➳𝔲𝔫𝔡𝔢𝔯 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔴𝔦𝔩𝔩𝔬𝔴➳

chapter 5

As we sat down at the dining table, I could feel the anxiousness atmosphere float around the room. My parents hands were enclosed around each other, both of them trying to ground one another and get the confidence to tell us what would be happening tomorrow. It was a long talk, they told us how they haven't been to the capitol since the war (exactly what Phoenix told me) and what we needed for tomorrow. They told us how they would be seeing people that they haven't seen in years and how we would most likely meet their old friends. 

It soon turned 7:30 and I sat in my room with absolutely nothing to do. My parents told me from the beginning that I would need to tell them before I went out but... I won't be long... I just need a walk I guess. So I swing my legs across my bed so I was now sitting upright my feet dangling off, just my toe tips touching the ground and I sit there, debating whether to bring my bow. I decide against it and grab my shoes and a dark purple sweater and pull it over my head. It was still a bit big for me but I didn't mind. I make my way downstairs, trying not to make much sound and grab the keys on the side of the cabinet. I tuck them safely into my jean's pocket so I could let myself back in later without alarming anybody.

I start walking, my mind wandering everywhere, trying to piece together what was going on right now. My strange account with the man, Gale, in the woods. My mum crying over my Auntie's death. How Gale was somehow related to Prim's death (I didn't hear much of what my mother was saying as most of it was through muffled chokes as she was crying). My dad comforting my mum as soon as she came back from the woods. Why my mum was upset because that man said sorry. Phoenix being called downstairs because someone named Brianna was there to see him. Rye crushing on a girl that he has loved for ages. And me. I was working out what my feeling were towards Phoenix. No. We are just best friends. Nothing more. I shake my head to get rid of the thought of me crushing on Phoenix and push that feeling down and down so I could just forget it. But what if I do love him... what if he loves me back. I stop and realise that I probably need to go on more walks. 

Before I know it I am at my mother's old house. This is where she grew up before the hunger games. It was worn down now. A complete opposite to the other houses around it with their brick outline and sturdy roof. My mum had pleaded and pleaded to them to not break and demolish the whole thing. It may not be much now, the roof only covers the tiniest corner as half was singed off after the massive bombs that enclosed district 12 after the third quarter quell. Only two and a half more walls stand though. I say half as the door was whisked right off of its hinges and has disappeared. This 'house' meant a lot to my mother and it does to me as well. I may have never met my grandfather, or auntie and have only seen my grandmother once a year or so but this house withholds so many memories, so many happy times that it can't stop you from smiling. That is until the bad memories come washing over you, indulging you in a deep sadness that you think cannot be escaped. Fear. Loneliness. Anxiety. Depression. Those are only some of the emotions that take over you.

In the corner of my eye I see a small box. I've been to this place so many times and have never noticed it. I'm surprised it even survived the bombing as it isn't the most protective box ever and has some rough edges and a few chips in the carving. I flip the box over and engraved in the bottom is the initials:

M. I.

I wonder to myself what this could possible mean. Maybe whatever is inside this box is that person's. Maybe it's a loved one that died and this box is all someone had left of them. For the second... third... or maybe fourth time today my curiosity gets the better of me and I carefully open the wooden box being cautious not to get any splinters.

Inside I see a beautiful necklace. It was silver (somehow not rusted over time) and on the very end had a little charm of a bird. A mockingjay. I could recognise those birds anywhere. Even though I see them in the woods everyday they always make me link them to my mother. A mockingjay was her symbol for the revolution. She was the mockingjay. I study the necklace and then the clasp. It seemed like it would work pretty well so I clip it around my neck knowing fully well I had no idea who's this was but this piece of jewellery just screamed to me that I was meant to find this. That I was meant to wear this. That this was one of my ancestor's and they have told me to treasure this.