This is hard-core. I'm excited. HAHAHAHA. Anyways… This chapter will be excruciatingly short, and mildy confusing. The first bit is from when Katniss woke up, and then when it skips to 3rd person, it's just the general idea of when Katniss comes back to D12 with her family, minus Peeta. An questions, as in a review. :D
oOo
Katniss' POV
They say when you're in a coma you could hear the people you love around you crying, talking to your motionless body. They say that it's like walking upstream through a river of molasses, going towards the light. They say coma is like a very peaceful, sweet sleep, in which the only sense you have is hearing. No pain, no visions, no nothing.
They're wrong.
Being in a coma was like a nightmare, time ten. Fire was everywhere; in me, around me, burning my every being. And I was falling (while burning, of course). As I plummeted down to nowhere, visions, memories flashed past.
Primrose's face when Gale and I brought her goat home for her birthday.
Peeta's eyes when he stood strong next to me on the dais, on the day of the reaping.
Us on the roof in the greenhouse, talking about the forbidden
The moment I found him in the Games, bleeding, hidden under layers of mud and undeniable talent.
The first night Peeta and I spent together on the train, the feeling of precious serenity as I curled me head up on his chest.
Hearing the voice ring out over the bloodied arena, "Ladies and gentleman, may I present the victors of the 74th Hunger Games; Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark!"
At the end of his words there was a sound like a gunshot, except the loud explosion sound didn't stop. It grew louder and louder until there was just white noise. I was sent crashing back to the ground, and found myself in as much agony as I had been in in my dream. The fire…it was all around. Inescapable. From the moment I opened my eyes, I knew only two things. The first: the war was over. The second: I will die.
3rd Person
Like sand, wind that blew across District 12 picked up scattered remains of memories throughout the town. Earlier in the winter, the breeze bit into rosy cheeks of people as they huddled against the snowflakes. But now, mid-June, it was the beginning of spring.
Peals of laughter like bells rang through the houses. Happily, birds joined the choir of spring. Women got busy scrubbing old coats against washboards, readying them for storage to await the next winter. Men buckled their belts through their trousers and pulled on their hats, readying for a day of work. Children grew older, became more helpful to their parent.
It was over the Everdeen house the mockingjay sat, contemplative over the sounds coming in the early hours of morning, wondering if it was worth rebounding the sounds upon the treetops.
Nearly every night it came, the screams of someone in pain winding out the upper-story window. Screams of torture, agony, yet obviously not of physical being. Every night, the same broken girl was awaken from nightmares. And every night, the mockingjay sat listening.
It wasn't necessarily a pretty sound, nor particularly interesting. But that voice was familiar to the creatures. Though birds like mockingjays had no astounding memory, the sound of her voice was familiar to all.
The mockingjay cocked its graceful head in innate wonder. This time the girl seemed to be saying something. A simple mixture of two syllables, simple, yet pleasing to the ears.
Tipping back its neck, the bird gurgled air from deep into its lungs and burst out in the noise. Again, it repeated the cry, and waited until it heard the noise be repeated among another of its fellow mockingjays. And again. Soon, a chorus of melodious cries filled the air and all at once, the black-and-white birds took off into the air. Down below, the girl had grown quiet, but the birds sang on.
"Peeta, Peeta…"
Across the dawn sky they flew, beating powerful wings against the spring air. Over the Appalachian Mountains they flew, crying songs between one another. Chasms and shadows hid in the deep impressions of hills, steep cliffs and valleys. Never stopping, never slowing. Going, going, like an uphill stream. Flowing nowhere, yet always flowing. Flowing, never slowing up and down the slopes of mountains. The birds sang.
Back at the Everdeen home, the girl was silent in her bed. She had heard the mockingjays. She had heard them croon the name she had so many times dreamt about, yearned for. But it had been months. He was not coming back.
Downstairs, the mother and younger girl of the house had been awake by the screams. In their nightdresses and sleepy faces, they held each other as they made the climb up stairs they made every night. This was usual for them.
When the two women made it up the flight and seated themselves around the black-haired girl, arms went around her. Though, like always, the girl said nothing to this gesture of kindness. Salty tears ran down her cheeks and words choked her throat. Never one was said, though. Never one…
oOo
To make up for the shortness of the last few chapters, I am posting a super super long one at the same time as this one. Happy March!