Decendant of the Mockingjay

Chapter Two

Chapter Two

   I was more angry than I thought I would be when my mother called 'Thirteen' and a helicopter came out and shipped us out of 12, I had never been attached, but I had never lived anywhere else either. And we just left, no goodbyes, no packing. just getting on a plane, and leaving everything behind. I stare out the window as my home disappears behind us and behind a snow tipped range of mountains. I keep silent as Kaemon just loses it with our parents.

"There's still a resistance! And you never even mentioned it to me?!" Kaemon rants, "You knew there were still people out there, and you didnt tell me?! Do you have any idea how much this could have helped my investigation?!""

"It was for your own safety, KZ, so you can just calm down," Haymitch says, he's drunk, which used to be a regular for him, but now he only gets drunk when hes very stressed.

"I dont care! I feel that I have been done an injustice!"

And now he is just being totally dorky. He always has to over do it.

"Kaemon, just shut up," I moan, still staring at the dot that's Twelve, my home.

"Maggie! Back me up!" He says.

"Kae, just drop it," I say, not turning around because I don't want to see the sad look in his grey eyes, so I just stare blankly out the window.

I agree with him, they shouldve told us. We were just in danger as they were, we had every right to know. Or maybe it was for our safety, and I'm just mad because they decide to not even give me a chance to say goodbye to my friends, or bring some clothes.

"Listen, Kaemon Zae," my father starts, "I understand that you're upset. And you too, Maggie, but we were only trying to protect you, so you never have to go through... what we did,"

"The point is that you are acting like a child in a situation where if you don't act like an adult you end up-," Haymitch starts, he seems even more drunk than he did a couple minutes ago.

"Thats enough, Haymitch!" my father snaps.

My mother has stayed quiet since we got on the plane, since she saw the rose actually. Usually, shes quiet, but not this quiet.But then she speaks up.

"No, hes right. We should have told them. Gale's kids know," my mother says.

"Gale! The kid who saved the refugee's from Twelve?!" Kaemon goes off on his dorkiness again, "I thought he was dead!"

"He is," my father says.

"He's in Two, his kids are in Thirteen, though," my mother sighs.

My father gives her a scowl and she scowls right back.

"Peeta, we cant just hide these things from them!" my mother cries.

"Actually, we can," He says boldly, "You're just choosing not to,"

"What you two do need to do is not act like children," Haymitch says impatiently, his voice stuttering from the effects of the acohol.

"Well," I say, "This has been the most...um... interesting morning that I never wished for. But I would like to go to sleep, so is there like, a cot somewhere or something?" I interrupt, trying to sound cold.

The adults ignore my remark and lean in and talk in whispers using terms and names that I'm not familiar with, they talk like this and Kaemon leans over and whispers what he can understand in my ear. And I don't even know what he's on about. So they continue to have their gossip and Kaemon keeps trying explain it to me, and I sit there and be Maggie. Nothing special like my parents, Haymitch, and my brother who isn't known as Kaemon Zae, but Kaemon Zae Mellark. I never feel like a Mellark, most people don't even know I am. I am the only person in my family not striving to be different it seems. Just trying to be a normal girl. I don't blame people for seeing Kaemon as my parents kid more than me. He had my mother's eyes, and my fathers hair; a rare combination of gray and blonde. And the most famous features of my parents. He's informed on the Hunger Games and who's who. I on the other hand, have my fathers common sky blue eyes and my mothers just as common long dark wavy hair. To me the Hunger Games are just another horror movie series that's more real than the rest. I try not to think too much about them anyways, watch them as little as possible simply because I don't enjoy my parents half dead making out on public television. Yeah, there's other things I'd much rather watch. I shake the image out of my mind and brush my hands through my hair in frustration, wishing this was just another bad dream.

"I feel like I should be more scared," I finally say to Kaemon in response to how theyre talking about this dude that my parents watched have his legs blown off. Thank you Kaemon, but I didnt need to know that.

"Well, you've been secretly prepared for this your whole life, so its just your mental deficiencies kicking in," Kaemon says calmly.

"Did you just call me stupid?"

"No, its a deficiency in the meaning that its changed how your brain works, its very beneficial actually," Kaemon says, then going off on a some definition of what it is and how it works and I just tune him out, he can be a dork, whatever.

I look out the window and realized that we've started to decent down into a woodland, with a small town that doesn't look like any rebellious acts could have happened in. Then I remember that the real Thirteen is underground, well that's what we learned in History. I thought it wasn't getting worse. Wrong. I should stop making assumptions, but that would be very out of character for me.

My next assumption is that when we get to Thirteen I am going to get stuck with one of Gale's kids who's going to try to be all weird and have this weird resentment towards me because of our parents and I'm going to sit there and think about how wrong I was when I leaned over and told my best friend, Chamomile, "Nothing is more torturous," when her dad made us watch a documentary on the construction of tooth floss. I feel a bit more scared at the thought of Chamomile. She was always the one to do the more adventurous things. Like in the third grade when she tried to curl her hair with sticks we found in the sun for picture day since her mom wouldn't let her use her curler. She came up with the plan, but I put the sticks in. So in the end we both got in trouble. Chamomile got us out of it. Not that strolls down Memory Lane aren't nice, but I hate thinking about Chamomile while running from our home without even getting to say bye. Not that that's what have happened, she doesn't do goodbyes, as soon as she got my point she wouldn't say, "Bye Magnolia!" or "I'll miss you!". She'd say, "See you later!" and smile like we would see each other the next day.

I'm, luckily, shaken out of Memory Lane by a rough landing that shakes the helicopter and were on the ground in what must be District Thirteen.