Mockingjay: The New Story

Chapter Ten

Katniss’s POV

I lay in bed for hours of the night unable to sleep, tossing and turning. I even call for the nightmares just to get me out of what I have decided I must do. If I want Prim, my child, everyone in Panem, to live a normal, well life, then I must face the challenges of being the Mockingjay. I must, who else would take the job for me? Peeta certainly would if he was here, if he is okay.

I go back to my mantra, repeating it until I lift myself from my bed and grab the parachute stuck under our clothes in the drawer. The pearl slips into my hand as easily as Peeta’s hand does. The spile I keep in with the necklace. I don’t need those things now, not now. I need Peeta, but he isn’t here. He might never be here again. He might never hold me, kiss me, touch me, love me.

“No, you’re fine. Everything’s fine,” I whisper to myself. I have somehow convinced myself I am mad, the whispers and thoughts have become true. I am unstable, mental, crazy. My shaking comes quickly. The words of therapy sooth none of it. Soon, Prim wakes. I should have left right when I got up, hidden in a closet or somewhere deep in Thirteen.

“Katniss?” asks Prim. She comes to where I am sat against my bed, hiding away in the shadows of the night. Prim wraps a blanket around our shoulders, Buttercup comes crawling from Prim’s bed and lays on my lap, protecting my child. He purrs against my stomach, which wakes the baby and it fits with kicks against my bladder. “Are you okay?”

I shake my head. When am I ever okay, I want to ask, when is anything ever okay? Prim, who has no show of my sweet gentle flower of a sister any longer, would still not have answers to my questions. No one would. “No, I want Peeta.”

The tears fall, no one attempts to wipe them away. Soon, Prim has tears of her own down her cheeks. I feel horrible for making her cry, but why shouldn’t she? She has as many reasons to cry as I do, hers might not be as serious but she has problems of her own she must face, and some alone. I can’t seem to do anything alone, or at least, I am not allowed to. “What am I going to do, Prim?” It is an impossible question for a thirteen year old, let along someone like me who cannot handle even the littlest of bad news. “I can’t be the Mockingjay. I just can’t.”

My explanations could possible go on forever if I began and no one told me to stop as to why I can’t, won’t, and shouldn’t be the Mockingjay. Prim does not question why, she only watches me through tears as I roll the pearl on my lips again. It sooths none of my pain, it only helps push it around.

“You’re going to be the Mockingjay?” asks Prim. I look at her, surprised, but remember I never told her.

“Tomorrow I’m going to agree.”

“Because you want to, or you feel forced to?” she asks.

I laugh. “Both I guess. No, I want to. I have to, if it will help the rebels defeat Snow.” I pull the pearl into my fist, keeping it safe in my fingers. “Peeta. If we win, I don’t know what the rebels will do to him now. They all think he’s a traitor.” 

Prim takes a second to think it over. “Katniss, I don’t think you know how important you are to the cause. Important people usually get what they want, no? If you want to keep Peeta safe from the rebels, just ask.”

I guess I am important. They went through hell and back to get me. They’ve listened to my commands before, sending me to Twelve. “You mean… I could demand for Peeta’s immunity? And they’d have to agree?”

“I think you could demand for anything.” Prim wrinkles her brow. “Only, how do you know they will keep their word?”

I remember all the lies Haymitch told Peeta and me to get us to do what he wanted. What’s to keep the rebels from backing out of the deal? To take Peeta’s freedom away right when they get him? A verbal promise behind closed doors with only a couple of people in the room, even a statement written on paper – these could easily evaporate into the air once the war is over. Their existence excused, their validity denied. Witnesses in Command will be worthless, everyone is behind Coin. In fact, they would probably be the ones writing Peeta’s death sentence. I will need a much larger pool of witnesses who support Peeta and I. I will need everyone I can get.