I am tangled hopelessly in the net of woven rope that seems to glisten in a million colors. The more I struggle, the tighter the rope binds me, singing to me a song of death and decay. As I try to fight the music, I call out for help. My voice wavers and floats, seeming a thousand time softer than ever before. I scream louder and louder at the top of my lungs, but my voice only becomes quieter and quieter. And then I hear a spear whistling through the air, and everything becomes slow motion, and the song sings to me and my coming death, and the black spear comes and comes and becomes darkness, changing the world to black. And I struggle with the net, sure that no one will come, sure I will die with the Blackness of the spear all around me. And then in the darkness there is light, spinning towards me and the whistling spear and the darkness. And I try to tell the light to run, but it comes towards me even faster and I close my eyes, waiting for the darkness to engulf me, but suddenly the light barrels by me and takes the darkness with it, and the darkness is gone, and so is the light, and all I am left with is nothingness.

I wake up gasping. My nightmare was even more gruesome than usual. I slide out of bed, trying to avoid the memories that follow the dream like a shadow in bright sunlight. But the memories engulf me like glue, sticking to me and never letting go. I was lucky for a while because they weren't stuck so firmly and I could shake them off a little, but now they've caught up to me, and something tells me I won't get off so easy this time.

I begin to pace my small room. I feel like I need air. Staying in here will surly suffocate me. But most of my family members are light sleepers, so going down the hall, even with my light steps, isn't an option. Most people, at this point, would give up. Who needs air anyway? But I'm not one of those 'most people'. I go to my window to survey the scene below me. A line of old apple trees stretches from my window to the tall stone fence that surrounds our backyard- 'for the victors protection'- otherwise known as Prison Wall by young children. I almost laugh at the absurdity. This is too easy! With a leap and a swing, I am hanging from an out stretched limb of the first old apple tree. I smile as I remember the words "Orchards, huh? So that must be how you can fly around the trees like you've got wings." And then I remember that Katniss said it and that she is gone and that I killed her and for a moment I'm frozen in the air, forgetting how to breath, how to move, how to live as I am filled with the memory of Katniss, her rare smiles, her shooting an arrow, her Mockingjay pin, her face in the sky disappearing from the world forever.

But then the moment is over and I begin to swing from tree to tree over the Wall then I climb down a tree on the other side. The grass feels good under my bare feet. I can't stand going out in those tight-knit shoes from the Capitol. But since before the Games I only had bare feet, the fancy dress shoes are all I have now. So usually I don't go out much at all. I don't know how long it's been since I have gone outside out on my own will. But now that I'm out here, I can't believe I haven't gone out before now. I laugh at the beauty of the tree's and the swaying grasses and the star-swept sky. I'm so overwhelmed at everything that I have no idea where to go first. Then the obvious answer comes to me and I laugh again at the simpleness of it.

My Mockingjay friends! In the fields! They'll have missed me! I race through the tall grasses and wheat fields, past the vegetable 'garden' and into the orchards. Hardly pausing for breath, I scale up at tree with a few Mockingjay's in it. I'm so excited at recapturing a fragment of my old life that I can hardly hold still enough to sing my little four-note tune. But I do and I wait for the Mockingjays to sing it back to me, like they always do. But they don't. Franticly, I sing again, louder this time, praying for them to sing it back. But the response is the same utter silence as before. I can't believe it. They've forgotten me. They don't remember me at all. I guess I shouldn't be too surprised. After all, forgetting something is always easier than remembering it.

I slump down on my branch, defeated.