Hey! We're all the way to the ending, wow! Thanks again to shady66730 and Anarchy Girl for reviewing the last chapter, and thanks to Sabrina Mellark for reviewing before. Also, thanks to my favoriter and follower. Thanks to everyone who has bothered to read this, since it's kind of weird and doesn't have a whole lot to do with the actual plot or the rebellion. :)
And for the final time, I'm not Suzanne Collins, Eminem, or some kind of mutated mix between the two. So I don't own the Hunger Games trilogy or "Stan".
It Was Prim
I watch the rain pour down through the window, dimly staring. Greasy Sae's cooking some supper for me, and I can smell the scent of cooking meat. I just stare into the fireplace, clutching a threadbare shawl around my body. At least the fire keeps me warm. I'm transfixed by the dancing flames, barely noticing the pile of letters on top of the mantle. So many letters collecting dust. It's funny, but there are three that especially draw my eyes. All in the same type of envelope, and am I imagining it, or are they all addressed from the Capitol?
So when Greasy Sae ladles out some beef stew -real beef- and hands it to me with a spoon, and is about to ask me how I'm doing, I blurt out, "Can I see those letters?"
Greasy Sae smiles. "I'm glad to see that you're feeling better," she says, reaching up and grabbing a stack of letters. "Hmm... Peeta, Peeta, Haymitch..." Wait, couldn't he have just come to my house? Oh, well. "... Peeta, Plutarch, your mother..." Then a frown wrinkles the skin between Greasy Sae's eyebrows into an 11. "Prim," she says slowly. "Three letters, all addressed from Prim Aspen of the Capitol to you." Her frown deepens. "Funny, the name sounds almost familiar."
The stew scorches my throat as I swallow quickly, my stomach clenching. Prim. Prim. I swear, it gives me the chills. A shiver runs down my spine. I grab for the letters and tear open the first letter from Prim. I read it all the way to the end, getting increasingly nervous. This is Prim. Some Capitol rebel got mockingjay tattoos and changed her name to Prim... for me? Something's starting to make me get a feeling like I need to look over my shoulder to make sure there isn't someone behind me, about to put a bullet through my head.
I read the second letter, and my stomach twists, my fingers shaking as I hold the paper. A tattoo of my name on her collarbone? Getting high in the arena, right where I became a victor, off of morphling pills? I feel queasy now, almost like I'm going to be sick. Who would do that? I think. Think, Katniss. You'd have to be completely insane. I trace my finger over of one sentence in the letter. I can't stop thinking about you. That's sick. It's like a combination of obsession and some kind of perverted love. Hasn't she ever heard of me? I'm a star-crossed lover of District Twelve, not just some victor with no boyfriend.
Then, finally, I read the third letter. Funny, it looks like it got red paint spilled on it... wait. I gingerly sniff the letter, and my heart skips a beat. It's blood. Dried, brownish blood splotched on the letter. Then I actually read the words.
This is Prim again. I have this friend who is against the rebellion. Well... she was before I got to her.
I'm Prim and I'm high.
I shakily slide the bloodstained paper back into the envelope, looking up at Greasy Sae. Prim was high? And it sounds like she killed her friend, the one who was against the rebellion. Wait, no, it doesn't just sound like it. She did. The blood must be the blood of her old friend who supported the Capitol. I wipe my hands on my pants, swallowing hard. And the second letter sounded almost... well, urgent. Like Prim was going to do something drastic if I didn't write back. But I've only just read the three letters. I hope it's not too late. For some reason -maybe it's her false name of Prim- I feel like I need to write.
"Can you get me some letter-writing material?" I say to Greasy Sae. "I want to write to Prim." She smiles and nods that familiar elderly nod of hers. After months of her basically babysitting me, I'm used to it. But right before she's about to leave, I turn toward her. "I think Prim's crazy."
Greasy Sae frowns, her smile disappearing. "It certainly seems that way," she says, heading off into a different room to get some paper. I hear a noise at the front door, and Greasy Sae exclaims, "Oh, the newspaper." I hear the door swing open as Greasy Sae gets the paper, and then I hear her gasp sharply. Now, sure, my mother was a healer, so I know well that elderly folks in District Twelve commonly get diseases, or simply die of old age or something similar. I stand up, the rocking chair thudding against the wall behind me.
"Are you all right?" I ask. I haven't left the kitchen in a long time except to go to the bathroom down the hall, but if Greasy Sae has fainted or something, I can't let her die in my own house. I steel myself and walk into the front hall. But no, Greasy Sae's just leaning against the wall, staring at the front page of the paper, with her hand over her heart. I step closer. "What is it?"
She looks up, and a flicker of fear crosses her eyes. "Oh, my... Katniss," she says. "I'm so sorry, Katniss... but..." She can't go on, just handing me the newspaper.
The first thing that jumps out at me is the headline, in bold capital letters. CAPITOL CITIZEN COMMITS SUICIDE. And there's a picture of a bridge, with an empty car over it, during a thunderstorm. As if to remind me, thunder booms outside, rain pouring down and turning everything gray and wet. I start reading the huge article silently. It speaks of a murdered young woman named Lillia Jackson. Of a murder of a little girl, Annabelle Aspen. The last name... it's the same as "Prim"'s last name. And the article says clearly: A Capitol rebel, Primrose (formerly Addison) Aspen, jumped off a bridge after shooting her little sister, Annabelle. There was a cassette tape in Prim's pocket. After significant water damage, it could still be decoded, and it spoke of victor Katniss Everdeen, addressed to her. The clearest words on the tape were: "You aren't going to forget this soon, believe me!" It is assumed that this is addressing Ms. Everdeen. Primrose was on morphling and was highly intoxicated... (continued on page 2a).
The paper drops to the floor as my hands get too numb to hold on to it, and I have to sit down.
I should've read those letters! I think furiously, clenching my hands into fists. I should've written back when I had the chance, before I got yet another innocent person killed! And I look up at Greasy Sae after a few minutes, and I can only get out one word as the thunder booms outside, and as the rain keeps pouring down.
Hope you all enjoyed this little story! Good song, hopefully good fanfic, right? Thanks for sticking with it! :D