Flight of The Mockingjay (A Hunger games Fanfiction)

Flight of The Mockingjay (A Hunger games Fanfiction)_Part Three

Hi! So Here's part three.. Sorry it took long.. I was kind of thinking not to continue my fanfic since the actual Mockingjay's already out... but yeah, some say I should so here it is.. It's short though, haven't thought of more to write yet... Have fun!! (:

Part Three

My feet bring me to no place I've known. I'm on a balcony that stands fifteen feet above district thirteen's undergrounds. Glancing absently around, I see bungalows extend at a distance. Tall posts with yellowish glow serve as the only light. How did I even get here? One second, I'm sitting in a room to hear how the very area lived but not to see my father. All along I thought he had disappeared forever, buried in the tragic past. And on the next, I'm walking my way out of . . . out of what? Neither disbelief nor hatred could fit. What I feel is barely explicable. I don't understand. And I think I'm not ready to do so.

"Catnip." Gale whispers from behind. I don't remember catching him on my way out. But maybe he was just lingering in a corner when he saw me rushing away to follow this far.

I look at him with my eyes still puffy from the recent tears.

"You know, don't you? You've been here." I start.

He nods with reluctance.

"And you didn't tell me"

He flickers his glare away just like he used to do earlier. "I'm sorry. They forbid me to." He says.

His face turns blank and hard. And on a sudden his words come back "They're on it just as we are."

I should've known if I had been clever to read between the lines.

Now, hearing him voice this out for the second time, I feel the deep emotion he refuses to let go. Abstruse in the abyss of his thoughts. Just as any child who struggle to survive would ponder. But I'm certain his is much intense than mine. Just as any abandoned son would feel.

"Did you talk to him yet?" I ask.

He simply nods with indifference. But his gray eyes glistening across the lights show his stuck in what can only be regret from a feeling so wrong--contempt.

At some point, I understand the way he feels. True, it hadn't been easy for us while they lie hidden in this place and might even know what we're going through. But it wasn't any easier for them, as well. In fact, it might have been harder, emotionally. But either way scorn's out of the question for me to weight.

I don't hate my father. Even if those who might have witness would thought I acted as though I felt the same way just as what I used to for my mother, I'm still certain I don't. Even if it shows in what I just did. But in any case, they'll see I hate myself now for acting like it when all I want was to hug him back when he embraced me.

"I didn't." I say even if not asked.

"Better for you. I uttered nothing but terrible things, you know." He says shaking his head. "And I can't take them back."

Yeah, better for me. But I don't think I can also take back the scene I made.

He suppress a faint smirk. "You should talk to him."

"After what I did?"

Gale nods.

"He might have thought I hated him. Or loved him less. But the earth knows I don't especially now that he's alive. Only if he knew I was just . . . just . . . I was just so mixed up! Everything's coming in such great outpouring that I don't even get to realize what move to do next." I hear myself say.

My eyes are wet with tears once more. How come it doesn't stop? They say no one can cry a glass of tears for a day. But I guess I did more than that. And before I could shed my eyes clear, my father comes out of no where just as the first time I saw him once again in the room.

Gale gives yet another nod and paces away.

"Wait. Gale," I hesitate. I know he set this up. Of course, he doesn't want the same thing that he did to be repeated. But I wonder if he already got the chance to right himself. "You should also talk to him. To your father."

He smiles and I return it immediately before he goes. "Thanks."

I stare at the same direction for a while even after Gale's shadow vanishes. Now, we're alone--my father and I--perhaps this is better.

He stands behind the balcony door with the same longing when painted on his face. I recognize the urge building up inside him to explain. but I guess I won't be needing it at all. I know well enough. I understand it wasn't his fault. And what I did was just so unjust that I might be the one needing to explain.

" I'm so sorry." I whisper under my breath and silence follows.

"No, I understand." he finally broke.

I shake my head faintly just as I find the courage to reach his direction. Before I knew it, I was hugging my father so tightly with all sorts of emotions flooding inside me. And I realize I'm merely choking for air. But I continue voicing out my apologies between sobs.

"Katniss, it's alright." he says. but I don't know how to stop. "It's not your fault."

The night seems to be forever. The few hours I spent with my father fills each and every second we were apart. I told him about the past six years like a ten-year old going through single details, even futile ones. I told him about Prim and how she grew up as a sweet and wise girl who spared her love for everything that bears life. Also, how she got to inherit our mother's healing hands. I told him about my first trip in the woods alone. How I gradually got better using his weapon--his bow and arrows. The very weapon which saved me from my first games. And evidently, the one that brought me out of the quell. The one thing which if wasn't created would've not bring me standing here right now. About to bring the flames of the growing fire lick the Capitols power.

"The people. They think I'm their long-lost hope." I mutter.

"You are. But remember what I always told you, Katniss when you were still a kid."

I look him in the eye. What he kept telling me from the past is how to make my own plans and steps without minding what the people around insist. Of course it was sarcastic way back. We never had the right to protest or follow our own wills since we were under control. But now, things are if not changed, turned lighter. We're not technically free, then again, we do what we think is right deep down. We'll do what we think would give the change. We fight.

"I know. I know, Father." The word gives a strange chill on the insides of my skull. It's been a while since the last time I ever remembered of using it. "But whatever my decision is, you're with me aren't you?"

My father smiles and assures me with a nod.

"Then, I'm accepting it. I've made my choice even before I came here. I'm going to be the Mockingjay. I'm leading the Nation in this rebellion." I say, courage superiority echoing my voice.