, as Haymitch told me on a short little walk away from the train while we were at a stop. Haymitch. He reminds me of Peeta. He mentored Peeta. Effie reminds me of Peeta. Cinna reminds me of Portia. Portia reminds me of Peeta.
Thresh. Rue. Peeta.
I know everyone I killed. Know them by their faces, not their names or their districts. If I saw their parents, the characteristics their children held plastered all over them, I won't see a sad, angry mother and father. I'll see the dying people I killed.
I'll see Rue. I blame myself for her death. She fell from the tree; fell so hard, because I told her to. Because she took a leap she couldn't wait due to my orders of her going to the river. Useless orders. They were to protect her from Clove, and Clove fled before Rue was anywhere near the river.
Cato. That's who's in front of you, Katniss, some vague voice in the back of my mind tells me. Not Rue. I shouldn't be thinking of Rue. But we're in District Eleven, and the pain of the little girl's death is still so fresh that it's suffocating. Rue. Little, tiny, not helpless but close to it Rue. The Rue who I'd do anything to bring back. The Rue that Thresh came running for. The Rue that Foxface tried to kill. Rue. Prim-like Rue.
Prim.
Dead in the mines.
No, she's not dead.
Mind muddled.
Nightmares resurfacing.
Can hardly think.
"Katniss," Cato greets and I realize I'm in front of him but my mind doesn't totally believe that I'm not still in the arena or I'm not still waiting in front of the mines for my father or Prim. My father. Truly dead in the mines.
Cato.
Here.
Think.
"Katniss?" Cato repeats. I blink and try to pull myself together. Think. Think. Cato here. Prim alive. No arena. Good. "Are you okay?"
I blink again. "Cato," I say, and briskly walk past him. He steps to be beside me, dressed to impress poor, poverty-filled District Eleven, touches of makeup eliminating anything that's not remotely perfect about Cato's already pretty perfect face. I'm dressed in a blue dress that compliments me well, with makeup touching my face, most of it blue, and my hair done up like it was for the reaping and so many occasions since then.
"Katniss," Cato repeats again.
"That is my name," I reply snappily.
I don't want to talk. I just want to get this over with.
It goes by so quickly. We eat. Since Cato and I were Rue's allies, we're both expected to say more of her. Of course, I doubt they really think Cato will say anything too special seeing as a Career victor, and I honestly think that will be the case too. I've forgotten that he's changed slightly. Not enough to count. Not enough to make me feel like I did towards him in the arena, with my mind changing into something that wasn't my own, but just slightly.
Cato's speech that's required of him, prewritten by someone else, is spoken quickly though he somehow manages to add arrogance and smoothness, like he owns the entire room, the district, the world, to it. It's not like the way Peeta spoke, where you hung onto every word and didn't let go because it was all so perfect, and his voice was flawlessly convincing, like his opinion was the only good one and that was that.
Peeta. A pain rises in me. Peeta. Peeta Mellark. My boy with the bread.
He speaks about how he has a little sister in District Two, Artemis. He says they aren't a lot alike, but he saw some similarities between the two girls, some things that Rue did that he spoke of screaming Artemis because he'd seen her do these little, almost unnoticeable, unless you deal with them daily, quirks that he'd been seeing for all eleven years of Artemis's life. He said that she was a really nice little girl and that he was saddened to see her go.
Then it's my turn. I tried to write something for this. I tried to prepare. But the words wouldn't be written. Spontaneity is what works for me; I can't write speeches ahead of time all by myself. And when someone writes them for me, it would probably sound forced, fake. I would feel terrible if I didn't say anything more about Rue. Maybe Thresh, too.
"I want to give thanks to the tributes of District Eleven," I begin after my required speech is done and over and gone for good. "To both of them, Thresh and Rue. I didn't really know Thresh, but I always respected him." It's true. I hadn't really thought of just how much I respected him before the words tumbled out of my mouth. Spontaneous thoughts coming to words work for me again.
I still don't really know where I'm going with this, though. Should I talk about Rue now? Or should I say more about Thresh? About how I respected him?
"I respected him for his power," I say because it's been maybe a second too long since I've said anything and the words feel right coming out. They feel truthful. "For his refusal to play the Games on anyone's terms but his own," I add quickly. He was Thresh. He wasn't the Careers', or the Capitol's for that matter. I was both the Careers' and the Capitol's. I was thoroughly used. Thoroughly hurt.
"The Careers wanted him to team up with him from the beginning, but he wouldn't do it," I blurt out. The words I respected him for that are supposed to come next—that's what my brain tells me. But I can't say that. I joined the Careers. What would that make me? "I… I respected him for that, too. Even though I joined the Careers briefly myself." I look to Cato for a second. Not purposefully; my eyes just flit over there. But as soon as I do this, I know I've done something perfect for once. One forbidden lover stealing a glance at the other.
Now Rue.
Oh, God, Rue.
I look around, building a short pause up that I'm not sure feels right or not. All eyes are on me. A pair of tiny little eyes connects with mine. Those eyes can only belong to Rue or one of her family members. It has to be Rue's little sister that stares at me now. Her brown little eyes jab holes in my heart and mind, pressing me to say something. Needing me to bring a bit of closure through words. Rue. Rue's death affects so many.
"But I feel as if I did know Rue," I tell the crowd of people gathered, "and she'll always be with me." It's true. The name stings me as it leaves my mouth and is said aloud. It hurt when Cato said it, but now that I have to talk about her and relate the crowd to how I felt about her, a pain washes through me, and like the pain I felt for Peeta, except that pain was more intense. All the reds in it were redder. All the blues bluer. The grays grayer.
"Everything beautiful brings her to mind," I continue slowly, careful about my words. I've probably said enough that might be considered rebellious when talking about Thresh. "I see her in the yellow flowers that grow in the meadow by my house. I see her in the mockingjays that sing in the trees." Now for the hardest part. But though it's hard, the words flow anyway. "But, most of all, I see her in my sister Prim.
"Thank you for your children. Thank you all very much for Rue and Thresh."
Then it's over.
Done. Finally.
But it's not, I realize quickly. An old man in the crowd whistles Rue's four-note tune that signals the end of the day—or it used to—and touches three fingers to his lips. He raises them. The District Twelve gesture of respect. Love. Acceptance. More people join in the finger-raising. I feel the strong urge to let tears fall from my eyes. It's all for Rue and Thresh and me. But more for Rue and Thresh than anyone.
We're ushered quickly to a train. And as the doors are closing, I almost think I hear a gunshot.
But I'm sure I'm just imagining it.
