The Little Mockingjay

The Reckoning: Flint's POV

Song: The Reckoning by NEEDTOBREATHE

When I wake up, the other side of the bed is cold. My fingers stretch out, seeking Nadia's warmth but finding only the rough canvas cover of the mattress. I remind myself for the tenth time tonight that she isn't here with me. She's not here to quell the nightmares with her soothing, sisterly words. I try to comfort myself in the fact that we're safe now, but I can't seem to fall back to sleep. Nadia and Dad have both been unconscious all day, and they've been in the hospital unit of the military base since we got off the helicopter. I haven't been allowed back in there since I was discharged earlier today. They tried to get Mom to leave, but any efforts proved fruitless. And while Finn is like an older brother to me, I can't just go cuddle up to him in the middle of the night. I'm practically a man, for God's sake. So I swing my legs off the bed and put my bare feet on the cold metal floor. I get up and leave my room, not bothering with shoes or a shirt. As I walk the empty hallways, my fingers absentmindedly trace the scars on my body that linger from the torture of the past few weeks. A few above my hips, some along my chest, a couple on my forearms. I feel thankful that I made it out of that hellhole healthy, unlike my sister. I watched her deteriorate in there, like a doll slowly being pulled apart by one loose string. I need her to wake up. I need her to be okay. She's my sister, and while we fight, she's my support system and I love her like nothing else. And in the cell wherever we were in the pits of hell, when she wanted to help the insurrection, I felt like we were from different planets. But she came around. I knew she would. If I had to describe my sister with one word, it would be brave. And what she did in front of that camera is a testimony to her bravery. My mind wanders to our last few moments as prisoners, guns pointed at our heads. I shudder at the recent memory. I could be dead right now. I wonder if Nadia is dead. I think about my family, and about all the new information I've acquired about my parents. I think about how utterly broken we all are. I steel myself against my own thoughts. I remind myself that I am not broken. I'm fine. I was hardly affected. I'm basically the same person that I was before being kidnapped. It doesn't matter that I was tortured. I don't care about this war. My family will be fine.

I tell myself all of these things as I collapse against one of the walls, lost in the maze of hallways, heels of my hands pressed into my eyes in a unsuccessful attempt to stop the tears that spill down my cheeks.

Stop this, Flint, I scold myself.

But I can't. Something inside of me bursts like a dam, releasing a flood of emotions.