Memories of the Mockingjay

Chapter 5: Mockingjay

The rest of the lesson was spent in silence.
My mind whirred at one million miles an hour. This meant that Katniss was my mother. They had lead a revolution. But if that was true, how was dad still alive? And where is Katniss?
When it was time for lunch, I left school, retreating to my tree in the meadow. I plucked my notebook from my bag and scrawled on the page:
"Well mother,
It's been 16 years and I'm finally getting to know you. I never had an inkling that you had been in the games, or that you and dad led a revolution. I would love to ask you hundreds of questions about your life, to ask anyone about your life, but I don't think that given the circumstances, that would be a good idea.
Dad is still in pretty bad shape, otherwise I would ask him. I might still do it."
I put the notebook back and slung my bag over my shoulder, heading towards home.

When I arrived, I'm not sure why, but I was angry. I opened the door to find dad in a cheery mood. "You're home early Cinder." He smiled, putting bread on the table. I just stared at him for a few seconds and dropped my bag to the floor, stomping my way up the stairs to my room.
It took my dad forty five minutes to work up the courage to enter my room. He had sat outside the whole time. I could hear him muttering to himself.
He finally opened the door, a box in hand, and sat on the edge of my bed, placing the box beside him. "Cinder, what's wrong?" He asked, his eyes tired and weary.
I ignored him, not meeting his gaze,
He sighed before lifting his eyes to my face and saying "Your mother would know what to do."
My eyes met his. This was the first time he had ever mentioned her.
"What is she like?" I asked, curiosity probably showing on my face.
"Cinder, she is the most beautiful woman I have ever met. She was capable of earning the trust of crowds, by speaking a few words." His eyes seemed to glaze over as he stared into the distance, perhaps remembering a long-forgotten memory, until he blinked a few times, snapping himself out of it, and nudging the box closer to me.
"Open it." He smiled, as I picked up the box.
"What is it?" I asked, a smile spreading across my face.
"Open it." He repeated, with a light chuckle. I had never seen him like this.
I peeled off the lid of the box, greeted by a brown leather jacket. It looked worn and battered, and somewhat beautiful. I lifted it from its box and held it before my eyes. It was lovely.
"It's your mother's."
That's why it was beautiful. She had worn it. I felt my eyes brim with tears as I held the jacket to my nose, breathing in its scent, her scent. I threw it around me, it was so comfortable. Then, I threw my arms around dad. "I love it, thank you so much." I told him. It was strange that in one day, I had managed to get to know my mother a bit.
"Dad, can I ask you something?" I said, my hands stroking the leather of my new jacket.
He nodded, so I asked, "What was her name?"
"Katniss, Katniss Everdeen. The girl on fire, the Mockingjay, the Capitol darling." He said, his eyes filling with tears, as I lost him again to a memory.
Then it popped into my mind; Everdeen. That's the name on the door of the house next door. That's her house. I had to know her, about her life, who she was. I would get into that house, one way or another.