The Hunger Games- What If's: Book Two

Chapter Four

   My brain searches for a way out of this situation. What if it were all a dream? How very convenient, Katniss. Now, let's see if that's even possible.

   I am slightly angry with myself, considering the fact that I want such an easy way out. Since when is there ever an "easy" way with anything? Everything you work for in life should be fantastic and good, but only if you actually work for it. Anything less than work, and you might as well not have done that whatever is you did in the first place. I know, this could be considered a "different situation" or something like that, but if it were easy, then why would I be such a "rebel"?

   There's this feeling inside of me that's trying to tell me something is going to happen, boundaries will be crushed. There's something cooking in the Capitol, or maybe in the districts, but I know that something is bound to happen. Panem might break into full-out war. I'd be fine with that, if it meant overthrowing the Capitol.

   I shake my head. I shouldn't be thinking like this. Not now. Not ever. People die in war. Innocent people who have done nothing wrong be killed or injured or robbed of all freedom. People who have only been wronged are treated like animals. Animals and humans are NOT the same. They never will be. Humans are worse than animals, lower than scum at the bottom of a river. Which, ironically, could be katniss roots.

   I try to find something to focus on. Anything will do, so long as it isn't death. Or the Hunger Games. Or the Capitol, or President Snow, or Peeta, or my mother, or my father, or of Prim dead, or of Gale's never-ending anger, or.

   That's just it. Or. What an odd thought. What exactly is "or." This or that. Him or her. Win or lose. Live or die. It isn't a question really, it just simply is. It is a conjunction. Prim just began to learn more about grammar in her school last year. The Capitol doesn't look fondly upon authors or books, so grammar is rarely used. However, once students reach their eleventh year of life, they begin to dissect the grammar of any government document. They never find any "grammatical errors" of course, since the Capitol is always right.

   Capitol or districts. Fight or flight. Suffocate or drown. Up or down.

   I choose up. I'd rather fall up than fall down. Maybe that doesn't make sense. Maybe it makes absolute sense in a senseless world, but how can it when a world was always senseless to begin with, since not even one person can tell with certainty that up is up when up very well might be down or down be down while still being up. It's easy to lose your bearings underwater. It's far easier to lose a grip on reality when reality isn't forgiving or allowing.

   This is when I look up and the cold steely cage opens up into the beautiful orange sky, and the sun is setting and sets my face aglow. Oxygen. Sweet, wonderful air.

   But, no. Instead I look up and find a thermostat. In the middle of the ceiling. Our school has a thermostat, and so does the Justice Building. I assume that all the other well-to-do people of District 12 have them to, if there is such a person in District 12, considering that they live where they live. Thermostats make sense in places like that, but why here?

   It must have some meaning that there is a ladder on the wall that supposedly led to nowhere leads right to where the little box is on the ceiling. Looking at it now, I can see that it isn't nearly in the center of the ceiling, but more towards the ladder. An arms' length away, maybe?

   I brace my right ankle and hang onto the wall with my left arm. I slowly stretch out my right arm, hoping it will be long enough to touch the one button on the box. It's a little too high up; I can't reach it. I wonder why it's here at all if nobody is able to reach it. Maybe a taller man would be able to get to it, but unfortunately for me, I'm not a man or considerably tall.