You told me you were good at keeping secrets, Prim, and you were, of course. Even from Mother. Looking back, I think we all misjudged her. We assumed she wasn't strong enough to handle the truth about what I was up to, when the truth was that she was never even given a chance, until it was too late.
But we needed people like her - and you, as much as we needed a spokesperson, a figurehead, a symbol of the Rebellion. That was me, as much as I sometimes stumbled in the role. We needed leaders, but we needed healers every bit as much.
Which was why I was so glad to hear that they were training you to be a doctor once we took sanctuary in District 13 (not that either of us had much choice). I felt a pang of surprise at first, but that was all due to my self-absorption at the time, not lack of faith in your skill or disbelief that you wouldn't be more than able for the job. Yes, you would be perfect, and even though we'd lost the freedom to wander freely outdoors in our new abode, we had traded it for the chance to build a better future - one in which all children would have an equal chance to develop their gifts.
While I wandered around dazed in the bunker, you were actively helping our side. But Crazy Cat, that was me. Snow and Coin taking turns wiggling the flashlight for me - for all their followers - to chase. Forcing us to play yet another game with high casualties, but hopefully, this time, our victory would be permanent.
Still, your faith in me burned inside me - like a match in the dark. Fire ignites, illuminates, blazes, but sometimes all that is needed to warm someone, keep them going in the face of adversity is a single spark. And that was you.
After I returned from the first Hunger Games, now a reluctant symbol of a revolution I only partly understood at the time, I told myself that though Rue had perished, it was still not too late for you. (Or Posy or Vick or...)
But it was.
In the last glimpse I had of you before you died, you were kneeling over an injured child, your face intent with concentration on relieving her pain as best you could. Your shirt had come untucked, as it had the day of the first Reaping. How far we had traveled, how much we had both grown since then.
After I triggered the force field in the Quarter Quell, I saw a star. Electrified in a more literal way, I fell backwards into darkness, and was promptly spirited to safety. Later on, their "Mockingjay" would rail at the injustice of her having to play a role in the revolution while being kept ignorant. That and the knowledge that District 12 was no more was enough to keep me stunned for a long time.
This time, I was on fire, after it was extinguished, I floated on a sea of foam, those I loved around me flying like birds above. I didn't want to return to the pain of reality, but I finally did. After I (hallucinating) begged you to "let go," I did the same and came back to earth, where I learned of your death and had to let go of my beautiful, amazing sister.
That explosion which took out so many children, not just you, helped realize that it was Peeta who I wanted in my life for good. Gale and I may have wanted the same future, but we had decidedly different ideas about how to go about it.
Right now, I am sitting in a chair on the terrace of the house Peeta and I share. It's spring now, and the primroses are in bloom. Peeta planted them for you in remembrance. They are beautiful, how I wish you could see them.
He's helping me heal, just as I am helping him, and you will be pleased to know that we are finally together at last. We do much the same things we did before all this begun: I hunt, and he bakes - and paints, too, stunning pictures of those he loves - and loved, you among them.
Yes, Gale survived, and he is well and busy with a job, and I assume, eventually a family of his own. All the Hawthornes are thriving, but I realized after your death that Gale could not be the man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.
Mother is well and busy, too. She has a job managing an apothecary shop in a District which is not so reminiscent of good old District 12. She is still single, though, I think there may be someone in particular who hopes very much that that will change. But so far, she remains faithful to Father's memory. Now that is there is peace, I can finally bring myself to forgive her for her descent into despair after Father died. Perhaps it is still seared in my memory somewhere, but at present, I can be with her and see her for who she really is: a strong woman who has had to watch her child risk her life repeatedly, only to return her, scarred even more each time. A mother who has had to mourn the death of her younger daughter, so much like her, but whose life was snuffed out far too soon.
A survivor.
Buttercup is still with us, too. That ugly, unruly cat who I tried to drown so long ago still exists, still hisses at me occasionally, but we have reached a truce. He even occasionally sleeps nearby in the evenings when Peeta and I enjoy a quiet moment to ourselves. He's mellowed somewhat in his old age, but there's still plenty of spunk and spirit in him. He doesn't confide in me what he does in his free time, but I suspect he's become a father several times over - there seem to be a number of unsightly orange cats roaming around lately.
As for us, Peeta isn't sure about having children yet, but I hope we can eventually. I hope we can have a daughter - or a son - who we can raise in a peaceful Panem, who we will eventually have to tell about its sordid history, but who will inherit a much safer, brighter world, thanks to you, and so many others who fought tirelessly in their own ways for peace - and justice.
Justice is a funny word. At first, I was hungry for revenge, and sore from your recent death, I joined the side of those Victors who wished to hold one more Hunger Games - using Capitol children. (Peeta opposed us.) But eventually, I realized that wasn't the right way, and that you would have sided with Peeta. More deaths of innocents would accomplish nothing, simply create more festering resentment, the last thing that would aid this world in its healing.
Prim, you were far more than a pawn in the Capitol's games, more than the "little duck" I had to protect. You were a beacon in the darkness and a true inspiration. I will be sure to tell my children, when they are old enough, of how much you meant to me. I hope they will inherit your compassion, if not your specific skill with the ailing, because the world will be a better place for it.
And you will always be my sister, in my heart and in my memory. Always.
You inherited the best in all of us: Father, Mother and I, as well as something unique: the ability to look into the confusing mess of life and see things are they truly are. I never had that gift, but each day, I try to do the same: acknowledge that pain is a part of life, but so too, is joy, and love, which I have finally found.
Farewell, Prim. May you have found peace, although too soon, and know that Panem is also at peace and because of you, a world where our children can live free is now possible. A world where children must fight to the death is now the past, relegated to history books. Perhaps such a dark time will return, but for now, know that your sacrifice and your contributions have helped make this a world that Peeta and I - and the rest - is worth living in.
Farewell.