At some point during the flight I manage to fall asleep, despite my anxiety revolving around the day's events. I'm woken by Apollonia shaking me awake and one of the older peacekeepers speaking.
"Chief of Security Hawthorne briefed us all back in the Capitol, but he's asked me to repeat a list of instructions before we arrive in District Twelve." He says, pulling out a small booklet from a bag he carried with him upon boarding.
"You all remember your numbers correct?" He asks, referring to the numbers we were assigned in the Capitol briefing. I recall mine being 1015. We all nod and he continues.
"1000 through to 1005, you're to be escorting the president off the hovercraft upon arrival. You'll escort her to the secured house in the Victor's Village and remain in radio contact for further instructions." Apollonia nods, telling me she must be one of those escorting the president.
"1006 through 1008, you'll be escorting Victors Peeta and Katniss Mellark to the funeral prior to it commencing." A pang hits me as I recall my position being as far from my family as possible, being a crowd surveyor.
"1009 and 1010 you'll be escorting current victor, Rye Mellark to the service.
1011 and 1012 you'll be escorting Victor Troy Saltret to the service.
All others from 1013 onward are on crowd surveillance. You are to report any possible abnormalities immediately via radio coms." He stuffs the notebook back into his bag and grabs his helmet.
"Let's have a smooth day, alright?" He says, pulling the helmet over his head and sliding it into place. The rest of us stand and put on ours as well. I grab hold of one of the support bars as we begin our descent into the District.
My stomach ties itself in knots as I begin to recognize aspects of the district. As we grow nearer to the ground I realize where we're landing. The grass below begins to wave violently as the motors turn up dust clouds. We're landing on the outskirts of the district, near the Victors Village.
We land with a loud bang and the large ramp begins to descend, filling the fuselage with bright mid morning sunlight. I immediately recognize our location as one of the fields I used to play in with Rye when we were young. A pang of regret and sadness hits me like a sack of bricks as I recall memories I have in that field.
Apollonia seems to take notice of my sentiment as she keeps in close stride with myself as we exit the hovercraft and march out into the field. The dozen or so of us who aren't guarding the President directly pair off into our assigned groups to prepare. My heart is currently beating so hard I'm shocked no one can hear it. I feel the blood pulsing through my veins, particularly in my ears, where it is so loud that one of the men in my group snaps his fingers in front of my helmet visor to get my attention.
"Sorry," I say, removing the white helmet. "Just getting in the zone." I add, a flat out lie.
He chuckles and brushes it off.
"We're on crowd today, so we'll head off to the justice building before the crowds start pooling by the stage in about an hour. We'll sweep the premises and take our posts just before the ceremony starts." Our group leader scans us, stopping at three of the men I recognize as being senior members of the Presidential Peacekeeper team.
"You men are going to be out with some of the local Peacekeepers on the roofs. You'll each get one of the snipers from the armory like you practiced back in the Capitol."
The men nod and jog off to the hovercraft in search of their rifles.
"The rest of you are with me on the stage." He continues, "District borns, you'll be armed, but are not to use your weapons other than batons unless the situation is dire. Understood?" He looks at myself and three others who are classified as District borns. I nod along with the others.
"Right." Our chief replaces his helmet. "Let's head out."
We fall into ranks of three and march out through the field into the main road. I feel as though there's a heavy weight on my chest that grows as we grow nearer and nearer to my home. I am thankful for the one-way visor that covers my face, shielding myself from the view of others, hiding the tears that threaten to spill over. I fight them back, terrified of what would happen if someone were to connect the dots.
As we pass my former home, I make an effort to avoid glancing at the building I used to call home. That's all I'll allow myself to think of it as, a building. A collection of bricks and wood, nothing more. The memories I have there are dead. I'll never be able to recreate them again, unless of course, I'd like to blow my cover, along with that of everyone else I'm trying to protect.
By now it is early afternoon, and I notice the duo that will escort Rye branch off and walk up the walkway to the entrance of one of the vacant houses near my own.
I only allow myself a quick glance over my shoulder as we depart the Victors Village. I deeply regret this. I see Rye sitting on the steps of the house I believed to be abandoned. He looks thin, worn, and holds his head in his hands. He's well dressed in a light blue button up shirt and dark pants, but no quality of clothing can hide his disheveled appearance, even from this distance. My heart breaks, and it takes everything I have to keep walking and avoid running back to him. In this moment I want nothing more than to run to him, tell him I'm okay, and that everything will be okay in the end.
But I can't. And it kills me.
By mid afternoon, I've composed myself. My squad commander has had us run through the procedure of the day many times, and I feel I could now perform the ceremony blindfolded. I recognise one of the peacekeepers the district has provided in our squad. He used to pick up my parents and escort them to the train station every so often when they had meeting in other districts.
Our leader pauses for a moment, midway into a speech about emergency procedures. He presses a hand to his ear, trying to better understand the words being said from the earpiece he wears. A moment later he picks up his helmet from the ground and tells us the president is ready to begin. That's how things work. When the president is ready, the world must cater to her wishes, not that I'm surprised though.
I collect my helmet from a nearby table and slide it over my head, tucking my blonde ponytail into my collar so as not to get it stuck. I twist the helmet into a locked position and collect my belt from which a loaded gun hangs. I clip it onto my waist and fall into position behind the main set of heavy metal doors.
After what feels like hours, but in reality was likely only a handful of seconds, the doors open, flooding the dark back room with light. My visor blocks most of the light, allowing my eyes to adjust quickly.
It is in that very moment that I recall that I'm terrified of crowds. It's odd. I know I should be more concerned with seeing my family at my own funeral, but that thought has faded into the background of my concerns. I begin to walk blindly behind the towering peacekeeper in front of me, as I try to breathe normally, panic rising in my throat.
At that moment I catch a glimpse of a man sitting in one of the chairs sitting up against the wall of the Justice Building. Perhaps man isn't actually the best word to describe him. Child? Maybe Boy? Still not quite right. Perhaps corpse is the best way to describe him. His cheekbones are prominent and pointed, deep hollows where his cheeks used to be a soft pink compared to his pale olive skin. His lips are fine, and seem to have shrunk from a lack of use. His hair sticks out at odd angles, and has been darkened from grease as a result of not having been washed.
The most striking thing about him though are his eyes. The soft grey eyes that used to be so full of life have gone completely dull. They are slightly red near the edges from what I assume is a lack of sleep, tears, and possibly substance abuse. I fear that the latter could be true.
It's odd how much one can gather from a single quick glance, lasting no longer than an instant. The human mind is truly amazing, gathering all kinds of information in a moment, and analyzing it long after one's eyes have moved on. It's amazing how I don't recognize him until a few moments later. It dawns on me. My brother.
I nearly collapse as the realization dawns on me. I briefly fall out of step, but the peacekeeper behind me steps on my heel snapping me out of my trance. I force myself to fall back into step, refusing to allow myself to be exposed. I'd seen him just an hour prior, but he seems to be thirty years older up close.
You knew you'd see him here. That's why you wanted to come.
To my relief we halt at the edge of the stone stage and stand in ranks, rifles by our sides. We stand silently, awaiting orders that may never come. I assume we'll simply stand here for show throughout my entire funeral. Here not for protection, but to strike fear into the hearts of the residents of my district.
I continue to think about Rye, too terrified to attempt another glance, afraid of what I know I'll see. It is while I'm thinking that I catch movement from the corner of my eye. I see my parents walking down the aisle that runs it's way up the steps of the Justice Building. I let out a small sound, resembling a squeak. I hold by breath, partly out of fear of being heard, and partly because of the overwhelming feeling of seeing them again. I want to scream and run out, telling them that it's me, that I'm alive and it was all a show. I nearly do, but I'm so terrified that my legs are as heavy as lead and I cannot move an inch. I witness my mother running up the steps and hugging Rye. My father joins them and whispers to my mother, who wipes tears from her face. A peacekeeper tells them something and they take their seats.
The next twenty minutes seem to drag on forever. People file into the square, and I risk the occasional glimpse in the direction of my family. Words can't describe the thoughts that race through my head as I think of them being here for my funeral, while I stand only ten feet away, wishing I could say even one word to them.
A loud voice booms over the speakers, causing me to nearly jump. I straighten up and snap out of my thoughts as the ceremony begins.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, today you're all in for a special treat!" The voice I immediately recognize as Priscilla's pierces my ears, and I realize she, Troy, the Mayor and his wife have all taken to the stage.
I remember the last time I saw Priscilla she revealed she'd joined the rebellion. I hadn't had the chance to ask her what her plans were, but perhaps one day soon I'll learn. I assume this will be her last ceremony as a District Twelve escort.
"Today President Arevalo has decided to join us in the final farewell to Miss Willow Mellark." Priscilla continues. The crowd applauds enthusiastically as the President walks out onto the stage.
She waves to the crowd and makes her way down the line which my family stands in. She speaks with Rye shortly before moving on to my parents and the Mayor. I can't hear a word they say through my helmet, but hopefully that means no one can hear my irregular breathing as a result of holding back tears.
I nearly lose it as the President begins her speech, my eulogy, as my casket is wheeled out onto the stage. I wonder who's body is really in there. What girl is going to be buried under a tombstone reading my name instead of hers. In that moment I forget I'm really at my own funeral, hearing the pained sobs of my parents and seeing the blank stares of my brother, lost in his own mind. Likely beyond ever recovering from his mental traumas.
Midway through President Arevalo's speech there's a sharp crackle through my earpiece.
"ARMED INDIVIDUAL. FOURTH ROW" I immediately look out to the crowd and see a man pushing his way to the front of the crowd, screaming the phrase I've seen occasionally plastered over the screens in the Capitol.
"Free the Mellarks!" He shouts as he fires his gun in the air. People scream and birds scatter. I don't think twice before I realize who his target will be. He's going to assassinate the President.
I don't remember what comes next, but I find myself running towards the president, tackling her to the ground as a shot rings out. It sounds so close I lose my hearing for a moment, and the edges of my vision blur into black.
The next thing I remember I'm on top of the president, laying on the stone of the stage. A shot rings out and I know the attacker is dead. I look down at he president. Her dark brown eyes are wide, and her face is splattered in blood.
"Are you alright Ma'am?" I ask her, but she doesn't reply.
Two peacekeepers run over and pull her out from under me. And in that moment I realize the blood isn't her own. She's perfectly fine, perhaps bruised from hitting the ground, but she has no wounds.
"Miss," A man calls to me. "Miss, I'm taking off your helmet. My colleague is removing your armor." I don't see him, as my vision begins to fade more.
"Why?" I manage to croak out. I look down at my legs, where I feel someone removing the armour plates from my thigh.
That's when I see the enormous pool of blood around me. My white armour is painted red with blood and I realize the blood of the President's face was mine.
I hear countless voices yelling orders and speaking to me, asking questions and telling me what's happening. None of it registers and I feel myself drifting off, a feeling all too familiar to me.
Perhaps it's fitting to be shot at your own funeral.