Always Twelve. Always the Mockingjay. Always the girl who was on fire. Never Katniss Everdeen. When was the last time she got to really be just Katniss Everdeen? Just a girl from a district the rest of Panem looked down upon so much, their fence had never been repaired, their Peacekeepers the most crooked or, forbid it, friendly. No one looked closely at District Twelve, not until a girl came and lit a spark in an arena to save a boy she had pretended to love.
A boy she now loved more than she could bear it. A boy who's not hear any longer. Who was stolen from her yet again. How could she possibly live with that? How could she, knowing she might never see him? That if she does get that chance, it won't ever be the same.
Her mind keeps flashing back to him. Keeps conjuring the image of his golden hair and blue, blue eyes. Of how happy he looked the first time they made love, how impossibly he smiled when she told him that she loved him. The way he looked caught up in his painting or the attention he would pay to a loaf of bread. It hurts. It hurts than the worst pain possible, more than any of those many burns she sustained in the blast that killed her sister.
How could it be nearly a year since that? A whole year without her sister, her little duck. How could the time have passed so quickly?
Her eyes narrow in on the knife and the girl's stance. She would react in an instant if Katniss made a quick move. She'd play. And maybe, just maybe, Katniss could find a way to make all the anger and pain and sadness go away for a few minutes.
She shoots the arrow, repeating the shot from earlier. But the tip cuts deeper this time, staining the metal with blood.]
action;
Always Twelve. Always the Mockingjay. Always the girl who was on fire. Never Katniss Everdeen. When was the last time she got to really be just Katniss Everdeen? Just a girl from a district the rest of Panem looked down upon so much, their fence had never been repaired, their Peacekeepers the most crooked or, forbid it, friendly. No one looked closely at District Twelve, not until a girl came and lit a spark in an arena to save a boy she had pretended to love.
A boy she now loved more than she could bear it. A boy who's not hear any longer. Who was stolen from her yet again. How could she possibly live with that? How could she, knowing she might never see him? That if she does get that chance, it won't ever be the same.
Her mind keeps flashing back to him. Keeps conjuring the image of his golden hair and blue, blue eyes. Of how happy he looked the first time they made love, how impossibly he smiled when she told him that she loved him. The way he looked caught up in his painting or the attention he would pay to a loaf of bread. It hurts. It hurts than the worst pain possible, more than any of those many burns she sustained in the blast that killed her sister.
How could it be nearly a year since that? A whole year without her sister, her little duck. How could the time have passed so quickly?
Her eyes narrow in on the knife and the girl's stance. She would react in an instant if Katniss made a quick move. She'd play. And maybe, just maybe, Katniss could find a way to make all the anger and pain and sadness go away for a few minutes.
She shoots the arrow, repeating the shot from earlier. But the tip cuts deeper this time, staining the metal with blood.]