Katniss Everdeen (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
stillplaying) wrote2012-11-07 03:27 pm
stillplaying) wrote2012-11-07 03:27 pm
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.
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.
no subject
Not if Cashmere and Gloss were any indication.
But her mother had given up everything, given up her plush merchant life to live in the Seam with a man who could barely offer her anything. Except his love. A love that had gone both ways.
A love that Katniss resented after her father died. Because it had been a love that had destroyed her mother. Left her nearly catatonic in her grief. It had been around then that she had swore never to fall in love herself. Never to marry or have a family.
Maybe they didn't have such a bad idea in District 2 after all.
Quietly,] You're not missing much.
no subject
[Her Cato, who had volunteered after a lean, fast projectile user had been called by the Reaping. He hadn't just kept his promise to go with her to the Games; he'd saved her from being seen as completely expendable to the pack right away.
Cato, who had wasted valuable time holding tonher after Thresh was done with her, who'd just kept remindind herthey were almost home.
Yeah. Get some sleep. We'll be home when you wake up. Promise.
She doesn't know if she imagined those words or not. She probably did... but she likes to pretend she can believe she didn't.]
Still. Here? If I could either save myself or save him? Even if it was permanent?
Me. Wouldn't even have to think about it.
I... don't think I like it. Knowing that.
no subject
She couldn't have been certain that she would have successfully called Seneca Crane's bluff. That it wouldn't be more entertaining for the Capitol if their star-crossed lovers committed suicide rather than live without the other. And the berries had been in her mouth. In his. They hadn't swallowed, but would they have? Would she have if the announcement hadn't been made to declare them both victors?
She doesn't know. She knows now that she loves him. That Katniss loves Peeta more than she's loved anyone in this world. Maybe even Prim. She's learned to live without her sister. Living without Peeta seems infinitely harder. He had been the reason in the end that she had finally gave in to death. Because the idea of living without Peeta by her side seemed so completely wrong.
A tear falls from her eyes, landing on the ground. She doesn't care if Clove sees. Not right now.]
I don't like knowing that I'd die for him.
no subject
We'd be better off [it's hard, but she manages a smile, one that even she knows doesn't look real] if we'd never had them in our lives.
[She doesn't mean it. She can't. Being with Cato is the closest she gets to being happy.]
no subject
She'd be better off if Peeta Mellark never taught her how to love. Because she still can't say, not for certain, if that same twisted sadness would have cropped up between her and Gale in some other way. If she'd never be able to match the love he had for her.]
And they'd be better off without us. [There's no smile. No hint of anything but a grim, steely resolve in her grey eyes.] Peeta never would have been hijacked if it wasn't for me.
no subject
[They're united in this. It's not pleasant, but it's not awful, either. She doesn't -- can't -- love like Katniss does, she knows that, but she can appreciate the sort of sentiment.
She smiles, yes, but it's a strange, almost twisted smile. Something like grief.]
But without all four of us, there never would've been two victors.
[Not that it'd have mattered, if the two from Twelve hadn't had their romance. Real or not at that point, it had worked. And the Gamemakers had played the odds.
They'd set a tantalizing prize in the reach of two teams. If they hadn't each been so allied, that chance would never have come. That hope Clove had known, and the semblance of a victory Katniss had achieved.
Which was the worse fate? Clove isn't a philosopher, and trying to think of all the ins and outs is lost on her.]
But they're stuck with us. Because we can't let go.
no subject
Going to the Games with someone you remotely care about or owe in any manner is not, and will never be, a good idea.
Somehow, she succeeds in keeping this opinion to herself. It's not easy and she nearly attempts to interrupt a number of times as Clove talks. Her face might momentarily betray the thoughts she keeps silent, but so long as she keeps her head ducked, the other girl can't see.
She never considered either Clove or Cato stupid. Not until now.]
Maybe.
no subject
I know now.
[I know how stupid it was.]
But it's not the same in District Two.
[Not if things are done right.]
I never thought twice about it. Going to the Games with him. Even when it was happening. I knew I couldn't kill him. Practically, even. He's three times my size, and I was never far enough to take him with my knives before he reached me.
But I knew there were people who could take him on.
[Thresh first, who spurned the Careers. Then Lover Boy.]