The Girl Who Was On Fire

[She's been so busy lately that she hasn't noticed the time fly by. Busy with teaching Foo Foo, busy with hunting and providing for her family, busy helping Richard finish the extra wing to the house before first snow, trying to learn filial magic, busy stealing every spare minute of time with Prim and Teddy and all those others she holds there. She hasn't noticed the time pass. Hadn't realized that it's already November.

It's been a year since Peeta's left. Over a year now. And though she misses him every day, misses him even more when she wakes up on the couch screaming from night terrors, she's... still alive. Found something - someones - else to live for. And maybe that boy who had asked about finding a way to bring others here might actually succeed. Maybe she could bring him back. The boy that loves her. Where everything is actually real.

More than that, though, she's realized what time of year it is again. Has it really been two years, then, since the end of the rebellion? Since losing Prim?

But Prim's no longer lost. She's here. And if Katniss has her way, she'll stay here forever.

It's this realization that makes her more reluctant to leave that morning. But she has responsibilities. Things she has to do. Including teaching that stupid sabertooth moose lion how to actually hunt his own food rather than snatching her squirrels from her bag. Foo Foo has, at least, grown incredibly skillful at that. So at some point mid-morning, Katniss makes her way to House 56 to pick up the beast and continue their way in the Eastern Forest.

Once again, her hunt with Foo Foo isn't nearly as successful as her hunts alone. She loses more squirrels to him than she manages to retain. And when she finally spots a rabbit - perfect for tonight's dinner, perfect to make one of Prim's favorite stews - he lumbers in the way of her shot. Frightened, it runs into the bushes. Annoyed, Katniss lets her arrow fly into the trees.

Some seconds later, she pulls out her journal. With the video feed on, she focuses on Foo Foo.]

How is anyone supposed to teach something this stupid to do anything?

[She doesn't even feel remotely guilty when the young animal looks up from his interest in the rabbit-clad bushes and gives her a goofy, happy grin. It seems one enjoys these outings more than the other.]

Dumb mutt.



[Sometime later in the afternoon, she's back in the town. Having to pick up food is becoming more and more an uncomfortably common task on the days she tries to train Foo Foo. But this week more than ever, the week of her sister's death, she feels the need to spoil her. To go to the items shop and find little gifts that might make her happy. Or pick up fresh bread at the bakery and sweets at the grocery.

Anything for Prim. Anything.]

( She's spent the last week hiding... )

Effie's last post remained fresh in her mind as she turned on the video recorder in the journal. Her hair was neatly braided in its custom side braid. The mockingjay pin pinned high on the chest of one of her nicer blouses, displayed where everyone could see it. She stared resolutely at the camera for a minute before she nodded.]

Today, back in my home of Panem, would have been the first time in seventy-six years that a reaping of contestants for the annual Hunger Games would not have occurred. As many of you know by now, every year, on this day, the names of two children from each district - a boy and a girl between the years of twelve to eighteen years of age - would be selected to fight to the death in an arena days later. The Hunger Games served as entertainment to those who lived in the Capitol. People like Effie Trinket who didn't know better. An honor to those in the richer Districts, the ones favored by the Capitol. For the rest of us, it was a punishment, a reminder of the cost that came with rising up against our government.

[She took a deep breath, lips pursed together for a quick second as she remembered. She spoke without thinking. Determined, she only realized later, to take the heat off of Effie for her suggestion of games here in Luceti. Her mockingjay wings twitched behind her. But once she started speaking again, the words tumbled out. She held her gaze steady, grey eyes showing all the emotion her stoic expression hid.]

Many of you were angry when Effie suggested the idea of gladiatorial-like games here in our prison. But Effie was only acting like everyone else here, trying to make the best out of a horrible situation. Looking for something that would make her feel more at home. Just like the rest of us. You have no right, no right at all, to judge her for that. You don't know our world. You don't know what it could be like.

The 75th Hunger Games, the Quarter Quell, were the last official games held by President Snow and the Gamemakers. But they weren't the last Hunger Games. Because after the second uprising ended, after we won, the surviving victors of previous Games met. There were only seven of us left. Me and Peeta. Our mentor, Haymitch. Johanna, Enobaria, Beetee, Annie. We were given a choice by President Coin - the new leader of Panem, the leader I executed in revenge for my sister's death. One last Hunger Games, this one played by twenty four children directly related to those who held the most power in Panem.

I think the way the vote fell was obvious. Peeta and Beetee and Annie voted no. The better of us. Johanna and Enobaria voted yes. And Haymitch and I? We had the last votes. But he's as unlikable, as bitter as I am. I suspected how he'd vote. And I voted to kill those Capitol children anyway.

I am not a good person. Maybe... maybe I thought I could change. Maybe I thought I could put all this behind me. The Captiol, the Hunger Games, Peeta... But girls like me don't deserve to be happy. They don't deserved to be liked. Or loved.

So do yourselves all a favor and think before you make a judgement about someone. Because as wrong as you are about Effie? You're just as wrong about me.

[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:]

( High 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.]

[( cut 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.