Hello friends! I'm sorry it's taken so long to update! I hope all you HG fans are enjoying re-watching Catching Fire over and over and over again J In case you were wondering, a significant portion of this was written with either the movie or the soundtrack/music score for CF playing in the background. Mockingjay part one is only 8 months away! Gahhhhh! I digress… Let's return to District 13 to see what happens next to the Mockingjays.
Also, you may notice a few similarities to Mockingjay in this chapter, but I've tweaked it quite a bit. Just a heads up. Oh, and this is a really long one… (compared to past chapters, that is).
PLEASE REVIEW AND FAVORITE (and all that jazz...)! THANK YOU!
Disclaimer: The HG series is Susanne Collins' masterpiece, not mine…
"Nice show you put on the other day, sweetheart," Johanna mocks with a mischievous smirk, referring to my failed attempt at making a propo a couple of days ago. "Seriously, I don't remember the last time I've been so entertained."
"Ha, ha," I say, annoyed, as I walk past her.
Peeta and I are going on our first Mockingjay mission into a war zone. Haymitch, as well as the attempted footage, said more than enough to Coin to convince her of my limited acting skills. Unfortunately for me, Johanna and Pretty Boy are coming along for the ride; by Pretty Boy, I mean Finnick Odair, District 4.
"Yeah, Honeybun, that was great!" adds Finnick with a laugh. I try to ignore his comment and maneuver myself away from him, but he places himself directly in my path and moves from side to side whenever I try to go around him. Peeta is several feet behind me talking to Boggs and Haymitch about District 8, our battlefield destination. "Relax, Mockingjay..."
I give up, so I just stand there, defeated. "What do you want, Odair?"
"Oooooo, last name... harsh," he teases, as he takes several steps closer to me, uncomfortably close. His breath tickles my ear as he whispers seductively, "You and me, we are gonna be close friends, Mockingjay..."
My skin crawls at his implication, and I'm sure my face illustrates my shock and embarrassment. I back up and try to play it off. "Sorry, Pretty Boy, I'm taken," I say, glancing in Peeta's direction.
"Ewwwww, gross! What's wrong with you?! When I say friends, I mean friends! Geez!" he exclaims dramatically with a goofy expression just as Peeta walks up.
"Is everything okay?" he asks concernedly, looking from me to Finnick.
"Everything was okay until your girlfriend started hitting on me! I mean, I know I'm good looking and all, but come on..."
"Wait, are you kidding me?" I ask incredulously. "You came onto me!"
"Katniss, it's okay... Few can resist the perfection that is me," he says calmly with a smirk and a wink. He is totally messing with me. "Come on, let's just put all of this behind us. After all, we've got a cause to promote!"
I sigh, and despite my strong desire to punch him in the face, I shoot him an annoyed look and roll my eyes as I walk away from him with Peeta.
"What's going on? I'm confused..." Peeta says, as Finnick walks away from us, onto the hovercraft.
"All you need to know is that I love you and that Finnick O'Dair is full of it," I summarize.
"Full of gorgeousness!" I hear Finnick shout as we walk in front of him.
"Yeah, yeah. Whatever," I blurt out.
"Better watch it, Mockingjay. Don't forget, you're talking to victors... You don't wanna start something with us. Right, Johanna?" he adds, teasing, as he nudges an obviously annoyed Johanna Mason.
She lets out a kind of snort-laugh that seems to be a characteristic of her. "Yeah, watch yourself, or we might come get ya while you sleep..." A second later she mimics a ghostly sound, "Oooooooooooooooooo..." A few more seconds pass, and then, her tone shifts and—
"Damn it, Finnick! We aren't attack dogs or something! We are people who did what we had to do to survive. Don't joke about that crap, okay?"
This whole fiasco is playing out a few feet behind Peeta and me. Now, I feel like I am eavesdropping or something. Heat begins to spread from my cheeks to my ears. We just keep walking. Finnick is silent, but footsteps from behind begin to pick up in speed. Small footsteps. Female footsteps. It's Johanna. She comes up next to me and Peeta.
"Sorry about that freak show. Trust me, he gets better once you get to know him." From behind, Finnick says, "I heard you!" Johanna just smirks mischievously and continues her explanation: "We are victors, but we are also people who don't want to be treated like victims or murderers. We just want to start over, so... Yeah..." she says.
"Cool," says Peeta. "Since we are introducing ourselves, I'm a baker's son, and this is Katniss—she's an expert archer. We are madly in love yet completely at the mercy of District 13. We barely survived escaping our home before coming here, and everyone we love has been killed because of the freaking Capitol. So, I have a feeling we all will be good friends because our ultimate goals come into alignment: destroy the Capitol," Peeta explains simplistically, almost in one breath. With that, he stops and turns to shake both Finnick and Johanna's hands.
"Yeah..." Finnick grins, surprised, "I suppose you're right."
I guess we just made a sort of alliance with victors from the Hunger Games. Pretty soon, if things keep going the way they have been, nothing will come as a surprise to me anymore.
We all board a single hovercraft. Unlike our lovely stroll through the hangar, the ride to District 8 is relatively silent. I have no clue what to expect. They chose Eight because it was the least dangerous option, but this is war. Unpredictable. Cruel. Inconsiderate.
My mind wanders to Prim and my mother. What would they think of my going off to war? Would they be proud? Or would they find it rash and unnecessary? It's only been a matter of days, and I already feel like bits of them are slipping through my fingers. No matter how hard I try to hold on, memories continue to fall through the cracks. Like now, for instance, I have no idea what they would think about me heading to a battlefield.
A heavy weight presses into my chest, demanding to be felt, demanding to be acknowledged. My throat aches from trying to swallow my emotions. As if to look out the window, I turn my head and allow a few tears to fall silently. Why does it all have to hurt so badly?
Several moments later, a warm, rough hand enveloping my own startles me back to reality. Peeta. He knows. Even when I try to hide, he knows. I sniffle, take a deep breath, wipe the tears from my face, and turn to smile at him and assure him that I am alright. If I am going to do this, I have to be strong. For my mother. For my Little Duck.
The next thing I know, we are landing the hovercraft so that we can go do whatever stuff we have to for the propos. I inhale deeply, tense my muscles, and prepare to fight.
The only problem is: we aren't here to fight; something I find out fairly quickly.
Upon arrival, Haymitch—whose voice is ever-present in the earpiece I am required to wear—proceeds to explain that the Mockingjays (and team) will be visiting a District 8 hospital. Apparently, the district was recently bombed for rioting and resisting the Capitol, and our appearance after our dangerous escape will provide the perfect spark to ignite an inextinguishable flame across Panem. If two teenagers can rebel against the Capitol and live to tell the tale, then anyone can. Personally, I took it as an insult—as if what we did was so easy. Whatever.
Regardless of our hope-bringing purpose in the hospital, I'm suddenly filled with an inexplicable terror. Moisture takes residence upon my palms, my heartbeat increases in tempo, and I have to force slow, deep breaths in my nose and out of my mouth. I would much rather be on the front lines of a battlefield. Hospitals aren't my field of expertise. I always depended on my mother and Prim to handle the sick people. Hundreds of bloody and broken rebels are instantly the most intimidating encounter I could possibly imagine. No, no, no, no...
Again, Peeta senses my anxiety and squeezes my hand comfortingly. He is here. I'm not alone. I can do this with him by my side. They are just people like I am.
The hospital is a few blocks from our drop-off location, so Boggs, Peeta, Finnick, Johanna, the camera crew, and I walk together silently, reverently, taking in the smoke and ash and rubble that was once a fully functional District 8. With Boggs leading, we make our way through some buildings that remain relatively intact, and suddenly, we are approaching a huge warehouse-like structure. As we draw nearer, a woman begins to walk toward us.
"I'm Commander Paylor, resident and commanding officer of this district. You must be from Thirteen?" she asks.
"Yes, Commander. These two are the Mockingjays," Boggs says, motioning to Peeta and me, "and I'm sure you are familiar with Johanna and Finnick."
"Yes. Well, we are glad to have you all. As you know, we were severely attacked today. We had no warning. Our District has been beaten to the ground. What you see is all that is left. All the able-bodied people are either tending the wounded or helping clear the debris as well as the corpses. If you'll follow me, I will lead you inside," she says authoritatively. I block out the word "corpses" and focus on Commander Paylor.
She's young, but everything about her exemplifies leadership and authority. She carries herself with confidence and good posture; her voice is deep yet not masculine; she's pretty and seems nice enough, once you get over the intimidation factor and all. No wonder she is in charge. I kind of like her.
I look around as we clear the distance between our group and the make-shift hospital. Men and women rush around carrying wheelbarrows of rubble, shovels, and injured people from one place to another.
At least they have something to occupy their time, I think to myself, realizing that I have barely had any time to fall to pieces myself, since what happened to my family in Twelve. It's definitely better to do something. Sitting around is a recipe for disaster. Sometimes, despite my constant activity, I still feel on the verge of breaking, so I don't want to think about what may happen if a day comes where I have absolutely nothing to do.
"Are you ready?" Paylor asks, looking at all of us. "It's not a pretty picture in there, just a warning."
I nod, along with the others. As soon as the doors open, I have to stop myself from gagging. The sharp smell of antiseptics and other chemicals mixed with the metallic smell of blood and the putrid smell of rotting meat is almost too much for me to handle. The heat doesn't help either; it makes it seem like the whole building is a pot of boiling, festering stew. Flies buzz past my face and land on my skin.
Oh my god. I can't do this.
My legs echo with tremors that indicate oncoming weakness. Cold sweats break out all over my body. Images of broken people lying down on an old wooden table with two blondes nursing them back to health flash across my mind. I grab ahold of Peeta's arm to steady myself, trying not to make a scene. His lips brush my left ear, as he whispers, "I've got you. It's okay. We can do this."
His words reassure me and strengthen me. Sometimes, I just need to know that someone else believes in me. Alone, I could find a way to pull myself together. I could adapt. But having someone who loves me, when everyone else in my life is either gone or unconcerned, helps to pull me up out of the dark corners of my mind. I think I do the same thing for Peeta sometimes. Although I can't imagine going through all of this without him, I know I would make it. I would survive. It's what I do. I need to believe that. After all, we are the symbols of the revolution. Anything could happen to either of us. I have to be prepared for the worst.
We continue walking farther inside the building. As we pass by a few of the pallets where the injured lie, I hear whispers and exclamations.
"The Mockingjays!"
"Finnick!"
"Johanna!"
"It's Katniss and Peeta, the runaways from District 12!"
I hold onto Peeta and we both smile and make our rounds, greeting and comforting the sick and dying, trying to dole out hope in such a hopeless place. The people sometimes reach out and touch me. Since I'm not a touchy person, my initial reaction is to recoil and back away, but instead, I let them touch my hands, my face, my boyfriend. I watch their expressions of awe and wonder as they take us in, as if our existence confirms the reality of the rebellion. I understand. Until this moment, when I can physically touch and hear and smell the result of war, the rebellion has been all talk. Nothing substantial or tangible. Just and idea.
But now I know. This isn't a game. This is real.
Finnick and Johanna are also a success with the patients. Even though the others made their rounds separately, I watched from afar as people responded and reacted to their presence.
When we finish making our rounds in the makeshift hospital, I am surprised to find the camera crew, decked out in their protective shells, recording us. Right. I forgot. The whole point of this outing is the propos.
We spend a few more moments chatting with some of the nurses and residents for more details about the attack and the progress of the revolution. Many of the districts, including Eight, are in full rebellion against the Capitol, but a few still need convincing, hence, the propos. I hope they work like Thirteen plans for them to.
"Ya'll did great," Boggs says, as we wave our final goodbyes.
I guess we did. I forgot we were being filmed, and with my acting skills, that's always a plus.
"We didn't really do much," I say.
"You did a whole lot more than you think," he finishes with a slight smile. Then, he turns to lead us back to the hovercraft. Mission accomplished.
Peeta turns to me, "You're perfect. You know that?" he asks quietly.
I look down, heat rising to my cheeks. "You're biased," I explain. He kisses my forehead gently. All I know is that I can't wait to get back to Thirteen, so Peeta and I can escape into the woods for an hour or so. To hunt, of course… Okay, maybe a little smooching, too. Really, though, Peeta needs to get some more practice in with the bow. We have had a few short opportunities to use our reflection time to go into the woods near Thirteen. Each time our interests are slightly divided. It can be a challenge to focus on the tedious task of teaching and practicing archery when Peeta is so attractive, and we are finally alone together. All of our time underground is filled with meetings and training and Mockingjay duties that we hardly have time to think, let alone focus on each other.
"Gross! Get a room!" Finnick exclaims with an obviously fake expression of disgust.
"Shut it, Odair, or we will really give you something to complain about," Peeta says jokingly.
"Peeta!" I say, whacking him on the shoulder, embarrassed. My cheeks are deepening in color with every second.
Our conversation is cut short. "We have to get to the airstrip immediately. There's a problem," says Boggs concernedly, as he turns back toward us.
"What kind of problem?" Peeta asks.
"Incoming bombers. Let's move!" he says, taking off at a sprint.
Shocked, my body freezes up, and my eyes remain staring at the spot where Boggs was just standing. Shapes and colors flash by me, but my mind doesn't register what it means. Capitol hovercrafts. Bombs. Coming.
"Katniss! Come on!" someone yells. My world snaps back to the present situation. Run. I have to run. My feet are moving, lungs exhaling, mind racing.
Suddenly, Haymitch's voice buzzes through my earpiece. "Listen. We can't land while the bombing is goin' on, but it is extremely important that the Capitol doesn't know ya'll are there."
"Wait," I say, still running and breathing heavily, "they don't know we're here? Isn't that why they came?"
"No. Apparently, this was all a part of the plan," he says. "Regardless, there is a bunker in a blue building a few down from your current position. Get there. Now!"
"We will try," I hear Boggs yell a few feet in front of me.
I don't really know what is going on. I'm running. Thoughts of bombs and fires and explosions race around my head, but everything around me is exactly like it was when we walked to the hospital.
The hospital.
Oh my god! That was the plan all along! To give them time to gather all the injured in one place so they can eliminate them.
"No! We can't leave! We have to do something! They are going to bomb the hospital! We have to help!" I yell back, talking mostly to Boggs and Haymitch, hoping for some support.
"That's not your job," Haymitch warns. "You make propos. Leave the rest to the soldiers who know what they are doing."
"What soldiers?! Their people are being killed!"
"It doesn't matter. Katniss, get your a—" I rip the earpiece from my ear, and turn back to find some way to help. A few seconds later, I feel myself flying backwards, crashing into Peeta, who is following me, along with Johanna and Finnick. Peeta stands and helps me up, and they all give me a nod, telling me they are with me. The ground shakes and the sounds of explosions have set off an annoying ringing in my ear. The bombs have started.
Beyond the ringing, I hear machine guns in the distance. Return fire. I look up, searching for the source of the shooting. A brown warehouse straight ahead. I sprint toward the ladder on the side of the building and begin climbing. As soon as I reach the top, I heave myself over the edge, stopping for a moment to help everyone up. Fire and debris roar all around us, yet all I can think about is revenge. I have to fight back. I have to stop them.
Once we are all on the roof, we run over toward the soldiers manning the machine gun nests, located to the right of where we came up the ladder. Peeta and I take one and Johanna and Finnick take the other.
"Does Boggs know you all are here?" It's Commander Paylor.
That's a good question. I have no idea what happened to Boggs. I hope he is okay. At the moment, everything seems to have calmed down. The explosions have stopped, and I can hear people talk without having to yell. Maybe it's over, I think hopefully.
"I'm sure he does," Peeta answers for me.
She laughs. "I'm sure, too. You trained in these?" she asks, motioning to the machine guns.
"A bit. In Thirteen. But I think we would prefer to use our own weapons," I explain, removing my bow from across my shoulder. "They're explosive," I add, realizing how silly we must look with bows and arrows against Capitol hovercrafts. I am definitely glad our weapons are fully functional rather than decorative props.
"Better be. Okay, we expect three more waves. The hovercrafts have to lift their shields to drop the bombs, so that's our chance. Stay low. Get ready!"
Three. More. Waves. Of course. The Capitol wouldn't stop so quickly when so many rebels remain alive. Finnick and Johanna have positioned themselves behind a couple of the guns to the left of our nest and are waiting for the bombers to appear on the horizon. To my immediate left, Peeta readies his bow to fire. I do the same.
"You ready?" he asks. His eyes are enlarged with the same fear and excitement that is rising up in me.
"I think so," I say, realizing what we are about to do. Just as I finish my sentence, the bombers appear in a "V" shape, heading directly toward us. So much for staying hidden. "I'll take the far end. You take the end closest to us," I say right as the bombs begin to drop.
It's just like hunting birds, I tell myself, trying not to think about the human beings that are flying in the hovercrafts. It's just like hunting. I take aim, but I can't do it. I can't shoot.
They killed my mother.
Prim.
The Mellarks.
They deserve to die.
Anger and adrenaline mingle together, heating my blood, empowering me. In that moment, before I can change my mind, I let my arrow fly. It reaches its mark. Suddenly, fire consumes the sky above me. Strangely enough, I find the combination of red and orange and black mesmerizing. Bits of the hovercraft begin falling out of the sky. I hope no one's dismembered body parts are included in that mix. I don't think I would handle that very well right now. I'm frozen in place. I look down at my hands; they're shaking uncontrollably. Not only that but I am overcome with feelings of nausea.
"KATNISS! MOVE!" I hear a voice yell from the left.
I turn in time to watch Peeta throw himself into me, knocking me over onto my side. Sharp pain shoots across my right shoulder, but I prop myself up to figure out why Peeta just pushed me. Confused and disoriented, I look around, trying to piece together the puzzle of the last several seconds. I notice a large piece of shrapnel has made its home upon our roof, just a few feet away from where I lie.
"Peeta!" I hear someone yell. The damn ringing in my ear is getting worse, making it difficult to decipher who is speaking and from which direction. At least the bombs have stopped, for now. Finnick is running toward the new addition to our roof top. Quickly, I scan my surroundings, looking for Peeta, but I can't find him anywhere.
"I need some help over here!" Finnick yells. My eyes flip back in his direction. It looks like he is trying to lift the big chunk of metal off of a soldier.
Oh my god.
"PEETA!" I hear myself scream, but I don't really remember deciding to do so.
Before I know what's happening, my feet are moving toward him. In the background, I hear the explosions begin again. No. No, no, no, no, no… Please, no. Finnick and I lift the metal off of him, and I feel myself unravel as I look at him. Several bleeding wounds mark his face, arms, and legs from the jagged edges of the metal. His left leg seems to have taken the majority of the impact. A huge gash cut through his uniform across his thigh, and it is bleeding quite profusely.
"Peeta!" I yell with my hands on his face. "Peeta!" Tears fall down, one after another, splattering on Peeta's Mockingjay uniform.
"Katniss! We can't stay here! We need to move over to one of the nests!" Finnick yells. "Help me move him, okay? Can you do that?"
I nod. My hands are almost incapable of doing anything useful, but I somehow manage to lift him from under his shoulders; Finnick's on one side and I'm on the other. I feel something hit me from behind, causing me to stumble forward a bit, but whatever it was, it didn't penetrate my vest, so I just keep moving. I don't stop until Peeta is nestled up against where we were shooting only a few moments ago.
"What happened?" Paylor asks, motioning Finnick over to take her position at the gun.
"I—I don't—I was just there and then—" I can't seem to form a complete sentence. Tears are still rolling down my cheeks. My head is spinning. Peeta. Peeta. Peeta, is all I can think.
"Katniss," I hear Paylor say. "Katniss! Look at me!" she yells again, placing her hands on both of my shoulders, forcing eye contact. "You can't fall apart. Not here. Not now. I know it hurts, but I need you to focus. We have to stop the bleeding in his leg. Can I count on you to help me?" she asks, searching my eyes.
"Y-yes," I stutter. The bombs have stopped again.
One more, I tell myself. You only have to make it through one more wave.
She pulls a pack off her back, unzips it, and starts opening bottles and pre-packaged bandages.
"We don't have much time. I need you to hold this on his leg while I finish prepping the bandages. Put a lot of pressure on it," she says, handing me a cloth.
Clumsily, I fumble with the rag in my trembling hands, trying to fold it so that there is a thicker barrier between the wound and my hand. That way the blood won't seep through immediately. I place it on his leg and put some of my weight into it. Paylor ties something above the wound to cut off some of the blood flow. Then, she motions for me to let up with the cloth, so I do. Quickly, she pours some disinfectant into the wound. It begins to fizz and bubble a sickly reddish pink color. She then wraps his leg over and over and over, as I hold it up for her. Throughout this whole process, Peeta doesn't even flinch. He is completely unconscious. And I feel so incredibly helpless.
"That's all we can do for now. I need you to help with this last round of bombers. You think you can do that?" she asks tentatively, as the low hum of approaching hovercrafts begins once more.
I nod and force myself to take several slow, deep breaths, to collect myself. She's right. As much as I want to, I can't lose it here. Instead, I channel all of my fear and anger and rage toward the Capitol and their hovercrafts. A blazing fire starts in my stomach, spreading all over. I wipe my sweaty palms on my pants, grab my bow, and ready an arrow for strike once again. Miraculously, my hands steady themselves almost as soon as they make contact with the bow. I don't know if it's the result of my breathing or Beetee's high-tech weaponry, but either way, I am thankful for it.
This time, it's not so hard to let go of the string.
One after another, my arrows hit their targets. Bombers fall out of the sky in ashes and fire. By the end of the last wave, I counted six hits. When the world around me falls silent once again, I stand watching the remnants of my last kill fall out of the sky with a satisfactory smile on my face.
I turn around to find several rebels, including Finnick, Johanna, and Paylor staring at me. The insect-like camera crew members followed us onto the roof and are recording my every move. They have some guts. Ignoring everyone, I turn back to Peeta.
"He's bleeding through! We need to get him back to Thirteen," say, placing the earpiece back in my ear. "Haymitch!"
"Katniss! What the hell do you think—"
"We are on top of the roof of a brown building with Paylor and some other rebels," I interrupt. "Peeta is wounded. He's bleeding badly. Please, hurry!" I explain, tears flowing and hands trembling once again. A few seconds of silence pass. "Haymitch! Can you hear me!?" I yell, desperately.
"Copy that. We are all clear and headed in your direction," he says with a tone of deep concern.
The next several hours are a blur. At some point, we boarded the hovercraft and made our way back to District 13, where Peeta was immediately carted off to the emergency section of the hospital. I tried to follow him, but they insisted that I see a doctor myself. When I refused and began to fight back, someone behind me injected some kind of sedative into my neck. The next thing I know, I am lying on a hospital bed in a quiet room. All I can hear is the sound of machinery exhaling oxygen into my lungs via the cannula that has taken residence in my nostrils and the steady beeps that indicate my beating heart. A door opens across the room. It's Cinna.
"Hey, Katniss. How are you feeling?" he asks.
"Okay. A little groggy and pretty sore, but I'm well enough. What about Peeta? Is he okay?" I ask frantically, as I remember what happened in District 8.
"He's alive, but the impact of the metal on his leg shattered his bone. Luckily, we got to him in time to keep him from losing his leg from a lack of circulation or from losing too much blood. He also broke a few ribs and has a concussion, but he will survive. It'll be a long road to full recovery, but nothing he can't handle."
I am flooded with both relief and sadness. As happy as I am that Peeta is well—I thought I'd lost him for good—he doesn't deserve this. It should've been me. I'm the one who shot down that plane. It was my fault.
"Katniss, there's a reason I am here. Firstly, to make sure you are well, and secondly, to tell you that President Coin has requested that I escort you downstairs. Are you well enough to walk?"
I pull the cannula from my nose along with all the other wires that are attached to my body, swing my legs over the side of the bed, and attempt to stand up and walk. As soon as I begin to move, my bones and muscles ache and my head spins with vertigo. I fall backward a few steps, grabbing onto the bed once more.
"Woah, woah. Easy now. Wait here. I'll be right back," he says as he exits the room. A few moments later he returns with a wheelchair. God, I can't do anything for myself anymore, can I?
I take a seat in the chair and allow Cinna to push me to our destination. I have no idea where we are going first, but it seems important. After an elevator ride and a few turns down long, white hallways, we stop outside a door. In that moment, I worry about my appearance. I don't remember the last time I looked in a mirror or showered. I'm in a hospital robe without shoes on, and I'm being carted around in a wheelchair by an ex-Capitol stylist.
"I want to prepare you for what you're about to walk into," Cinna says suddenly. "Today, the rebels successfully rescued several District Twelve refugees. A few of them asked about you, so here we are."
What!? Refugees!? Who?
Gale. Oh my god. Gale.
Immediately, I throw open the door and see him standing in front of me, surrounded by his family.
Good, I think to myself, they all got out.
He makes eye contact with me and, at first, looks shocked by my appearance, but a second or two later, he smiles. Then he steps slightly to the side, and I see a little girl who isn't Posy. Her arm is wrapped up in a sling. She looks familiar. Blonde hair. Blue eyes. The next several moments pass as if I'm in a dream. Time moves forward slowly, foggily.
Prim. It's Prim.
I'm going crazy. I'm so insane that I'm hallucinating. I shake my head to clear it, but the girl doesn't disappear.
"Katniss!" she yells, tears streaming down her cheeks. She runs toward me, with her good arm outstretched.
I'm still so confused. I shift my eyes from Gale's smiling face to Cinna's. I watch his eyes shift to the little girl who is currently wrapped around my waist. He sees her too. She must be real.
Prim. My Little Duck is alive.
I fall to my knees and wrap my arms around her, unwilling to let go. My hands begin to shake and a steady flow of tears stream down my face.