The Murderess - Rewrite

Chapter 29

It's been a month since we arrived in District Thirteen.

We've met President Alma Coin, but even after all this time, she won't speak to us directly. Before Thirteen, Snow and the Gamemakers were my biggest enemies. In here, aside from Misha (who has been short with his speech and has demonstrated quite the attitude in our brief conversations), I wonder if Coin is a friend or a foe.

From what we've seen when we catch glimpses of her outside of our meetings, she just watches, watches, never speaking directly to anyone she's concerned about. She has people to do all that for her. She's fifty or so, with gray hair that falls in an unbroken sheet of her shoulders. Her eyes are gray unlike any I've ever seen– so pale, like the color has been sucked out of them. Something about her still doesn't sit well with me. She's either the most reserved person on the planet or one of the calculating manipulators I've come across in the past. Why else hasn't she bothered to make any conversation, given our role in this?

I hear people talking about us everywhere we go. Plutarch's calculating assistant, Fulvia Cardew, has a big mouth and it's common for me to hear her speaking of Katniss, of me, of Finnick, of our baby, of the lost Victors even when we're not at this 'war council.' So many conversations and nothing is relevant to us, just yet. About us but not for us. It's becoming pathetic.

Everyone is expecting Katniss to take on this role, to truly be the Mockingjay. I haven't spoken directly to Katniss since the hovercraft. She's in no state to become the leader, the face, the voice, the embodiment of this revolution. There is a whole team waiting to do her makeup, prepare her speeches and dresses, but she's not ready to play the part. She sits at each meeting as if lost in a trance, and I admit I'm not paying much attention, either, not when everything being said makes no sense and has nothing to do with us.

Life here in District Thirteen is nothing like what I knew in Seven. Whether that's a good or bad thing, I've yet to decide. It's not the sort of life I want for my children, not for the long term. It's hard to believe anyone has been thriving here. Physically, it makes sense how families have carried on. Emotionally, I still feel like I'm in a prison. In an arena.

It's nothing like what the Capitol shows on television. The underground facility here grew over time, developed over centuries to be either a clandestine refuge for government leaders in time of war or a last resort for humanity if life above became unlivable. Thirteen was the center of the Capitol's nuclear weapons development program. During the Dark Days, the rebels in Thirteen wrestled control from the government forces, trained their nuclear missiles on the Capitol, and then struck a bargain: they would play dead in exchange for being left alone.

The Capitol had another nuclear arsenal out west, but it couldn't attack Thirteen without certain retaliation. It was forced to accept Thirteen's deal. The Capitol demolished the visible remains of the district and cut off all access from the outside. Perhaps the Capitol leaders thought that, without help, Thirteen would die off on its own. It almost did a few times, but always managed to pull through due to a strict sharing of resources, strenuous discipline, and constant vigilance against any further attacks from the Capitol.

Now the citizens live exclusively underground. They're allowed to go outside for exercise and sunlight at specific times in their schedule, but this cannot apply to Finnick or me, and especially not Katniss. Our schedule is printed on our forearm each morning in purple ink, letting us know when we're to have breakfast, when we're to perform any kitchen duties, or simply sit and read.

Bathtime is at 22:00. It's my favorite time of the day because Finnick and I sit together in the bathtub and try our best to relax. Sometimes, we pretend we're on an adventure in District Four, venturing toward islands of silver and gold. Other days, he massages my back, the strain of my growing belly becoming greater and leaving me more exhausted than I was in the arena.