The Little Mockingjay

Coffee

Song: Coffee by Sylvan Esso

My eyes open slowly, gently, like they're being pulled apart by the fingers of heavenly beings. I'm momentarily disoriented with regard to my surroundings. I get the sense that I'm at home. That I have to get ready for school. That everything is as it should be. But it isn't. It hits me like a ton of bricks. I'm blinded by home sickness. I search for anything to remind me of home, but my mind is a blank canvas. Surveying my surroundings, I find that nothing is familiar. I think I'm in a hospital. Occupied beds fill every square inch of the floor. I sit up, but I can't see anyone I recognize. I'm alone in a room packed with bodies. Suddenly, I remember the attack, the soldiers, the bombs. I'm aware of a dripping sound from the machine next to me. I grab the wire and follow it to where it connects to my body. It's stuck in my chest. I think it has something to do with my lungs. Yes, it's pumping the fluid out of them. I can tell. The next thing I notice is the tingling sensation that engulfs my skin, like the fire did. I trail my hands along my arms. Then, I look down. Skin graphs, like my parents. Skin graphs cover my arms. New skin for a new person. My upper body is unrecognizable. I lift up my grey shirt, still stained with Finn's blood. The skin, the stuff that is still mine, is bruised with a conglomeration of colors: yellow, green, blue, purple. Finn. Flint. Where are they? Are they alive? Did my parents make it out alive? Where are they? Where am I? I have to find someone. I pull myself out of bed. My bare feet hit the icy floor and I'm relived to find that I can stand. But, I'm attached to the machine draining liquid from my lungs. I test the tube, tugging it lightly. I'm not happy with the pain it causes. I gasp slightly, but continue to wrestle with the machine. I'm attached to it. Bound to this bed. Bound here. Bound to the resistance. Like I was bound to The Captain. When will I be set free? Have I not earned at least my freedom? I just want to get out. I want to go far away. Far away from the war. From society. I don't want any part of it. I don't care what's happening in the government. I don't care. I end up fighting with the tube until my ribs ache and my chest leaks blood. Then, I quit, collapsing back onto the bed. I close my eyes, but sleep doesn't pay me another visit. I hug my legs, staring at the beds around me. There are so many people. Some sit up, some stay reclined. Some speak to one another, some are silent. Some roll around and make noise, others are immobile. Maybe they're dead. Where did all these people come from? I hear the sound of a door swinging on its hinges. A combination of soldiers and people dressed in white uniforms enter. I assume they're medics. I wait for someone to reach my bed, desperately wishing that they'll tell me I'm free to go. I'd run. I'd run far from here. When someone finally approaches, I first deduce that it's a soldier from the uniform. Then, I recognize the face as the last one I saw before I was knocked out. Gale Hawthorne.

"You're up."

"Yeah, I am."

"That’s good."

"Gale?"

"Yeah?"

"Where are we?"

"District 7."

"I want to go home."

"You can't."

"Yes I can."

"No, Nadia. Not now, and maybe not ever."

"I'm stuck here forever?"

"Well, no. Not here. But you're not going home either."

"Why?"

"The bombs."

"What about the bombs, Gale? They hit The Capitol. We were in The Capitol."

He stares at me for a second. We make eye contact. My eyes plead for the truth. They say the truth will set you free. Will it set me free? His eyes say it won't. He looks shell shocked, like he's caught in a horrible memory.