Immolate [Madniss. Mockingjay spoilers.]

In my District, we learn early on to both fear and love fire- and when I say that, I don’t mean because of Katniss. I mean fire itself, and the things that we all learned about long before Katniss the Mockingjay was even a distant idea. In some ways, it’s our industry- Cinna was right-on when he dressed Katniss in all those flames, because the coal we mine isn’t good for anything if no one burns it. With so many sectors too poor for electricity or properly warm clothing, fire also helps a lot of our population get through the winter. It’s also our doom, though. If your house catches aflame, if a torch gets too close to a pocket of bad air in the mines, if the Capitol gets unhappy and decides to drop their firebombs on your area of town- good luck.

Perhaps that’s why Katniss and her Girl-on-Fire gig took off so well here. Nearly everyone liked her anyway, after what she did for her sister. In that moment, she came to exemplify everything that fire is to us- deadly protection. Warm to those who treat it right, lethal to those who don’t, and unforgiving either way. Dress her in such a way that highlights those parallels, and...

I don’t know why I’m thinking about all this as I sit on the front porch and draw aimless patterns in the dirt with the tip of my shoe. I can’t seem to avoid thinking about her, though, and this is a hell of a lot better than wondering how she’s doing in that Arena. I do that enough, anyway- I’ve been watching the Games as much as I can stand, generally in the square rather than my house. My family is rich enough for a television, and we have one, but sitting alone in a room watching Katniss risk her neck and kiss that goddamn boy over and over again is too much for me. I need to be surrounded by other people who also want to see her get out alive. They’re technically her support system, but they’ve also unwittingly become mine.

I also need the flashes of amusement that come from walking in the crowd and passing a group of people talking about her position as head (or figurehead, anyway) of the rebellion. Classmates who recognize me as the mayor’s daughter generally shut up instantly, and it’s all I can do not to grin at them and say, Hey, it’s fine. I care about her as much as you- more. She was my friend before she was your protector. I’m not exactly going to turn you in for supporting the girl I love, or her cause. I need those moments of barely-suppressed laughter, because it’s far too easy to get caught up in the Arena with her and easier still, once that’s happened, to lose all hope.

I do anyway, of course. I turn events over and over in my mind. She could die this way, or that, or any of these. She might survive if she’s smart enough to do that. I can’t believe she tried to do this, or that she overlooked those. How is she right now? Does she ever think of home, or me? She looked amazing in that wedding dress- a dress I hated seeing her in almost as much as I hated Peeta’s lie, at least until I saw the confusion in her poise, the tiny tilt in her shoulders that only I (or maybe Peeta or Gale) would know her well enough to recognize. After that, I loved him for what he said because I knew she needed all the support she could get, but for a good minute or so I wanted nothing more than Peeta’s death.

I stop drawing in the dirt and frown, then kick a rock and sigh deeply. Every now and then (and by that I mean every other second) I have to berate myself for not being brave enough to tell her. See you tomorrow, Katniss, and by the way, did you know I happen to love you? Something. Anything. Lord knows she wasn’t about to figure it out by herself. Katniss is thick; it took him telling all of Panem for her to figure out Peeta’s affection for her. You might say that that can be forgiven by their lack of contact between the bread incident and the Games, but for god’s sake, I noticed. I was jealous as a dog watching the cuts go to the neighborhood cat, too, until I realized that even if she was interested, Katniss wasn’t about to approach him and he was far too shy to do anything but shoot her those furtive glances- the same sort of shy looks that I sometimes found myself giving her. I don’t hold grudges well, and it was hard not to feel an odd kind of kinship with my fellow blonde. What an effect she can have, huh? See her every day and the girl still stops your heart. Isn’t she amazing? Don’t you wish she wasn’t so far away? I don’t know about you, but this is as close as I’ll ever get to letting her know.

My thoughts pause, then backtrack a bit as I begin to past restlessly. That last comment wasn’t quite accurate. The closest I ever came was pressing that pin into her hand and desperately begging her to wear it, then gently kissing her cheek in thanks when she agreed. An act of sheer unparalleled courage, that was- I’m not about to compare it to what she did for her sister (ah, Prim, such a sweet young lady- I’ve talked to her sometimes over the years, still do, and she’s getting far too old far too quickly), but I’ll freely admit that my hands were shaking and my heart pounding for a long while afterward.

Not, I’m sure, that she noticed. Love the girl I do, but it goes back to what I said before- she’s thick.

And then there was Peeta to contend with.

So help me god I do not think that there is a single person on this planet whom I love and hate so very much.

The sound of a plane distracts me, and I look up curiously. Airplanes, hovercrafts- anything that flies is uncommon in District Twelve. The Capitol prefers trains for tributes during Reaping and Victory Tour (and return of dead bodies, though we all avoid thinking about that) alike. About the only times aircrafts show up are to pick up runaway criminals in the woods or to bring new Peacekeeps, neither of which is significantly common. Something must be going on, for there to be one here- but what?

My father bursts through the door, looking frantic and truly, truly scared. "Madge, we have to get inside." I frown, and he grabs my shoulders. "We have to get into the basement, now."

It clicks. Not all the way- I don’t know what’s happening- but I know that as Twelve’s mayor, my father has certain contacts in the Capitol, and if anyone is going to know about something bad before it happens, it’s him. Whatever those aircraft have been brought in to do, it’s seri-

The first explosion rocks us both, even though it’s pretty far off. Fire blossoms, and I almost laugh as I think of my earlier thoughts. Then I do laugh, because I don’t know exactly what brought this about, but I know that for the Capitol to be bombing Twelve, Katniss must have done something. Maybe she royally screwed with the Games again, maybe she did something that made them look bad- maybe she just said something that annoyed a Gamemaker, for all I know. Whatever it was, if it was her doing it and it made the Capitol mad, it must have been fantastic.

My father is giving me a worried look, obviously wondering if his daughter’s gone insane. I just grin and reach out to squeeze his hand. "It’s okay, Dad. She’s done something good." I look to the west, toward the Capitol, and wonder where she is, what she’s doing. I know (if only because my father is screaming it to me over and over in desperation) that I should be worried about my own life, but all I can think about is hers. Does she still have it? Will she keep it during the inevitable war? Will she ever use it to think of me?

"Go ahead, Dad." I push him inside, ignoring his protests. There’s little I can do- I doubt even the basement will protect us from the Capitol’s weapons- and I’d rather die out here, under the same sky she’s breathing beneath (or flying in?).

He tries again, but I ignore him and stare up the sky. "You get ‘em, Katniss," I breathe as I lift my arms, just a little- just enough to feel the light breeze around them, just enough for my fluttering hair to hit them, just enough to feel almost like a Mockingjay myself, ready to fly away and leave this place.

I will, certainly, be leaving it soon- I just won’t be flying. I hope that the girl I love can say something different about her fate. I don’t want her to die- and as much as I support it, I don’t mean that for sake of the rebellion. I want her to live long and happily because she’s earned it, not because she’s the figurehead of the insurgents.

And- of course and as always- because I love her.

There’s something surreal about watching the fire fall and the house across the street explode. Even though I know it’s happening, even though I’ve run this through in my mind and accepted its reality, I can’t quite believe it. It’s a little more real to watch the flames dance across the street and engulf my front yard, but even so it’s not real enough to make me move. All my thoughts are fixed on her, on the sky, on the memory of mockingjay song.

I move my raised arms forward to welcome the flames that I can’t run from- flames that represent everything I know and love and hate. Everything goes up in smoke, and my external smile slips as a shriek of pain distorts my face. The smile is still there, though, inside, still reminding me why this is happening and why it’s a sign of good things despite itself being such a horrendous, unforgivable act on the part of that Capitol. My hope (faith, even?) holds firm- not for myself, because I’ve known for several minutes that there’s no way I’ll make it, but for Panem and for her.

The world stills, and then even the memory of song falls silent. Before I forget how to think, I have time for the final, absurd thought that Katniss and I must be meant for each other, because I, too, am now a girl on fire.