The Little Mockingjay

Daydream

Song: Daydream by Jillian Edwards

It's not dark forever. Every day, the night ends as the sun comes up, just as I have to wake from the slumber that dulls my pain and emotions. A blurry figure sits in a chair across from my bed.

"Flint?" I ask, voice hoarse.

"Nope," the voice replies brightly.

He swims into focus. Finn. I haven't seen him since we got here.

"You're okay," I say in one breath.

"Yep. Had a small concussion. A couple sets of stitches. But I'm good."

He crosses to my bed.

"How are you?" he asks as he sits next to me. I feel the warmth radiating off his body.

"Mostly better, I think. My head doesn't hurt so much. I don't think I feel queasy. All the cuts are stitched up. Just a little sore," I say, rubbing my rib cage. My stomach makes a grumbling noise and Finn laughs.

"You must be starved. Let's go, it's almost time for dinner anyway."

He gets up and offers me a hand, which I take as I peel myself out of the bed. As soon as I put my weight on my feet, my ribs throb and my body rejects the pressure. I grab for the frame of the bed to support myself, but Finn's already scooped me up in his arms. He carries me to the wheelchair and gently places me in it. I groan in discontent.

"You can't walk," he says.

"I just need practice," I retort.

"Shut up, Mellark," he teases, playfully ruffling my already disheveled hair.

I feel suddenly self-conscious of the way I look. Still dirty, hair in mats, cuts up and down my uneven skin, way to thin and bony, only covered by a white hospital gown. I feel my cheeks flush and I start chewing on my lip.

"What's up?" He asks, blonde eyebrows knitting together.

This is Finn. My long time friend. He's like a brother. I can tell him.

"I don't want people to see me like this. I need a shower, at least."

He looks me up and down, as if considering this, and then disappears from my room, leaving me alone in the wheel chair. I don't go after him, convinced that he'll be back. Sure enough, he is, and he's carrying a tray with two plates of food. I give him a grateful smile.

"Wanna get back in bed?" He asks.

I shake my head vigorously.

"Yes you do," he states, as if he's reading my mind.

"Yeah, but if I get back in I'm afraid I'll never be able to get back out."

Finn laughs. He pulls a chair in front of me, takes his plate, hands me mine, and tosses the tray onto the bed. I roll myself a little closer to him and put my feet on his lap.

"Noooo," he complains, smacking my bare feet.

I don't move them, so he just resigns to eating his dinner with my feet in his face. Finn cracks jokes. I laugh until my sides hurt. It feels so good, so impossibly good, to be talking like like old times. But, the whole time, the events of the past weeks weigh on my subconscious. Especially what I learned today. For some reason, I feel the need to tell him. I feel the need to talk about my parents, and his for that matter. I'm sure Annie told him everything. They're close. And he seemed to know a lot when we talked about it briefly in 2. So, in the midst of enjoying Finn's company and my first meal in days, I blurt out my secret.