Happy 2014! Sorry for the lack of updates, but I am back to my regularly scheduled life. Follow for updates, as I do plan to complete this and also do Mockingjay. Reviews are especially appreciated! :) Hope you enjoy…
Since Katniss's injury, I visit her every day and keep my promise to stay with her always, bringing her the cheese buns that I know are her favorite. I'd discovered this fact after we returned from the Victory Tour, when she'd specifically asked about my recipe for them. I started making them every time I baked, delivering a few each day to the Everdeen house.
On a visit just a couple days after her injury, she asks for help with her family's book. She has me pull it out and look through it. It's a beautiful, old collection of ink drawings of plants, obviously passed down for many generations. It's a work of art, along with containing information on the plants' medicinal uses and even some edible wild plants that Katniss's father added in. I notice on one of the earliest pages the nightlock plant and berries that won us our victory. Katniss grew up knowing these things about plants that I never even knew enough to wonder about, until my brief introduction to them in our preparation for the Hunger Games.
"I've wanted to add my own knowledge to this for a while," she told me after I'd gotten a good look at the book. "But I can't draw, and it really needs pictures to be useful..."
"Of course I'll help," I replied.
My drawing and painting skills prove to be crucial for the project. Some of the plants are already familiar to me, and the ones I don't know, we work on together in various ways. For some, there are dried samples I can work from, and others, Katniss describes in detail and makes sure I have everything right on scrap paper before putting the final drawing into the book. She then writes down everything she knows about the plants in a careful script.
A few days into our project, I casually mention to Katniss that the power is off in sections of the fence because I've seen crews out securing the base of the chain link to the ground on my way to and from the bakery. She seems pleased with this knowledge, but I know she's not yet healed enough to venture back into the woods. We quietly continue our work on the book.
It's a pleasant, peaceful task, and focusing on the drawings take my mind off other things I'd rather not think about. With her permission, I add touches of color to the previously black and yellow book. For some reason, I'm able to concentrate on this project without worrying about everything going on in the district and the rebellions elsewhere.
One afternoon, I stop shading in a blossom and look up suddenly at Katniss, and she starts, as though she was caught spying on me. The look on her face is inscrutable to me and makes me wonder what she was doing, looking at me like that, but I only say, "You know, I think this is the first time we've ever done anything normal together."
"Yeah," she agrees. "Nice for a change."
Each afternoon, I carry her downstairs for a change of scenery and, one day, she unnerves everyone by turning on the television. Usually, people only watch television when it's mandatory, because the mixture of propaganda and displays of the Capitol's power are simply not entertaining. But it seems she's looking for something special. What it is, she doesn't say. We continue our days working on the book, with me refining each drawing before it goes into the book, Katniss eating her weight in cheese buns as I work. Haymitch stops by occasionally to bring news from town, which is always bad, with more people being punished or dying from starvation.
Winter is nearly over by the time Katniss's foot is deemed usable. Her mother gives her exercises to do and lets her walk on her own a bit, but I still visit to keep her company.
One day, I'm about to visit Katniss again, but find out that her prep team is visiting in order to do a photo shoot of her in her wedding gowns. Instead of stopping by her house, I head to the bakery and help out my parents for the day, decorating some cakes like the ones sent from the Capitol at the end of the Victory Tour, trying not to think about our impending wedding. That night, I have a familiar nightmare in which I chase Katniss through the woods of District 12, except this time, she's in a long, white dress. She lets me get close but I never catch her, and wake up feeling more exhausted than when I fell asleep. I leave for the bakery early and avoid walking near Katniss's house. The air is warmer today than it has been in months, and I can tell that spring is on its way. Who knows what this change of seasons will bring?
That night, my family turns on the television for a mandatory broadcast. My heart sinks to my stomach when I learn that it's a special show on the wedding preparations, with Caesar Flickerman talking to Cinna about Katniss's options for wedding dresses. I nearly get up to leave the room, but when they start showing pictures of Katniss in the various costumes, I become riveted, just like the live audience members from the Capitol. They show her in so many dresses, I lose count. She looks stunningly beautiful in all of them, but I know I am not supposed to want this kind of wedding. Usually, people in our district have a simple ceremony, culminating in the building of a fire, and the toasting and sharing of bread.
Apparently, people in the Capitol get to vote on the final dress that Katniss will wear. I'd ignored the box of suits Effie had sent, thinking the wedding plan would be scrapped. It's strange to think that this wedding will go ahead, but maybe it will make for a distraction from the rebellions cropping up in various districts. Caesar then announces that interested parties must cast their final vote by noon tomorrow.
"Let's get Katniss Everdeen to her wedding in style!" he bellows to the crowd. Then Caesar is telling us to stay tuned for the other big event of the evening. "That's right, this year will be the seventy-fifth anniversary of the Hunger Games, and that means it's time for our third Quarter Quell!"
I look to my parents for their reaction to this news. They seem disinterested. We never talk about the Games, my injury, or my victory—they mostly just leave me alone. The biggest change has been that they no longer require me to work in the bakery, but I still like to help so am often there anyway. The money from the victory means they don't need to run the bakery in order to feed me and my brothers, but District 12 still desperately needs the bread and cakes provided. They are able to give away bread to those in need, but supplies are so limited, they can't feed everyone.
The anthem plays, and President Snow takes the stage. He's followed closely by a boy in a white suit, holding a wooden box. The anthem ends, and President Snow gives a speech about the Dark Days from which the Hunger Games were born. When the laws for the Games were set up, they required that every twenty-five years, the anniversary would be marked by a Quarter Quell. It would mean a glorified version of the Hunger Games, to keep alive the memory of those killed by the districts' rebellion. These words could are especially pointed, since we've had clues that several districts are rebelling right now.
President Snow tells us about the previous Quarter Quells, "On the twenty-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that their children were dying because of their choice to initiate violence, every district was made to hold an election and vote on the tributes who would represent it. On the fiftieth anniversary, as a reminder that two rebels died for each Capitol citizen, every district was required to send twice as many tributes."
I think about Haymitch. He won the second Quell, but Katniss and I had never asked how.
"And now we honor our third Quarter Quell," the president continues. The boy in white steps forward, holding out the box as the president opens the lid. The camera zooms in on the rows of yellowed envelopes, indicating that whoever devised the Quarter Quell system had prepared for hundreds of Games. The president removes an envelope, pulling out a small square of paper. Without hesitation, he reads, "On the seventy-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that even the strongest among them cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, the male and female tributes will be reaped from their existing pool of victors."
My family barely reacts, but all of them turn to look at me. I understand immediately what this means, and my mind revolts, feelings of anger, frustration, and quickly, acceptance and determination wash over me.
"I need to go talk to Haymitch," I say, and excuse myself.
