Mockingjay

13 wrested control from the government forces, trained their nuclear missiles on the Capitol, and then struck a bargain: They would play dead in exchange for being left alone. The Capitol had another nuclear arsenal out west, but it couldn’t attack 13 without certain retaliation. It was forced to accept 13’s deal. The Capitol demolished the visible remains of the district and cut off all access from the outside. Perhaps the Capitol’s leaders thought that, without help, 13 would die off on its own. It almost did a few times, but it always managed to pull through due to strict sharing of resources, strenuous discipline, and constant vigilance against any further attacks from the Capitol.
    Now the citizens live almost exclusively underground. You can go outside for exercise and sunlight but only at very specific times in your schedule. You can’t miss your schedule. Every morning, you’re supposed to stick your right arm in this contraption in the wall. It tattoos the smooth inside of your forearm with your schedule for the day in a sickly purple ink . 7:00 — Breakfast. 7:30 — Kitchen Duties. 8:30 —Education Center, Room 17. And so on. The ink is indelible until 22:00 — Bathing . That’s when whatever keeps it water resistant breaks down and the whole schedule rinses away. The lights-out at 22:30 signals that everyone not on the night shift should be in bed.
    At first, when I was so ill in the hospital, I could forgo being imprinted. But once I moved into Compartment 307 with my mother and sister, I was expected to get with the program. Except for showing up for meals, though, I pretty much ignore the words on my arm. I just go back to our compartment or wander around 13 or fall asleep somewhere hidden. An abandoned air duct. Behind the water pipes in the laundry. There’s a closet in the Education Center that’s great because no one ever seems to need school supplies. They’re so frugal with things here, waste is practically a criminal activity. Fortunately, the people of 12 have never been wasteful. But once I saw Fulvia Cardew crumple up a sheet of paper with just a couple of words written on it and you would’ve thought she’d murdered someone from the looks she got. Her face turned tomato red, making the silver flowers inlaid in her plump cheeks even more noticeable. The very portrait of excess. One of my few pleasures in 13 is watching the handful of pampered Capitol “rebels” squirming as they try to fit in.
    I don’t know how long I’ll be able to get away with my complete disregard for the clockwork precision of attendance required by my hosts. Right now, they leave me alone because I’m classified as mentally disoriented — it says so right on my plastic medical bracelet — and everyone has to tolerate my ramblings. But that can’t last forever. Neither can their patience with the Mockingjay issue.
    From the landing pad, Gale and I walk down a series of stairways to Compartment 307. We could take the elevator, only it reminds me too much of the one that lifted me into the arena. I’m having a hard time adjusting to being underground so much. But after the surreal encounter with the rose, for the first time the descent makes me feel safer.
    I hesitate at the door marked 307 , anticipating the questions from my family. “What am I going to tell them about Twelve?” I ask Gale.
    “I doubt they’ll ask for details. They saw it burn. They’ll mostly be worried about how you’re handling it.” Gale touches my cheek. “Like I am.”
    I press my face against his hand for a moment. “I’ll survive.”
    Then I take a deep breath and open the door. My mother and sister are home for 18:00 — Reflection , a half hour of downtime before dinner. I see the concern on their faces as they try to gauge my emotional state. Before anyone can ask anything, I empty my game bag and it becomes 18:00 — Cat Adoration . Prim just sits on the floor weeping and rocking that awful Buttercup, who interrupts his purring only for an occasional hiss at me. He gives me a particularly smug look when she ties the blue ribbon around his neck.
    My mother hugs the wedding photo tightly against her chest and then places it, along with the book of plants, on our government-issued chest of drawers. I hang my father’s jacket on the back of a chair. For a moment, the place almost seems like home. So I guess the trip to 12 wasn’t a complete waste.
    We’re heading down to the dining hall for 18:30 —Dinner