When The Canary Sings

R-E-B-E-L-L-I-O-N

First Person Point of View: Becca Blue: 

*

I am one massive idiot.

Johanna, Annie, Peeta and I all lie, beaten and bruised and barely breathing in a cramped, dirty cell. The only sound being our ragged breaths or the occasional puking. I lay here, curled up on my side, my head pounding and the room spinning even though I haven't moved an inch.

There hasn't been food in...maybe four days. I can't really tell because the cell that we're locked in like mice has no window to the outside world. No clock, no windows, just an airtight door. Johanna thinks it's been four days.

This place reeks of urine and feces. It's just a dark room, concrete walls and floors. The only light in the room is a singular fluorescent light that flickers constantly, giving all of us headaches. Well, it gave us headaches in the beginning, but in the past three days we got used to it. I have nothing for comfort, the gifted necklace was confiscated as soon as I got here.

Rats and mice scurry across the room, occasionally stopping at one of our half-dead bodies, probably looking for its next meal. However, none of us move to stop them unless they try to bite us. I've heard Johanna mutter how she's going to catch one and eat it, yet the suckers always manage to scurry away from her before her beaten hands can catch them.

We got here a week ago. Maybe. We went from the games to a dark cell, we haven't been told a thing. They gave us about two meals, shoving them on the ground and leaving the room. After that, they just left us here. To starve? No one knows. The only thing we do know, is that we're in a Capitol prison, and we are royally screwed.

"Johanna." I hear a croak from across the room. I recognize the voice as Peeta's. "What happened before the Quell? Why. Are. We. Here?" He asks, his usual passive tone replaced by a desperate rasp. I'd cry, but I have no more tears left to give.

Johanna sighs, yet doesn't give an answer. Instead, choking on the foul smelling air. No one blames her though. None of us can bring ourselves to talk. We're all just so confused. Well, Peeta, Annie and I are. Johanna's just...angry. Not like usual, though, this is a worse type of anger. The type of anger that has nowhere to go, so it settles on the deep pits of your stomach. Instead of morphing it into hatred, it morphs into despair.

Even though I've only known Johanna a small two years, I've never seen her like this. It's frankly terrifying.

Peeta is curled against the wall, and Annie has been softly sobbing for the past three days. I wish I had the strength to crawl over to her and give her a hug, but I don't. In fact, I don't even have the strength to cry. Or yell.

Not even a hum can escape my throat.

The thought of humming brings me to Will. Is he alive? Probably not. If more than one victor made it out of the games...the Capitol must be livid. Of course, I have no clue what is happening in the outside world, but I can gather that Will, and probably all of District Twelve has been killed. Maybe bombed, maybe they released fire mutts on the whole district. The only fitting punishment for a district full of traitors and bad history.

History. I have a bad history and I've only lived fifteen years. History is a funny word. A full word that has a funnier meaning, a meaning I can't think of. What is history? History is almost everyone I know, because all of them are dead.

Maybe not dead, but probably dead.

My mind wanders back to when I was plucked from the arena like a rose. When I was gently laid on a hospital bed. When I heard Haymitch's voice. Now, I realize I am a colossal idiot. An idiot who fell for another trick. Like the jabberjay trick, his voice was fake.