Windgrass (A Hunger Games Fan Fiction)

Twenty-six: Thought

Insanity.

I find myself thinking about it quite a bit lately.

Like the voice I heard when Poppy was dying. I highly doubt things like that happen to everyone. On top of that, it was saying such morbid things…

I must try not to think about it.

When I was finally allowed back into the land of the living, I was in a strange house. Strange as in ‘I’ve never been inside this person’s house before’ instead of ‘Wow, this person has some strange interior decorations… is that an animal skull?’ sort of strange.

In actuality, it was a lovely little place. It was as horridly poor as most of 9, but the little things like the dried flowers hanging on the wall and the cross-stitched potholders and the knitted throw blankets across the sofa that made it feel homey.

I was lying on the sofa, trying to get my bearings, when an older woman moved in and out of my line of sight. Her hair must’ve been blond once, because I could see bits of gold in the dark grey color. Her face spoke of weariness and old age, though she looked no older than my father, Adair. There was something about her eyes…

“Awake, are you?” she asked sweetly. “How are you feeling?”

“My head aches…” I replied after a while.

“As long as nothing’s broken, dearie,” she smiled. “Though I must say I was quite worried when darling Percy carried bloodied little you inside, begging for help.”

“Are you a healer?” I asked.

“Aye,” she replied. “I was, once upon a decade.”

I laughed. “I find that I like you.”

“I think I can see why the boy likes you so much,” she snickered.

“You know Percival?” I asked, slowly sitting up. My head throbbed and I pressed a hand to my forehead.

“Know him?” she asked, bewildered. “Child, I’m his grandmammy.”

“You’re Percival’s grandmother?!” I blanched. “I thought you looked familiar!”

“The boy’s out in his workshop now. He don’t like to be disturbed, so what say we clean you up a bit?” she glanced pointedly at my clothing. I looked down at the blood soaked garments.

Poppy’s blood…

“Steady now…” she warned, catching me as I reeled.

“Um… you don’t have to stand there, you know…” I said awkwardly, holding my hands protectively over my chest. After hobbling to the bathroom, Percival’s ‘Grandmammy’ as she put it… filled the bathtub with hot water. Hot water. Only folk high in social standing have hot water on demand. And, to my dismay, she insisted on accompanying me while I bathed.

“What if you pass out again?” she retorted. “Something happens to you, Percy’ll have my head.”

“Hey… Grandma? Do the names ‘Mikaila’ or ‘Krum’ mean anything to you?” I asked.

“Nope.”

“What about #623?”

“Just a number as far as I’m concerned.”

“Oh… do you know… I mean, did you know… Poppy Cartwright?” I asked, tears stinging my eyes.

“Yup, sure did. Helped deliver you two when you were born, I did,” she nodded. “Can’t forget your copper hair. No one else in 9 has that color hair. One three days after the other. Of course, Rosemarie and Belladonna were all in fits because of it.”

“Because of what?” I asked.

“Shortly after you two became twins, the fetus that would become Poppy was removed and placed inside Belladonna Cartwright,” Grandma replied.

“Is that even possible?” I asked, mostly to myself.

“Anythin’s possible, what with the Capitol and all… I’m not the one to ask, though. All that techy stuff boggles my brain. I’m a 9er, not a 3er. Best to ask someone in the labs,” she shrugged.

Frida worked in the labs. I don’t know her very well, but I could still ask her about… the fetus transplant.

“Your mom wasn’t in good enough condition physically to bear twins. Belladonna had suffered a miscarriage. I did ‘em both a favor, is all.”

“Gran, is it safe to come in?” I heard Percival call from outside the room.

“No safer than a viper’s nest,” she replied.

“I’m coming in anyway,” he sounded resigned. “I know you hate when I drip oil all over the floor…” he grumbled. I hastily grabbed a towel and wrapped it around myself.

“Trying out new Capitol fashions, eh?” Grandma asked jokingly.

“It’s the latest thing,” he replied, crossing his eyes and making a silly grin while pointing to the oil and grease smeared across his face and arms. His Capitol accent was quite good, actually.

It was strange, seeing him outside his PK duties. Even just being in plain clothes (this time a worn tank top and cut-off shorts) made him seem different… more real. His slightly outgrown hair was pulled back in a small ponytail and his eyes seemed bright and lively. Normal Percy was so different from PK Percy… I took off my glasses and wiped away the steam on them.

“You look different without your glasses,” he stated.

“As do you,” I replied.

“Can’t see far away?” he asked with a small laugh.

I nodded. “Anything beyond roughly… ten feet I can’t see clearly.” I slid them back on. I feel so vulnerable without them.

“Well, I better go clean up my mess before Gramps gets home,” he sighed wearily, waving at me before leaving.

“He’s a bit of a tinkerer. Loves playing with machines and modifying them,” Grandma chattered.

“That explains the tractor…” I mused, drying off and holding out the clothes she’d gotten for me to wear. Pants and a T-shirt; neither of which I wore normally. They were far too big on me… they must be Percival’s.

“You saw it?” she asked.

“Rode it,” I replied, dragging a comb through my hair.

“Thrillin’, ain’t it?” she grinned.

“Well, I better get going. My mom will lock me up again if I’m late…” I sighed wearily.

“You’re welcome anytime, dearie,” Grandma smiled at me as I left.

Percival had told me nothing about having grandparents. A alcoholic mother, yes. A run-out father, yes. Kind grandmother (and complementary grandfather?), not a word. Then again… we hardly know each other. But I would like to get to know him better… much better… well, one can only hope.

Now… to find Frida…