Sparks Fly

Chapter 21

I remain at the window long after the woods have swallowed up the last glimpse of my home, long after the tremors have subsided. This time I don't have even the slightest hope of return. Before my first Games, I promised Prim I would do everything I could to win, and now I've sworn to myself to do all I can to keep Peeta alive. I will never reverse this journey again.

I'd actually figured out what I wanted my last words to my loved ones to be. How best to close and lock the doors and leave them sad but safely behind. And now the Capitol has stolen that as well.

"We'll write letters, Katniss," says Peeta, who wraps his arms around me from behind. "It will be better, anyway. Give them a piece of us to hold on to. Haymitch will deliver them for us if... they need to be delivered."

Tears prick my eyes, and I begin to wonder what is wrong with me. I've never been a particularly emotional person, but maybe there's something about facing death for the final time that has me going slightly insane. I give Peeta a small nod and let him lead me down the hallway to my room, but I know I will never write those letters. They will be like the speech I tried to write to honor Rue and Thresh in District 11. Things seemed clear in my head and even when I talked before the crowd, but the words never came out of the pen right. Besides, they were meant to go with embraces and kisses and a stroke of Prim's hair, a squeeze of Madge's hand. They cannot be delivered with a wooden pine box containing my cold, stiff body.

When I feel as if I have no tears left to shed, I wipe my eyes and bury my face in Peeta's shirt. If I'm being honest with myself, all I want is to curl up on the bed and sleep until we arrive in the Capitol tomorrow morning. I'm exhausted from months of preparing for the arena. But I have a mission. No, it's more than a mission. It's my dying wish. Keep Peeta alive. And as unlikely as it seems that I can achieve it in the face of the Capitol's anger, it's important that I be at the top of my game. This won't happen if I'm mourning for everyone I love back home. Let them go, I tell myself. Say good-bye and forget them. I do my best, thinking of them one by one, releasing them like birds from the protective cages inside me, locking the doors against their return.

By the time Effie knocks on my door to call us to dinner, I'm empty. But the lightness isn't entirely unwelcome.

The meal's subdued. So subdued, in fact, that there are long periods of silence relieved only by the removal of old dishes and presentation of new ones. A cold soup of pureed vegetables. Little birds filled with orange sauce, with wild rice and watercress. Lemon custard dotted with blueberries.

I don't think anyone really knows what to say. Peeta and Effie make occasional attempts at conversation, but they quickly die out.

"I love your new hair, Effie," Peeta says.

"Thank you. I had it especially done to match Katniss's pin. I was thinking we might get you a golden ankle band and maybe find Haymitch a gold bracelet or something so we could all look like a team," says Effie.

Evidently, Effie doesn't know that my mockingjay pin is now a symbol used by the rebels. At least in District 8. In the Capitol, the mockingjay is still a fun reminder of an especially exciting Hunger Games. What else could it be? Real rebels don't put a secret symbol on something as durable as jewelry. They put it on a wafer of bread that can be eaten in a second if necessary.

"I think that's a great idea," says Peeta. "How about it, Haymitch?"

"Yeah, whatever," says Haymitch. He's not drinking but I can tell he'd like to be. Effie had them take her own wine away when she saw the effort he was making, but he's in a miserable state. If he were the tribute, he would have owed Peeta nothing and could be as drunk as he liked. Now it's going to take all he's got to keep Peeta alive in an arena full of his old friends, and he'll probably fail.