After what seems like a few seconds, or maybe an eternity, I slowly open my eyes, the disturbing blackness that I faced slowly turning to light...
When consciousness returns, I start to take in my surroundings. The only thing I can see through my haze is a white, rounded ceiling above me... I'm laying on something flat, hard, like a study table, only there's a stiff pillow under my head, my blonde hair cascading over it. Huh.
I take a deep breath. That's the first time I notice that there's an oxygen mask over my face, sending the breathable air right into my lungs. I regain feeling in my body soon after I notice its presence, the feeling spreading like a pathogen throughout my body, painful and unwanted. I ache all over and I'm stiff, numb even. My insides feel shriveled and weak and I can hardly move. There's an IV in my arm as well. My mind is still foggy and I can hardly remember anything...I can't put anything together...
Where am I?
Slowly, I turn my head to see what's around me, and the motion takes effort after just waking up. The room starts to come into focus with my eyes after blinking a few times... There's other study tables around, most empty, but a couple have evidence of usage by the disheveled sheets and wrinkled pillows. Light floods in all sides from white glass, artificial lighting making the room look placid and sterile. Uncomfortable. I take another deep breath.
I stay still and stare up at the ceiling again, trying to gather myself and figure out where I am. I start with the extreme basics.
My name is Colemet Mellark.
I'm fifteen years old.
Keeth is my best friend.
I was in the Hunger Games.
I repeat that in my head. I was in the Hunger Games...
It starts to come together, slowly but surely. The Games...the end of the Games... We were caught, trapped. All of the havoc, the fire, the death, the turmoil...
Was it real? Where am I now?
I think hard again, mere words at a time. The Games...the end...trapped...fire...storm...sky...hovercraft...
Hovercraft...
I look at my surroundings again and confirm in my mind. I'm in a hovercraft.
So that means it was all real, that I wasn't imagining. Does that mean I'm dead? Am I imagining this now? I can't be. I feel too alive, yet too far gone at the same time...
What if the Capitol has got me? What if I'm being held here for execution, or worse, torture? Is this the true end?
I don't know. But I have to find out.
Slowly but surely, I begin to sit up. As consciousness becomes more tangible, it becomes easier to get up, and my head only swims minimally. But this is no time to be weak; I might already be in danger, if my death isn't already sealed at this point.
I slowly take the oxygen mask off. The realization of a different kind of air is strange, and I try to choke down some coughs as I get used to it again. The IV bag that connects to my arm dangles on its stand. I need to get this off too... I carefully take off the bandage and cotton that's holding it in place and take the needle out, biting back pain the entire time.
After that, I slowly swing my legs off of the study table, carefully reaching my feet down until the touch the floor. The tile floor is cold against my bare feet. I'm only wearing a medical dressing gown, it seems. Was I badly hurt?
I don't have time to think about that. I need to figure out what's going on first. I take a deep breath and adapt to the movement as I stand up. I need to be prepared.
A weapon...I need a weapon of some sort if I'm going to defend myself against the potential threat of the Capitol in this hovercraft. I look around at my surroundings again. The closest thing I see is a syringe with the needle on the end sitting on the rolling cart near my bed. Was this used on me? No time to ponder...
I'm shaky on my legs for a second, like a newborn dear, but I regain the hang of it easily. I take a few steps forward slowly, shakily, my feet making a soft noise against the tile floor.
What if I'm in danger? And alone?
Suddenly, I hear a noise come from my right. I whip my head around and look, noticing a sliding door that connects to another room for the first time since I've woken up. It's made of foggy white glass, so I can see shapes and colors on the other side of it. I squint my eyes and start forward slowly, cautiously towards it, bearing my pathetic syringe. A form is moving towards the door, striding evenly. A human form...a person...
Oh no. They're here, and they're coming for me.
I instantly poise myself the way I've grown accustomed to in the Games, ready to defend myself and fight with my all at any second. As the figure walks closer, I slowly and slyly make my way towards the door, ready to attack the second the door slides open.
I lean against the wall beside it. I can feel my heart pounding and my blood rushing through my body, the adrenaline flooding to me and giving me energy at the same time. I'm ready...
The door slides open, and I attack.
I grunt and lunge, stabbing at the figure blindly with my syringe. My plan ultimately fails with my spontaneous act, and I'm grabbed at the wrists by large, strong hands that grip my tightly. The syringe flies from my hand at the surprise and shatters on the floor. I scream and thrash with my all as I'm pushed back against the wall in an effort to constrain me. "LET ME GO!" I shriek.
"Whoa, whoa!" coaxes an extremely familiar voice, tightening their grip on me. "Colemet, stop!"
I gasp and open my eyes from the thrashing. "KEETH?!" I yell. Oh no! What's happened?! I keep thrashing and struggling, tears coming now. I'm terrified, even if Keeth is here.
"Colemet, stop it!" Keeth pushes me up against the wall harder so I'm all but immobilized. I hear the sliding door open again, but I ignore it and keep fighting him.
Through my attempts, another form sweeps in from my blurry vision and I can't figure out what's going on. Before I know it, another pair of arms slide their way around my waist and lift me up. I yell.
"All right, sweetheart, up you go." I kick and swing, but Keeth reappears, looking sad as he reaches and pins my arms again. I look around wildly.
"Where am I?!" I ask wildly. "What's going on?!"
"For one thing, you're mentally unstable," I get told as the second pair of arms lays me on the table, who I now realize is Haymitch. "And you need to calm down."
I don't listen and try to sit up. Keeth is instantly on it and pushes me back down. "Colemet, please, just calm down," he implores.
"He's right," Haymitch says flatly, standing behind my head and pinning my shoulders. "You don't want to be put back to sleep, do you, sweetheart?"
"What's going on?!" I demand again. "Why are you two working for the Capitol?!"
Haymitch scoffs at me and laughs bitterly, as if that's the most ridiculous thing he's ever heard. "You really are out of your mind if you think we're working for the Capitol."
My eyes widen. No...I saw it, I know what I saw, I know what happened... "LIARS!" I scream and kick and thrash again, and Keeth pins me down again, looking sad and desperate and weak, but he still can easily hold me.
I hear the door slide open again and footsteps come in. They stop short in surprise, skidding against the squeaky tile floor. "Whoa!" It's another familiar voice... I tilt my head up, and my eyes widen again; Sate. He's here too?! What's going on?!
"Pin her legs, would you, kid?" Haymitch snorts to Sate, sounding bored and not the least bit concerned as he continues containing me. Sate rushes over and complies, though he has a wild look in his eye or shock and worry. Once he pushes my legs down, I'm immobile between the three of them. I stop struggling momentarily and breathe deeply, though my mind is spinning, screaming.
"Colemet, please, stop fighting..." Keeth nearly begs me, looking in my eyes. "We're not working with the Capitol. We're not going to hurt you."
For the first time, I truly stop and look at Keeth. His face and neck are bruised and cut up, and a tinge of pain remains constantly in his eyes. He looks tired and sad, yet strong at the same time. He's pale, as if he's not well, just like me. There's a reassuring steady rise and fall to his chest that I know well, and I feel momentary joy realizing that he's alive, which I was too nervous to think about before he came in. I take another deep breath. "But...the Games...they trapped us...and then the hovercraft..." I argue weakly.
"That wasn't a Capitol hovercraft for your body, sweetheart," Haymitch says flatly, staring into my eyes solemnly. "That was us. We saved you."
They...saved us?
I look up at Keeth and Sate, and they nod slowly in agreement; I now notice Sate doesn't look like he's in the best condition either. His hair is messy and matted, and he has similar injuries to those of Keeth, bruised and bloody. He has dark shadows under his eyes and his position looks frail. They were both in the same chaos that I was, feel the same way that I do...
Slowly, I relax my body, which feels better that my rigid poise. I take another deep breath. I'm still so confused...
My name is Colemet Mellark.
I am fifteen years old.
I was in the Hunger Games.
I survived.
I was rescued.
After a few moments of silence, Sate and Keeth slowly loosen their pin on me, realizing that I've relaxed a little bit. That makes me feel a little bit better., but Haymitch keeps his steady hold on my shoulders. I tilt my head up to look at him and repeat my thought.
"I...I survived?" I ask.
At that question, Keeth smiles very slightly and Haymitch smiles mockingly. "Yeah, you survived," he tells me bluntly.
"You...you were planning this...planning this the whole time?" I ask, still so confused, but trying to accept the fact that they're still on our side. Relief swells in my chest at the settling fact.
Haymitch shakes his head. "Not the whole time," he clarifies, then looks accusingly at Keeth and I. "Had you told us about your little plan, perhaps we might have. But no, it wasn't planned the entire time." He casts his gaze away. "When your little scheme unfolded and the Capitol gave you guys three days, I knew I had to do something. I owed it to you...and your parents..."
I smile gently. Haymitch is interesting; he puts up a front as if he doesn't care, but he cares a lot. More than most people should. I appreciate that.
I open my mouth to reply, to thank him, but my words are lost when the door opens and another person steps in, someone that makes my eyes widen and blood run cold and the torturing poise return to me...
Residine Brington, headgamemaker of this year's Hunger Games.
He put me through torture.
I set my jaw and am ready to scream and lunge and thrash again, but Keeth, knowing me so well, instantly recognizes my poise and kills it by pushing me down again. He gives me a warning look and I glare back at him. He leans down and pushes my hair aside, his cold fingertips brushing my neck. "Please, Colemet," he whispers in my ear. "Just trust us."
I swallow hard and look up. As I do, I can't help but notice the slight jealously in Sate's eyes...
Residine stops by the foot of my bed, next to Sate. He's an average height man with dark brown hair, in his late thirties, with stormy gray eyes that always look thoughtful, troubled, and knowing all at the same time. When he sees me staring, his mouth quirks up at the corners. He then looks around at Haymitch, Sate, and Keeth.
"Gentlemen," he says professionally. "May I please have a word alone with Ms. Mellark?" he implores.
My heart beats a bit faster, and Keeth and Sate cast worried glances on me. Their concern, however, is overruled by Haymitch's notions to leave the room, and Keeth squeezes my hand once before reluctantly turning and following him, closely following as he glances back.
Once the door slides closed, a heavy silence fills the room, only the whir of the hovercraft's engine and a faint ringing in my ears, and I'm alone with Residine Brington.
Residine walks to the side of the study table I lay on slowly, seemingly assessing me up and down. He beings his gaze back to mine and nods his head once. "Ms. Mellark," he greets politely, offering a hand to me. I take it and he slowly helps me sit up. I sit on the edge and let my legs dangle off the side, staring at the ground.
"How are you feeling?" he asks me.
"I've been better," I tell him flatly.
"So I'm sure..." he muses. After the polite exchange, we're silent for a few minutes, the ringing in my ears becoming louder by the second, but maybe it's just my imagination.
He clears his throat eventually, and I look over at him. "You probably have questions," he says.
I look at him incredulously. "I have a lot of them."
He doesn't break composure, just nods his head once. "Go on, then."
I take a breath. "What's going on?" I ask quietly.
He smiles drolly and looks down. "A very good question indeed, Ms. Mellark," he muses thoughtfully. He seems to null over it for a few minutes before speaking again, as if pondering the proper way to explain it to me while still making sense.
He sighs. "You've probably gathered at this point that your reaping was no mere coincidence. Your name was the only name in that glass bowl, as was Mr. Amberston's regarding the male tribute," he starts as a clarification. I nod and motion for him to continue stiffly. "I have been working in the Capitol for a long time as a spy for the remaining rebels that are living undetected beneath the watchful eye of the Capitol, passing as normal citizens. We have several spies like myself in positions of power in the Capitol, acting as if we're on their side. We wait for the invaluable opportunity to restore Panem for a second time, and a final time." He pauses and finally brings his gaze up to me. "You, Ms. Mellark, were our invaluable opportunity." Something flecks in my eyes, and he detects it, and he smirks subtly.
"I pulled a few strings of manipulation and managed to obtain the position of head gamemaker in this year's Hunger Games. The other rebels were thrilled, and they were sure that we were going to win back Panem this time. The only thing we needed; a plan, and one that would succeed."
Residine chuckles quietly. "Our plan was modeled after Plutarch Heavensbee's plan twenty-five years ago regarding your mother and father; we were going to let you go into the Games and play as you would without choice. Our only confliction was that we had no means of contacting your mentors or the other tributes in order to assure your safety as well as Mr. Amberston's; these Games, specifically because of what happened at the last Quarter Quell, were kept under extreme security, and therefore, we had to hope that you would be able to survive."
I keep listening, taking all of the information in. He chuckles again, bitterly this time. "Fortunately and not, you made our job much easier and much harder as well," he says. "You managed to get all of the tributes on your side, convincing them to refuse to fight. You were able to save their lives and your own. You indirectly did what Plutarch Heavensbee did twenty-five years ago, you and Mr. Amberston. You seemed to have learned a lot from your parents. You're a very intelligent young lady."
"Thank you," I say quietly.
He nods once. "Unfortunately, you also made my job much more difficult. The Games seemed almost out of my hands, and the president wasn't happy. I was sure my head was going to be on a silver platter before we could accomplish our goal."
"I'm sorry," I say.
He shakes his head. "I was spared, thankfully. While it was difficult, it was much more practical than anything else that would've occurred. You, my dear, have saved us, as well as started a revolution."
My throat seems to close on me. A revolution...
Just as Keeth and I hoped.
"I...I did that?" I ask, my voice raspy due to the dryness in my throat.
He nods. "Yes, you did. And the country is grateful to you for that. You've given them hope."
"Hope?"
"Hope. It is the only thing stronger than fear," he says solemnly. "You truly are following in your parents footsteps."
"I am?"
He chuckles. "Such simple questions that you ask."
I glare momentarily, then sigh. I try to wrap my head around what I did. But I can't. It just doesn't seem real, at least not yet. The haze of sickness and unrest is still gripping me, and it's almost hard to tell distinguish between real and not real... I'm terrified for reality to set in.
"Where are we going?" I finally ask him, listening to the whir of the hovercraft. I'm almost afraid of the answer...
"We're leaving Panem," he says. "Finding a refuge until we figure out the best course of action. And also, to keep you safe."
"Leaving Panem? To keep me safe?" I ask, trying not to let a tremble into my voice.
He nods his head. "Yes. Unfortunately, Ms. Mellark, the stunt you pulled did not exactly bode well with the Capitol, and your execution is the first matter of business in order to deal with the impending revolution that you have set into motion. Once you're dead, so is the revolution," he explains, his tone grim as he looks at me. "However, as long as you are alive, whether you're present or not, the revolution lives with you. You are its pulse. A pulse may be faint, only beating slowly, but it is still there, and it is still very much alive."
I try not to prevent myself from wrapping my head around that too, not just yet...
"And...the other tributes?" I saw Sate and Keeth, but...
"Most of them are here, the ones that survived. Unfortunately, a few did not make it out of the Capitol's final incineration," he tells me, his voice pained at being the bearer of bad news. "Both District 4 tributes were killed. As was Lydia from District 6 and Arabella from District 1." I gulp and my heart pangs. More fatalities... "Apart from them, everyone survived."
"What about Cresta?" I ask.
He looks down. "She was still deep in the arena during your final battle, but the Capitol did not target her. She's not here on the hovercraft. We believe she has been taken to the Capitol."
"And...and my parents?" I ask quietly.
"They're here," he tells me, and some relief spreads in my chest. "As is your brother and your friend, Ms. Abernathy."
My eyes widen. They're all here... This all truly happened...
Residine sees my weariness, my confusion, and looks at me sympathetically. "I think I've burdened you with enough information for now, my dear," he says diplomatically. "I shall leave you to rest." He slowly helps me lay down again adjusting the pillow under my head and smiling sadly at me and then turning to leave quietly.
As I lay down, I feel a cool metal settle against my chest. My hands reach for it. It's...it's my Mockingjay necklace. It's been with me the entire time. I clutch it tightly in my fist.
"Mr. Brington?" I ask, my voice hushed as if not to awake fate.
He turns back to me, his eyebrows gently raised. "Yes?"
I look him in the eyes from across the room, holding his gaze as if to read into his mind, to truly understand without having to do it all by myself. "Why me?" I ask quietly. "Why was it me?"
He smiles his sad smile again. "Because, Ms. Mellark, you were a spark that rose from the ashes. And every revolution begins with a spark."
He turns and leaves without another word.
