Waking up is not a fun time today.
My lungs ache due to the amount of water that slipped through my nose down to them. My eyelids feel heavy, my arms are like jelly, and I didn't take a shower yesterday. My hair is pretty clean, but that's not a very big surprise. Cinna will fix me up today anyway, so that shouldn't matter very much.
I'm not entirely sure what it was exactly that woke me up. It wasn't the sunlight pouring in from the window like in the Seam. But that's right, I don't live there anymore. Either way, the windows are on a deep blue screen and for a moment, I think it's real. At the same time, I feel like it's all not really real. It can't be, can it?
As it turns out, it's not. I roll over and lo and behold, the remote to the window images was in my bed, and I accidentally turned it to the blue daylight sky while I was sleeping. I check the clock beside my bed, and it welcomes me with a neon glow that reads 4:52.
I sigh and turn off the screen, the window turning into a real window again. I heave myself off the bed and walk over to it, gazing across the structured lights of buildings and the minimum of drunkards still wandering the streets.
A sudden memory of Peeta sitting on the ledge in the living room crosses my mind, and I have a sudden urge to go sit there again. So, I do.
I shut the door to my room quietly behind me. I walk down the stairs and into the main room, glad to see only the blank room and no Haymitch, Effie, or even Cinna. I need some time to myself; I need to be able to think for once.
I walk over to the little window seat and sit down. I pull my knees close to my chest and let my forehead fall against the cool glass. I close my eyes, silently willing the world to turn back time. I bet that that's a sin. But who cares?
My mother used to talk about how there once was a thing known as "God." She told me when I was little that he'd help keep us all safe, but I wasn't allowed to speak of him to anyone else. Apperantly, the Capitol did not look fondly upon what my mother called "religion," so it was abolished sometime during the Dark Days, maybe even before then. My mother believed religion to be the start of the entire destruction of North America. Of course, nobody really knows what caused it for sure.
Some people say that a giant volcano might have erupted, destroying the entire western half of America. Others say that the people grew restless, so they all just started fighting, and officials couldn't hold them off, so everyone fought. Others say it was just a "stroke of bad luck," whatever that meant.
I always think that there must be somewhere else, somewhere beyond Panem. What about the other countries? Are they just like us? Why do we never learn about them in school? Are we doing something wrong? Have we been outcast?
I wouldn't be surprised to find out that we had been outcast from the rest of the world. I know that we're not the only people that live here. I've seen the oceans of District 4, I know that is must go somewhere. But where? Has anyone ever tried to swim across to the other side? Is there another side?
I sigh and open my eyes. Even though it's so late, or so early, lights still flicker throughout the city.
"Don't these people sleep?" I whisper, my breath fogging up the glass.
I wipe my finger through the fog, leaving a streak behind. I watch as the patch disappears from the surface of the window.
I glance over to the space across from me. Slowly, I release my knees and let my legs slide over across the seat, finally resting when they meet the other wall. Peeta sat here once. He looked at me and told me things that I'll never forget. I think that's when he first really started to affect me. I mean, really affect me. And how I thought.
I can picture Peeta, sitting there. Smiling that lopsided smile that he has. I can feel myself smile thinking about it.
Even though I've attempted to think about it before, I never decided if I ever really loved Peeta or not. Do I love him? Am I just afraid to admit it to myself, since he's gone now? I bet that's it. I bet I'm just too afraid. Basically, I let him die. I watched it myself, really. How did his mother react? No, that's a stupid question, she didn't actually ever love him. When I meant to ask was, how did his father react?
Peeta's father. So nice, so kind and caring. He always offered up some smile for Prim whenever he saw her walking outside the shop, no matter how much his wife was screaming at the time. Does he really love my mother the way that Peeta said he does? It wouldn't surprise me, really. I remember I was always told about what a beauty my mother used to be. That is, of course, until she moved to the Seam with some low-time miner.
What about my mother? Has she fallen apart again? And Prim. My dear, sweet Prim. Is she stuck trying to pick up the pieces of the woman who's supposed to have it all together for her? Is Gale there with Prim? Is Gale still in one piece?
Sometimes, I can't help but feel that I'm the reason Gale is so rigid and angered. I know I'm not though. I mean, I am sometimes, but I'm not the real reason. Sometimes, there is no reason for Gale's anger. It's just always there, like a demon he can never shake from his back. And it's all pinned up inside him, just waiting for that moment when it's going to explode and then Gale will really lose it. I don't like thinking about what will happen to him then. I know that day will come. And I know that Gale won't regret it, either, which is what scares me the most.
Then again, I know I've hurt him. All those times I kissed Peeta just for those cameras, I could always see Gale's face. Hear him thinking, "Do you really love that kid, Katnip?"
It's funny, because Gale was never with me then, but he was always with me. If that makes any sense to anyone, that is. He was always there, shadowing me like a ghost, begging me not to do this and not to do that, or quickly do this and that and then maybe this, too. It was almost as if he was haunting me, but I didn't always realize it. Not until after the fact, and by then, what does it really matter anyway? It's not like I can change anything now, anyway.
Who am I kidding? I was never able to change anything. Not from the beginning. It's because I didn't have a grip. I'd lost it from the moment that I heard Effie Trinket announce the name, "Primrose Everdeen!"
Thanks to that, I'm stuck here now, willing the whole world to change. The whole world, when I don't even know what that means! We're all sheltered, all of Panem is sheltered! And it's all because the government is so weak, just one bird could collapse it all! Just one Mockingjay!
Does anyone else see that?
Is anyone else even there?
Hello?
Are you there?
Are you listening?
Can you hear what I am telling you? Can you feel what I am feeling? Tell me. Please, answer me.
What I'm saying matters. It's important.
Now . . . now, I just need people to believe. I need to tell them all.
But I won't.
And I can't.
Because despite what I want to think, or like to think, I'm weak. I'm just as weak as the government. I'm as weak as a bow made from rotted wood. I'm useless, and I can only be used. There is no way I can stand on my own two feet unless someone else props me up, or I put on some fake facade where I'm wearing a gorgeous gown in front of a ton of cameras, twirling and giggling and spinning.
But when I take that dress off. When that glitter rubs away. When the cameras shut down. That's when I shut down, too. That's when I start to think and question.
I can think and question all I want, sure, but I'll always have to listen to Haymitch. Somehow, I know it in my bones. I don't have to listen to him completely, but he'll always be right in a way. In the future, if I even have a future, I know he'll be the one telling me what to do.
I close my eyes again, inhaling deeply. I hold my breath for a moment. Then another moment. I hold it until I can feel my lungs ripping, begging me for new oxygen. So then I exhale, until my lungs are completely without any kind of air at all. Then I breath in again. Repeat.
What will happen if I die? Really, what would happen? I think Panem would be different. Maybe I'm just thinking that to give myself some odd form of comfort, I don't know. I've always been the kind of person who doesn't need comfort. I've always been forced to stand alone.
Maybe that's why it was so odd when suddenly, I was forced to be standing up with someone as kind and warm as Peeta Mellark. Maybe that's how I've changed.
But have I actually changed?
No.
Because I still believe that killing humans and killing animals are two different things.
Because I don't have a constant, gnawing anger in me.
Because I'm not kind to people; I'm not accepted.
Because I'm still in the Hunger Games.
And I still have this delusion that I can win.