But I don't receive any morphling this time. Just another drug. One that phases out the world, but doesn't bring the same sweet peace that morphling does. I wake up, worried and breathing heavily to the blond hair again. She smiles at me, not making anything of my strange actions.
"Did you have a nice rest Finnick? I bet you were dreaming of home," She's wearing a different outfit now, not what the normal residents wear, something I've noticed the nurses wear. She goes about the room fixing things here and there, then she sits next to me, "I begged President Coin to let me work on becoming a nurse. It was a lot of work, but everyone liked my report. How are you feeling?"
I rub my head and croak out the words, "I've been better... I wish I was dreaming of District Four..."
"Is it a nice place? I've only seen it on the TV during Reapings," she stares at me like I'm the only person who matters right now, "Why don't you tell me about District Four?"
"It's a gorgeous place, tall trees, vast beaches of sand. The air is always warm, sometimes sticky," I let out a chuckle, "Sometimes the people don't even bother with many clothes. The water though, that is the best part. Being able to run into it, swim with the creatures below – though they taste even better than they look."
She laughs, "It sounds so much better than Twelve. Where I'm from it's cold and dark, we have these heavy trees and everything is layered in coal dust."
"I remember," and I do, the memories come back to me, "I saw it on my Victory Tour."
"What do you do for fun in District Four? In Twelve we dance and tell stories."
I look up to the ceiling trying to place my life back into specific areas, "In Four we... well, we sing a lot. We drink a lot too, the sailors and fishermen are always at the tavern. Of course we go swimming too, but it's a lot of linking arms and singing."
Prim nods to my words, "My sister loves to sing."
"I remember, I remember her doing that for the girl from District Eleven. But we don't sing like that, it's more like chants and verses that everyone speaks out together in something like a harmony," a few moments in particular stand out to me, "actually I'm not sure you can even call it singing to tell you the truth, sometimes it's just happy yelling."
"What's your favorite song then?"
My brow creases as I try to remember the words. The songs my mother used to sing are very different from the songs I'd sing at the tavern when some of the other victors decided to venture outside. But I do recall one night in particular, where I ate with Annie's family and sang happy songs that made everything seem fine.
Then I find them, locked away in some old box of my mind I find the song and it comes out of my hoarse voice like it would any fisherman's, "By the storm-torn shoreline a woman is standing, the spray strung like jewels in her hair. And the sea tore the rocks near the desolate landing as though it had known she stood there. But she has come down to condemn that wild ocean, for the murderous loss of her man. His boat sailed out on Wednesday morning, and it's feared she's gone down with all hands."
Prim watches me carefully as I sing the next verse as best I can, "Oh and white were the wave-caps, and wild was their parting. So fierce was the warring of love, but she prayed to the gods, both of men and of sailors, not to cast their cruel nets o'er her love. What force leads a man to a life filled with danger, high on seas or a mile underground? It's when need is his master, and poverty's no stranger, and there's no other work to be found."
She's silent once I finish, it's not the happiest song but it's one no one really forgets. Wives are always sad and worried during their husbands departure on the seas. I wait for her to respond and she must sense this because her voice comes out quiet, "The last few lines are a lot like what we say in Twelve... the only reason men go into the mines is because their families are starving back up top."
I nod, "Yep, same in Four. So many drown or die of disease out on the water... but there's no alternative for young men who work, you know?"
We both wait a few moments for the song to settle, "Well hey, I know what might cheer you up... we can practice reading?" She looks off for a moment, "I don't know what's happening in your head and I don't think I ever could, but it might be nice to get everything off your mind and get lost in someone else's story for once?"
She almost glows in her white uniform when its reflecting the light and I almost don't think she's real. But the drugs are playing with my hormones and my emotions right now and I can't help but let the memories of District Four make me cry. She stands up, to get help or something, and I try to catch her arm to prevent her but my restraints don't allow it, "No!" My voice is more desperate than I intend, "No, I'm not hurt or upset... I'm just emotional," I don't want her to leave me alone, "Stay with me, let's read."
Prim's face lights up at that (maybe I convinced her) and she goes into her bag for some papers. She's not like the others, who pretend my case is one that needs time to solve, or one that can be handled on my own – she knows that all I need is distraction.
I would help her pull a chair up, but seeing as how I'm strapped in, this is a bit impossible. She sits next to me and then presses some button on the bed that raises me up. With a smile she stacks the papers and looks through them again, "Right! I was thinking maybe we could start with one of my favorite authors, Shakespeare! I know he might not seem like a beginners level, but I figure you'll enjoy it more than children stories. "
"Who? What?"
"Oh, he lived a long time ago, but his plays and poems are still pretty famous. We'll focus on articulation and comprehension today. You already know most of the words, so I think it's important just to work on matching sounds to letters. You know the alphabet already, right?"
"Sure, a, b, c, d, e, f -"
"That's good. Do you know spelling?"
"Honestly it was never my strong suit, but sometimes I can work it out."
She beams, "Great, I'll bring some other materials for tomorrow. I have all day, Finnick."
"Alright, teacher Primrose!" I playfully joke.
"We'll start here," she points to a line and holds it so we can both see it.
I follow her finger and read, "Oh Miss-ter-ess mine, where are you roaming?"
"Mistress," She smiles, encouraging me to read on. I follow her finger as it points to the letters and I formulate the words.
"Oh, stay and hear; your true love's coming," A whole line down, maybe this is easier than I thought.
"Finnick! That's perfect!" She pats my wrist gently and I am actually filled with pride.
"That can sing both high and low. Treep no further, pretty sh-wee-thing." I stare at the words and try them again, but fail to get them right on my tongue from the letters. It is so much easier to listen to someone, and of course the minute Prim tells me the words I always understand.
"Trip and sweeting. It's okay though, that was a hard one," She places her hand on the page and I am a little less enthusiastic.
"Your-nee-yas end in lovers meeting," I look at Prim, she montions for me to try one more time with that particular line, "Jour-ne-ys end in lovers meeting?" She nods happily and pushes me to continue, "What's to come is still un-swa-ure..." Before she even says a thing I fix myself, "unsure. In deelaey there lees knot plenty."
"In delay there lies not plenty," She reads perfectly and rather eloquently. I repeat the sentence back to her and watch the words as they pass in the poem. We're nearly done and she asks me to finish the poem.
"Then, come kiss me, sweet and twa-en-tey, You-," I try to formulate the "th" sound that gives me trouble on the pages, "tha's a stuff will not en-doo-re." I scrunch my nose at the sentence and wait for Prim to correct me.
"Then, come kiss me, sweet and twenty, youth's a stuff will not endure. Can you pronounce 'youth' again while reading it, Finnick? Look at how it is written 'YOU' and the "th". You make the sound everyday. I know it looks weird on the paper, try it though," she pronounces and enunciates the stark "th" sound and I try to rack it in my brain and connect the sound to the letter formation, "Now, did you understand the reading?"
"To be honest, I wasn't paying attention," I read through it again.
Oh Mistress mine, where are you roaming? Well the woman, or mistress that this man loves is off, away from him. Oh, stay and hear; your true love's coming. He wants the girl to wait for him, or for her to come back to him. That can sing both high and low. Trip no further, pretty sweeting. I ask Prim about these lines. She explains that is common language for the time it was written. With her translation she figures it could mean the lover has a beautiful voice, or it is figurative. I, personally, think it means that even though they've had good times and bad, it's no problem for their love. Journeys end in lovers meeting. With the journey they've taken separately each ends when they finally meet together, all so they can make a new one together. What's to come is still unsure. In delay there lies not plenty. Whatever comes from their new journey, they really don't know. But there's no time to waste and they have to start their journey together soon. Then, come kiss me, sweet and twenty, youth's a stuff will not endure. Then they should come and kiss now, until they grow old. Loving each other for the time they still have together.
Prim looks at me, and she suddenly seems worried. I am worried too, but for an entirely other reason. The poem is beautiful and once I fully understand it, it reminds me of Annie and I. She was lost, I am lost, we are trying to find each other again... and are we running out of time. A quarter of our lives could be gone by now, and we're separated. Separated. The word makes me feel lonely. I start to get hysterical again, thinking of all the things our lives have missed already. The wedding I once promised her, the idea of having children together. My breathing increases and I can't stop the emotion as it shakes through me.
Large men in nurse uniforms come in as I go into a violent fit in my bed. They direct Prim out of the room and she has a sorry look on her face. I can still hear her as she exits, "I won't bring love poems next time, I wasn't thinking, mom..." That's all I can hear as the large men put the drugs into my body again. Darkness. So much of it to explore, but so little time. I wonder how often we see it... we close our eyes so often to shut out the light, but, do we ever keep them closed long enough to venture into the darkness? To see what worlds lie beyond our eyes?
Just some Prim and Finnick fluff! :) I figured he had to be doing something during his time in Thirteen... and I just love the idea of him and Prim being friends.
Thanks for reading!
