Sorry about the late update. Busy Christmas, and my sister stole my copy of Mockingjay. -.-

Oh well. Should be back on track now.

Disclaimer: I wish. But sadly, I don't own The Hunger Games, or any of it's amazing characters.

Chapter 4

Home

I look around at the small square of ash, the only thing left of my previous home. Here is where the bed used to sit where I would sleep next to Prim. Here is where the fireplace was. Where Mother skinned the first rabbit I shot after my father died. Where Prim slept with Lady the night after I brought her home.

A small glint attracts my eye, right where Father's mirror used to hang, the mirror Prim would polish every morning. There, in the ash, is a shard of glass. Reflective glass. A piece of mirror. A piece of my life before the Capitol and their Games came and ripped it to shreds.

I crouched on the floor, and felt the pain swoop over me. I had felt pain already today. When we walked past the remains of the Mayor's house, where my friend Madge is almost certainly still sitting, burned to dust by the bombs. The crater that was all that was left of the school. The mass of skeletons in the town square, where people had tried to meet their loved ones. The Skeletons on the road, where people had tried to flee.

I thought I saw the worst of it when we got to the bakery. Seeing Peeta standing there, silent sobs racking through his body as he saw the pile of rubble that was once his home, and the place where he'd found peace decorating the cakes. It made me feel so… helpless. All I could do was wrap my arms around him, trying to comfort him. There was no point in telling him it would be OK. We both knew the truth.

But now… just a tiny shard of my life before this mess was able to wipe even that clean of the slate. Because this didn't just affect me. I had seen all of the rebels in District Thirteen, all trying to win freedom from the Capitol. I had seen the masses of the dead in Twelve. I had seen the starving children. I had seen kids rip each other apart for the Capitol's entertainment, for crying out loud. But it was this small piece of glass that made me realise it.

It took all of two seconds between me curling up on the ground and Peeta placing his arms around me, slowly and carefully. But when I didn't shrug him off, as he seemed to expect, he hugged me fiercely. He didn't say anything. He didn't need too.

After a few minutes we stood back up and walked away from my house. Towards another house. The house that, before the games, had been my second home.

Gales house.

I had wanted to leave this one until last. In fact, I didn't want to be here at all. But Hazelle had wanted me to see if there was anything left. I doubted it, but I had promised. She didn't know this would cause me pain. I don't blame her in the slightest. She is all wrapped up in her own. Her eldest son is in the Capitol.

He isn't dead. We know that much. But I doubt that he is alive either. Just a shell, bashed and broken, lying in the corner of some cell, waiting for the next round of torture.

Maybe it would be better if he was dead.

The way I am feeling now is similar to how I felt back on the hovercraft, when I thought we had been captured by the Capitol.

When I was more than willing to use those needles to end Peeta's life. Because I don't want the people I love to suffer because of me! This whole thing is my fault!

Well, a lot of it is my fault. Gale would not be in the Capitol right now if he had not been my friend. I am sure of that.

I can feel the shakes start to run through me as I start to lose control. I use a technique one of the doctors suggested. I start with the simple things that I know to be true and work towards the most complicated. The list starts to roll in my head...

My name is Katniss Everdeen. I am seventeen years old. My home is District 12. I was in the Hunger Games. I escaped. So did Peeta. The Capitol hates me. Gale was taken prisoner. He is thought not to be dead. He probably is now though. It is probably best if he is dead...

Peeta stopped walking. I realized with a jolt that we had reached the spot where the Hawthorne house used to stand. I wonder how Peeta knew where it was. Then I decided that it was not important.

We pick through the ash, looking for something useful. All we find is an old poker. We leave it there - Hazelle would have no need of it in Thirteen. As soon as we have finished, I run back to the Meadow, the spot where I used to play as a child, the spot where Prim and I would sometimes pick dandelions. It seems to have escaped damage: apart from a heap of ash, it is virtually unharmed.

I sat down in the blackened grass and curled up into a ball. I didn't cry. I just let the pain wash over me. After about a minute, Peeta was there. Comforting me. Telling me that we could do something to stop this. That, as the Mockingjay, I might be able to ask District Thirteen to help me out. That I still have Prim, my Mother. There is still hope.

Hang on. Peeta's right. I could help Gale. I am the Mockingjay. I know I have a little bit of leverage, which is better than nothing. Alma Coin, President of District Thirteen and leader of the rebels, did not want me to come back to Twelve. She said that as she had said no to everybody else, she would say no to me. But then Haymitch had said something about 'not getting their Mockingjay angry.' I thought it had just been a reference to my anger management issues, but after that everything seemed to move perfectly. Maybe I had more leverage than I thought.

Peeta's right. I can help Gale. But sitting on the ground is not helping at all.

I stand up with such abruptness that i knock Peeta over completely.

"Sorry, you OK?"

"Fine, fine. Just warn me next time, alright? I never knew my comforting skills were as good as that." He smiled at me, and I grinned back. No idea where all the happiness came from. Maybe I was just relieved at the thought that I might get to do something in the next few days. "Ready to go back?"

In nod at him, and we start to walk back to the town. Once again, I try to ignore the bodies that litter the ground. I killed you. I think as I pass a pile. And you. And you.

Because I did. It was my idea, my hand that held those berries, it was me that escaped the games, that caused the whole county of Panem to fall into chaos. That caused the Capitol to destroy my home.

I quicken my pace, eager now to leave this place, to return to District 13. Even if I am just a number to them, or even the person that could win the war for them, I know that the only way to help Gale is to become the Mockingjay. I am not doing it for the rebels. I am not doing it for myself. If I were doing it for myself I would surely have crawled into a hole and stayed there for the rest of my life. I am doing it to save my best friend.

No, I realized. That is not true. I am not even doing this for Gale. I am becoming the Mockingjay, the face of the rebel forces, the driving force in this war, for Rue. And Foxface. And Thresh. Even Glimmer, Cato and Clove. For all of those 1,800 people that had to go into the games. Yes, that is including the Victors. For no-one escapes the games unscathed.

I am doing this for every child in the districts that has that chance of being thrown into the arena. Prim. Rory. Posy. Vick. Rues younger siblings. For every parent with the fear of losing their child just for some rich crones to get some entertainment. I want, need, to stop this. I can't just sit and let it happen. I have experienced the horrors in the games - twice - and I can't let anybody else go through with it.

We have reached the drop point by now, and a ladder is lowered to pick us up. I grab onto it - Peeta does too - and we are both lifted back into the hovercraft.

And we fly away from our home.

Sorry if I stuffed up any personalities. Characters aren't my strong point.