The New Mockingjay

Chapter Eight

That night, I sat on my bed. Nurse Patten had told my mother and I that Katniss is going to spend one more night in the emergency room. 

I was afraid to sleep that night. So when slipped into bed, a made sure that I did the best I could to stay awake all night. 

To pass the time, I tried to remember some memories from District 12. The one that popped into my mind immediately was the Reaping of the 74th Hunger Games. Effie's voice saying my name still makes me shudder.

"Primrose Everdeen."

I had stood in horror. Why me? Out of thousands of other slips. And it was my first time too! What am I going to do?

As I made my way up slowly up to the stage, I heard someone shout out,

"Prim!"

I whirled around. Katniss was struggling to fight off a couple of Peacekeepers to make her way towards me. 

"I volunteer! I volunteer!"

That was when everything literally stopped.

The Peacekeepers stopped fighting and stopped and stared. 

"I volunteer as Tribute." 

I couldn't believe. This is even worse. Katniss had raised me by herself when our father died and my mother didn't do anything. I couldn't lose her. I would almost rather go and die by myself.

"No!" I had screamed. "No, no, no!"

I shook my head. I couldn't tell if that was a dream or a flashback. Either way, it felt so real. As if I was reliving it again.

Buttercup seemed to know that something was up, he jumped up on the bed with me. His yellow eyes were filled with warmth and curiosity. 

I stroked him and he purred. Rubbing his head on my hand. His purring was like a gentle lullaby because I found myself closing my eyes and drifting off into a deep slumber.

                                                                                *******

I was lying on the ground.

I was comfortable. When I shifted my body, I was lying in the dirt. There were a set of bow and arrows on my back. 

My pillow, though, felt very unusual. 

When I saw what it was. I wanted to jump and run away. But I couldn't. I was in someone else's body, and it wasn't Katniss's. 

I sleeping on an arm. A boy's arm.

The arm was large, not fat. But muscular. Whoever this person is, she must be in love with this boy. Another reason why I'm sure this isn't Katniss's body. 

For one thing, I felt full-fed. Katniss didn't have that much food in the arena. Plus, this girl was slightly bigger and taller.

Then it happened. Pain. Excruciating pain. 

There were insects. Large flying insects. They started buzzing loudly, and I (or whoever this is right now) sprang up, slapping my face to kill the insects who were now stinging me. 

"To the lake!" I heard someone shout. But the stings seemed to make me dizzy, and my vision began to spin. 

I tried to get up, but I was weak from the stings and I fell down. Now, I was thrashing in a seizure-like way, screaming so loudly for help. But nobody came.

Despite my wild thrashing, I caught a glimpse of my hands. The stings now rose into bumps, that were the size of small plums. Even worse, some began to pop from the swelling, making green pus ooze out. It made me sick. 

When I stopped moving, I still wasn't dead. But it felt like I had been knocked out and everything went black.

"It's painful isn't it?" 

I opened my eyes. I expected to be in bed, with Buttercup on my lap, and my mother next to me. But it was something different.

A girl, probably about  Katniss's age with beautiful golden blonde hair. She looked down at the stung and blistered body with a shake of her head.

I looked at my own body. 

"You're not stung." Said the girl.

"Who are you?" I asked wearily, still feeling weak from the event.

The girl nodded at the body. "I'm her."

Stunned, I looked at the corpse, then to the girl. Although the lively version of the girl seemed a bit lighter, there was no mistake. I was talking to a dead person.

"Is that what happened? In the Games?" I asked quietly.

The girl crossed her arms with a scowl. "74th Hunger Games. Same one your sister won."

 "Why are you showing me this?" I now couldn't bare looking at her corpse, so I tried to focus on looking at her. 

"Look," began the girl, "I never liked your sister. Not only was she a threat to us, but also she wasn't quite... beautifying. No offense," she added quickly, though there was no certainty that she meant it, "also, she is weak."

I felt something burn inside me," She is not weak. Look what she has done to try to save Panem!"

"She tried to give up. Twice." Countered the girl.

"At least she gave it another shot!" I shot back.

The girl shrugged, "And now look at her. She's given up. For good."

I could've slapped her, but I wondered if a spirit would feel the pain. I figured that I'll find out later.

"If you're thinking of hurting me, you know that it'll be useless. I can't feel anything. Let alone taste, or even touch." Said the girl calmly, reading my thoughts. 

"Who are you?" I asked again, "and when I mean by that, I mean what is your name?" 

The girl sighed, "Back home, I was always misjudged. Everyone thought I was all beauty and no brains. In fact, the Tributes from District 2 often say that."

Ugh, I did not want to know her whole life story! I groaned silently. 

"But I was determined to prove everyone wrong. By volunteering and winning the games. My parents are all like 'we're so proud of you Glimmer, but think of the future you'll have if you stayed with us!' Ha! We would have a better future if I'd won the Games." The girl rambled on.

So Glimmer is her name. I thought.

"If your sister didn't release that Tracker Jacker nest on us, I would've had a good chance of winning the games!" Glimmer snapped.

So is this dream a rant from a dead Tribute who hated Katniss?

"But," said Glimmer, finally taking a deep breath, "I can't stand seeing this world like this. I want the glamorous life of District 1 again. When Katniss suggested you should be the Mockingjay, that was the only idea she had that I thought was... good."

"Why me?" I asked.

"Because if you don't," growled Glimmer, "you'll all be dead. And Panem will be nothing. We just lived and died for nothing. Think about it."

She seemed to fade, or blur, I couldn't tell. Because I knew I was waking up.

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When I woke up. Sun was pouring through the window. I rubbed my eyes, what kind of dream did I have? Am I going crazy? Do I need mental help?

And most importantly, could I tell anyone?