I close my eyes and take a deep wavering breath in. The guards body lay limp on the floor in front of me, on his chest was the pin. My pin. I had given it to Peeta on the train because Effie thought bringing it with me would start an uproar. The gold metallic mockingjay pin was fastened to the guards shirt. He had done something to Peeta. I let out a small whimper. Peeta would have never given it to the guard. It meant too much to both him and me.
Thoughts of Peeta being beaten or abused race through my mind. The thought of him, so helpless, builds up an emotion in my chest. I can feel my heartbeat, and my chest now has this swelling cold sensation. The sorrow gets replaced with anger. My Peeta, being hurt. I whip around to Gale.
"We're leaving to find Peeta. Now." I almost shout at him. With that I turn around and stride back outside. The sunlight is at it's strongest now so it must be around late noon. The wet grass tickles my ankles and I think of Willow and Rye. They're not going to lose their father, not like I did. An image of my father enters my mind accompanied by a pang of sadness put I quickly push it away. I demand Gale to point me in the direction of District Twos town square. I realize I can't be recognized, and a disguise is necessary. I walk briskly into a house and shove open the door. With the guards gun held up I demand entry and use of their house. They fearfully allow. Pulling open draws I grab scissors. I race down the hall until I get to a bathroom. The house isn't large but it's larger than my own. It has more updated appliances, with a touch sink and futuristic mirrors. I hear the patter of rain again and realize the storm isn't over, but worsening. A loud clap of thunder verifies my thoughts.
I turn to the mirror and attempt to cut my hair, but the scissors are dull and aren't cutting. With frustration I pull out my hunting knife from my cargo pants pocket. I hack away at my hair, not worrying about how I'll look. Once I can't saw anymore off I drop the knife and glance in the mirror. My hair is almost like a mans, short and above my ears. I feel my cheekbone, which juts out more without my hair covering it. I smile softly. I like this new look. I feel more mature, more daring. With last touch ups and a glance back in the mirror I turn and leave, signaling Gale to follow.
I wake up to the sun gleaming through beautiful green trees. I stare up at them, their leaves rustling ever so slightly in the wind. I roll over and reality rushes to me all at once. Gale is slouched against a tree half asleep, and I hear the city noises coming from District Two, which by the sounds seems to be a short walk away. The remains of last night comes back to be as I feel my now short hair. After leaving the house a rain of bullets came down on the area, explosions clouded the air and I still hear the ringing in my ears. We managed to escape, but not unscathed. I turn to look at Gale, and the huge cut where his eye had been cut by flying glass. I close my eyes. It shouldn't be like this. Oh God, I pray, let Peeta be alright. I pull myself up and teeter a bit. I had gotten slammed against a wall and still felt the pounding on my head. Gale glances up at me and stands up as well.
"I'm going to get Peeta. He's in there, and I'm not letting him go."
"Go, I can't follow anymore without putting you in danger. Find your stupid boyfriend." He replies kicking the tree.
"I'm sorry," I whisper as I pick up my jacket and begin back to the city. I turn back once and see Gale slouched on the tree once more, his hands pulling on his hair. I force myself to walk on.
I get to the outer gates of what was the city. Now rubble and a few buildings remain. I step over the once standing fence and start off, walking over remains. I flinch as a sharp piece of metal scrapes my ankle and a tiny red stream trickles down to the ground. I shove past a seeming wall of what a house used to be. This is what has become of District Two. I thought once the rebellion was over that the fighting would be too, but I suppose I was wrong.
I stagger on, looking for any familiar faces. Families and people wander the area, too, looking for remains of their lost homes and memories. I ask an old woman, hobbled over and limping, if she's seen Peeta. She shakes her head. I feel a pang of guilt and walk next to her.
"Do you want help looking for anything or getting anywhere?" I offer.
"No no no sweetie I'm alright. I think we all need help though, help doing what's right. No one seems to care about that anymore."