stillplaying | 10th Game [video]

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10th Game [video]

[Wild dogs.

She had seen the excuse the Career had come up with. That they had been hunting together, that a pack of wild dogs had appeared and caused them to split. They had chosen to pursue Katniss instead. Had they seen the flicker of fear in her eye? The way she looked at them and saw not the animals they were but muttations, the huge and monstrous doglike beasts with the eyes of lost children. Had she stood there then, overcome by the memories and nightmares in the wake of her loss?

She can almost see it, almost picture it clearly. It's not a bad excuse as far as excuses go. Had they been there, had they been in that arena and seen the mutts with the human eyes, they'd believe it. Believe how easy it is to be overcome by any canine like animal after that. Especially when the memories are still so vivid, especially on the heels of losing the person who helped her survive that night. She almost believes it herself. Almost.

Mostly, Katniss is surprised that Clove had said anything at all.

It's been a few days since she woke up in the treehouse, that peaceful nothing suddenly gone. She had been angry. She had grieved. Ranted and railed to the ghosts haunting her memories, alone in the treehouse, safe. Dying didn't get her sent back to District 12. Dying had accomplished little at all. It hadn't lasted. She hadn't thought it would, not in this place, not where the dead already walk among her.

She had wanted to return home so badly.

It's been a few days and by now, most of the emotions are exhausted. She's numb again, but in a different way than before. Tired. Just tired.

She returns to the village around mid-morning, unlocks the house and crawls into the bed she used to share with Peeta. The pillows and sheets still smell like him, a scent that comforts her. Remembering. Remembering Peeta. The boy with the bread, the boy that would sacrifice anything for her. The boy that had stopped her from committing suicide after Coin's assassination. The boy that hadn't been here to stop her this time. She hugs the pillow tighter to her and closes her eyes, willing herself to remember the positive. Those good memories that did exist deep inside of her.

And not to remember, oh not to remember, that this week was the week that Prim had died all of a year ago.

When she awakes, she finally remembers the journal she had brought back from the forest with her. She flips open the pages until she finds the little video screen and begins to record:]

Where I come from, we had Games. The annual Hunger Games, where every year a boy and a girl were chosen as Tributes to represent their District in a fight to the death. There would only be one winner, one survivor who would be crowned Victor and be honored by the Capitol. President Snow's way of giving the Districts a spark of hope, of showing the kindness that the Capitol was capable of even as they took our children away year after year to die while we were forced to watch and celebrate.

I was sixteen the year of the 74th Hunger Games. My sister, Prim, was twelve. It was her first year in the Reaping. Unlike me, her name had only been submitted once. She was never supposed to be chosen for the Games. But she was. I went in her place. I went and lit an entirely different spark. A spark of rebellion. That year, there were two Victors. I couldn't let Peeta die. He loved me, even then. Me? I was just playing a game. But I refused to carry the guilt of killing this boy.

The spark of rebellion grew into an inferno. The girl who was on fire lit the whole country ablaze. There are no more Hunger Games in Panem. Because I had been selfish. Because I didn't want Peeta's death on my conscience. Peeta was just... good. A good boy who refused to be changed by their Games. Who only wanted to die as himself. If anyone deserved to live, it was him.

He's gone back to Panem now. Lived, but at a great cost. He'll be tortured because of me. Hijacked. Given false memories and sent back to try and kill me. It doesn't work. Because it took a pack of wild dogs to accomplish what tributes and soldiers and even presidents could not do. I... I froze. At the memory of dog-like muttations with children's eyes ripping a boy to pieces while I watched and waited for his death to come in the night. It never did. Not until I took my last arrow, cost Peeta his leg, and sent it flying into the other boy's brain.

I'm only really good at a few things. Singing, surviving. Killing. And now it seems like I'm only really good at that last one. I can't sing anymore. I've tried since coming back but I can't. I can't and I don't know why.

[She takes a deep breath. The girl on the camera doesn't look all that upset. Confused mostly. Very confused. There's a crease between her brows, grey eyes lost in contemplation. This is a lot, the most she's spoken since arriving here. Perhaps the most she's spoken since filming one of District 13's propos. But the Mockingjay refuses to lose her voice again. There are stories that have to be told, that need to be remembered.

She thinks Peeta would be proud of her. Dr. Aurelian, too.]

I guess the point of all this is that this week, I came back to life. I died, but it didn't last. And - and I'm sorry if I worried anyone. I know what it's like to lose the people you love. A year ago, this week, despite everything I did to protect her, Prim died.

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[He has to put a filter up because even though it was world-shaking news (literally) it's still a complicated mess that not everyone from his world knows about, nor that the rest of Luceti does either.]

In a war.

That's the simple answer. The longer answer is that the war was one we declared to try get back Ace. My father was a pirate emperor, and the government was willing to do anything to get their hands on him.

The much much longer version involves a traitor. My brother was sent to hunt down the traitor who then pretended to ally with the government. He broke into their prison, broke out old enemies of my Pops -- enemies Teach once helped us defeat -- and used them in the war to kill my Pops to try get his power.

My brother died protecting his younger brother from a marine, and Pops died protecting all of us.

I wish I could say it gets easier, but it's still too raw for me. The memorial helped. As does having friends to lighten the load.

[She doesn't know who Ace is, only knows of pirates through her acquaintanceship with Jack. But she's more than familiar with war. With that raw feeling that eats away at you from the inside out. It's been seven years since she lost her father. A year since her sister's death. And Peeta, even though he wasn't dead, had been forcibly taken from her.

All of that, all of it, had hurt too much. It still hurts. There's no memorial here. All she has is her father's jacket and the paintings that Peeta had done while here. Not much. But where she had tried to push the objects away two weeks prior, she clings to them now. To what little she has of those she loves.]

My father died in a mining accident. [An exchange of information. That's not so hard. Especially given how open she had been minutes earlier.] Prim died in a war.

I see. Were you close to your father?

May I ask about the war? Not to bring up rough memories, but it seems our situations are a little similar.

[She nods. It's a response to his first question. Maybe even both. But she had been close to her father. Closer to him than she ever had been her mother, ever would be. Her father had been the glue that had held their family together. Their protector, their provider. It was easy to understand why her mother had given up everything for him.

And he had taught her so much. How to hunt, how to gather. How to sing. All the songs she knows, she learned from him. From that voice that would make the birds fall silent. A voice Peeta claimed she inherited. Something else from her father aside from her looks, the olive skin and grey eyes and dark hair that marked her as being from the Seem.

A voice that no longer seemed to work.

Thinking on that almost makes discussing the uprising a little easier. She probably would have gotten around to explaining it anyway in her speech.]

It was an uprising. The Districts against the Capitol. A way to end the Hunger Games, to end the tyranny President Snow showed us.

[If we burn, you burn with us.]

[From his discussion with Clove about what the Hunger Games even are, Marco's eyes just widen in shock at that. "Many would take death over slavery," he'd said. "If we can't live the way we want, it's not worth living." And yet... how many people would have to die for that freedom? From his own home, Fisher Tiger rose up, fought back against slavery and the entire system with it. He freed the slaves, but many died in the process. And overthrowing the whole world government? He can't even begin to imagine how difficult, how impossible, how damn suicidal that would be. And yet how many would try. Some days even Marco wanted to try. A suicidal fuck you of revenge for those who'd hurt his family.]

How many died? Is it still going on?

[He shivers, and once again, his infamous deadpan composure is too rocky to keep up. His voice breaks in the next question, obviously thinking of their respective siblings. Prim, Ace, and even others.]

Have you ever met someone who'd rather die than not be free? Trying to keep that kind of person alive... You can't trap them, and however much you try to help it's fighting such a losing battle, eh?

[Freedom. He lied when he said they sent Ace hunting. He lied to the whole world, and it was a lie he would never ever stop telling. Ace had to be free. He wouldn't be Ace otherwise, and they couldn't bear the idea of crushing that spirit in order to keep him safe. All they could do was support him. All they could do was trust him and hope for the best and try to save him later. To let him be free. And Sabo was the same way. Willing to die rather than be trapped. He'd rather be free than safe and alive but trapped. Of course Luceti drove them nuts. His voice is quiet, almost not even realizing he spoke the last part out loud.]

How do you protect someone like that?

It's over.

[But she won't comment on the death toll. Can't comment on the death toll. Too many people died. Far too many. And all because of her. She had been the figurehead, the face of the rebellion. The Mockingjay. People had fought, people had died in her name. Because she had lit a spark by offering a boy berries so neither had to return to District 12 alone.

The thought - all those thoughts - still made her very uncomfortable.

So does his other questions. People who would rather die than be free. Hijacked people. People who lived their whole lives in the Capitol not knowing any better. Like her prep team. Like Effie. People like Clove who had grown in District 2, the Capitol's lapdogs, who didn't have it nearly as bad as the rest of the Panem.]

I have. [She says the words quietly.] In the Capitol. In District 2.

Freedom.

The ability to make a choice for good or for bad, eh?

I guess you just have to support them and hope for the best. My brother, he's really rash. Your President Snow? Ace would have charged right at him just for the chance to punch him in the face. He drives me crazy sometimes. I want Ace to live, to survive. In this place, he hates being trapped, the lack of freedom. But he's alive.

Someone like that... You just have to trust their judgement, I guess. Even if it's stupid, even if they die, that death they still use as a final act to help others find and fight for their freedom. It's kind of noble in a way, isn't it? If frustrating.

[She doubts she's really much different than his brother. Charging right in, not thinking plans through. That's her right there. That's what Haymitch always hated about her.

She ran into the firefight in 8 to do her best to keep the hospital from getting bombed. She confronted the Capitol soldiers in 2 when everyone told her to stay back. Had gotten herself shot by one such shoulder because of that one. And then there had been the promise. The promise she had made with Coin. That she got to kill Snow was only part of the agreement to be the Mockingjay, but it was an important part.

But perhaps what his words make her think of most of all is the way she didn't hesitate to kill President Coin the day she was supposed to kill Snow. Vengance for her sister's death without thought of consequence.

She shakes her head.]

I'm not much better than your brother is. I'm also not very good at trusting other people's judgement.

[He laughs softly. Not bitterly, just a little rueful and mostly reflective, he's amused with himself really.] I've always had a weakness for liking the rash types. My Pops was the same way.

In that case then, the best I can tell you is don't ever stop long enough to look back with regret. The person my little brother died protecting, I believe he carries on my brother's will and that he'll change the whole world with it. My father basically said the same thing before he died. Sounds like you're the type to let your sister's death do the same for you, so I bet she'd be pretty proud, eh? It's not trusting others' judgement, but it's letting them trust yours.

What was something just the two of you used to do together, if you don't mind my asking?

[The laugh doesn't bother her. There's nothing malicious in the tone. Nothing, she thinks, more than acknowledgement of her words.

Except she can't stop looking back. Can't stop the nightmares the come at night, can't stop remembering the way her sister's body had been lit ablaze like a human torch. Can't stop blaming herself. Dying had mellowed some of the emotions, just for the past few days. But the more she talked, the more she dwelled, the more the past returned to haunt her.

She needed someone like Peeta so badly in her life. She needed that promise that life could be good again.]

I used to sing to her. [It takes a while, but she does finally respond.] At night, when she'd wake up with nightmares. After our father died, Mom shut down. I was the only one who could really look out for her.

[Nods quietly. Looking after his brothers gave him drive, purpose, held him together. Even as the world fell apart around him, he had reason to keep going beyond just avenging them.]

What songs was she most fond of?

My little brother Ace was getting some pretty bad nightmares his first few months here. [Especially after he realized he was dead back home. Reliving Marineford? It was enough to give anyone nightmares.] I showed him a trick from my Pops, but if they return, I might try a song too, eh.

A lullaby our father taught us.

[Deep in the meadow, under the willow
A bed of grass, a soft green pillow...

Words she can still speak but might never be able to sing again. Words that she would sing to her little sister every night. Words she sung to a dying girl, a girl Prim's age, who had no one to volunteer in her stead for the Hunger Games. A girl who never should have died only twelve years of age.]

I don't know how much it worked. I like to think it did.

[Nightmares are hard to keep away. Being held by Peeta was what had helped her most. She doesn't know what to do now.]

I'm sure it did. Probably just being there. I know when I'm having a rough time having him or my Pops around really helped, eh.

Maybe you could sing the lullabye to the roses, eh. It might seem a little silly, but it might carry over. Time is weird here and all.

[It doesn't sound a little silly. It sounds ridiculous. And the mention of roses, rather than primroses, makes it more uncomfortable. Roses are President Snow's symbol. She will never, ever like the look or scent of roses again in her life.

But all of that's beside the point. It doesn't matter whether or not she wants to sing to bushes of primroses.]

I can't sing anymore.

At all?

Ah... my apologies. What happened?

[It was easier now to understand, thanks to Jilly's explanation. It had been the one consequence of her death that she hadn't thought of. Hadn't known anything about.

Despite death not lasting here in this strange place, there are still consequences. Things stolen from you. Important things.

It's hard to say entirely nonchalant when she replies. Though her voice stays even, her eyes betray grief.]

I died.

Understood. How long has it been?

[Not very long at all. Too brief a time, she thinks. But it feels like forever already. Forever since she awoke back in the treehouse, her last memories being those of Clove stabbing her.

Again. And again. And again.

They've become a part of her nightmares now.]

I came back four days ago.

Damn.

I'm doubly sorry for your loss then, eh.

I write letters to my Pops and just stick them in his memorial here, maybe until you can sing again, something similar would help?

[Maybe. The suggestion is appreciated on some level. It's like something she imagines Dr. Aurelius telling her. Going through the motions, taking each day one at a time until something has meaning again. She had found that meaning by falling in love with Peeta, by cherishing the extra time she got with Rue, by showing off Cinna's creation at the masque. Honoring those she loved. Remembering the dead.

Maybe, someday, she could learn to do that again. Or maybe Teddy's offer of guitar lessons, of teaching her a new way to create music, might help.

She's not sure. But she does nod, considering the idea rather than full out dismissing it.]

Or maybe some sort of art, eh?

Flowers always used to be more of my brother Vista's thing, but they took on extra meaning for me after Pops died. Just an easy way to keep something around that symbolizes him.

For winter and indoors though, I go with origami. Easier to keep around.

[She continues to listen to him, paying attention to his every word and expression. Flowers made sense in a way. The bushes that Peeta had planted in the front of her house prior to her arrival here. Maybe, come spring, she could do something similar. Primroses for her sister, Primrose.

Then-]

What's origami?

Paper folding.

[Holds up a finger and grabs a vase with a white poppy, and a purple orchid inside.]

You can fold it to make designs, eh? My youngest brother here made me a bunch of pineapples for my birthday like that. [Wry grin. His brothers are trolls, but they learned form the best.]

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