TheGirlWithTheStories

MOCKINGJAY

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR – Prim's Death: Prim's Perspective

At first we were on standby, watching as havoc and hell break loose below us from the safety of our invisibly shielded rebel hovercraft. The once clean Capitol City was now littered with colorful bodies. Peacekeepers didn't care who anymore, if they were in the way they were ruthlessly shot and killed. The children were being used as a barrier; inside the barricade of Snow's location, yet obviously not for their sake. It's a horrifying scene, but honestly I couldn't feel more ecstatic. The rush of war except I don't have to do any of the fighting! I've been doing medical training at Thirteen ever since Twelve was completely obliterated. I've also been helping my mother ever since I was old enough to go to school. I always found it fascinating how badly people could get wounded. Of course it was always upsetting when we couldn't help them, but if we could it was always so exhilarating – trying to rush and beat their internal clocks. They would be so grateful to be alive and well again; it made it all very worth it in the end.

I surveyed below again. A hovercraft with the Capitol's seal rained silver parachutes upon the children not unlike the ones that meant salvation in the Hunger Games. Then the hovercraft disappeared all too quickly. Something was wrong. I screamed, "NO!" I pounded the glass. A couple of children fumbled with their parachute's strings and the first ring of bombs detonated. The next thing I knew our group of rebel medics were running to the site; we had to help them, Capitol blood or not. I ran by a strangely familiar character standing by the flagpole, but I had a job to do and lives to save; I couldn't stop.

The scene was horrifying. Astonished Peacekeepers ripped away the barriers and body parts littered the floor. It was obvious that some children had died from the explosion right away. Others lied in agony losing blood, weaving in and out of consciousness, missing arms, legs, part of an abdomen. I rushed towards a small child who was lying on the ground crying. Her blond hair, not unlike mine, braided. Her wounds were alarming and far beyond my area of expertise. Honestly, the Capitol doctors wouldn't be able to help her now. Her left leg was blown off up to her mid-thigh. Her arms sported burns so bad I could see her bones. Her right ear was hanging off and many of her fingers were missing. She was losing a lot of blood fast. I rip off my coat to cover her and offer her comfort through her final moments, well aware that the back off my shirt became untucked in the process.

It made me think of Katniss, and the day of my first reaping. My shirt untucked in such a way that she called me a duck and I half-heartedly gave a little quack. How she sacrificed everything for me and I never got to thank her. I could almost hear her calling my name. It's so clear though, it can't be in my head. I turn around to search for her and I see her, shoving her way towards me. I go to call her name but I didn't even get a sound out before the second round off explosions went off and I was engulfed in flames.

It was just as painful as it looked. I felt my insides ripped apart and my skin melted off my body. I felt extreme agony throughout my entire body and suddenly, blackness.

Katniss, I had to find Katniss. Was she dead? I wasn't sure. Was I dead? I had no idea. I had to be; there was no way that I could have survived that explosion. Why did I not feel dead? I felt very much alive. Or I felt very much conscious. I slowly regained vision. I looked around. I had not moved since the explosion, or so I thought. The most depressing part was looking down and seeing the mangled, charred remains of my body being placed on a stretcher by rebel medics who carried me away with tears streaming down their faces. It finally registered. I was dead and gone. But I wasn't. I know it sounds crazy but I could see and feel and think. Katniss. I had to find Katniss. Please don't be dead.

I don't understand how, but suddenly I was next to Katniss. She was in her hospital bed, horridly burnt yet strangely alive. Moaning every now and then from the pain. I wanted to hold her, I wanted her to hold me, I wanted everything to be okay. But it wouldn't ever be. I stayed by her side day and night for weeks. Mother stopped by her room while I was there. She looked at Katniss with such hatred. I knew she blamed her for my death, but it wasn't at all. Not directly, at least. I don't blame my sister. She was only always trying to protect me. Mother didn't see that. I then began to view her with such unfathomable loathing. How could she look at Katniss with such detestation while she was in her state?

I felt a strong hand on my shoulder. I turned around and came face to face with my father. "Give your mother a break; she doesn't know what she feels right now." I couldn't speak. "Come now, little Primrose. Let your sister sleep. She will be alright. It's time to go."

"Where exactly are we going?"

"Home."

I took one last somber look at my mother, who now only looked weary and sad. Then I brushed Katniss' cheek, soaking in one last final look at the bravest, most selfless sister in the entire world. I take my father's hand and he leads me away. Away from the world I had long left behind.