stillplaying: ([happy] delighted)
[There's a bashful look on her face when she opens the journal. It's been a whole day now, a whole day since she returned from her kidnapping. Since she had discovered Prim had arrived in her absence, since she had gotten to once again spend the whole day and night in the company of her sister. It had been amazing. A dream that she had never thought possible. Prim was dead and yet... yet, for whatever reason, she had been brought here.

Perhaps she should have alerted those outside of her household that she had returned. But all she had wanted for that one day was to spend it alongside Prim. To tell her everything that had happened in the months - year - following her death. To tell her about Commander Paylor and the new government of Panem. To tell her of all those she had met here, of Peeta and Richard, Teddy and Sokka and Zevran and Rapunzel. It had been the wee hours of the night by the time she had gone to bed.

But sometime in the mid-morning, she remembers promises she had made. To the man who had helped her in learning how to get her voice back. To the boy who was now suffering from a death penalty of his own. She had promised them both a song. And it seems now like such a small price to pay to gaining not one, but two, important parts of her life back.

She ducks her head for a second, fingers playing with the buttons and beads on the handmade necklace Sokka made her. And then she clears her throat and begins to sing with a voice that, as Peeta once claimed, would silence the birds:]


ExpandHigh on a Mountain )

[When she's done singing, she smiles sheepishly and shrugs.] I promised a song to a few people. I hope you enjoyed it.

[She opens her mouth a second later to say something more. And then she pauses and, for once, actually takes the time to construct a filter. To make certain that Prim cannot see what follows. Because even though Katniss' own birthday is only a few days away, she's not thinking of that day very much. It pales in comparison to a much more important day approaching at the end of the month.]

Does anyone have much experience throwing birthday parties? My sister - Prim - she's here now. And her birthday's in a few weeks. We could never afford a proper celebration growing up. I'd like to give her that. Give her everything that she couldn't have back home. [She frowns for a moment, brow wrinkling in thought.] I also need to build an addition to my house. Where'd I go about getting the material for that?


[ooc: for those interested in what the song might sound like. though this isn't exactly how i picture katniss' voice. nor does she have musical accompaniment in this post.]
stillplaying: ([fear] hesitant)
[Expandcut for introspection and mention of suicide )

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.