Work Text:
Spring is sprung,
De grass is riz,
I wonder where dem birdies is?
De little birds is on de wing,
Ain’t dat absurd?
De little wing is on de bird!
(Anonymous, "Spring is Sprung")
Katniss is bleeding. It’s pouring out of her, like water from a tab and she’s pretty sure she won’t be able to hold out much longer. The salty scent of it makes her nostrils flare and she gags.
She’s lying on her stomach in the middle of a field (her mind briefly scatters over the fact that places like these used to be her freedom), bleeding from God’s know where. She isn’t able to remember exactly how she got here or who did this to her, but then she hears heavy footsteps in the grass behind her and immediately stiffens. She’s vulnerable, she’s hurt… she’ll die anyway. Katniss lies still, hearing whoever it is stop beside her. The shoes are black and polished and there are no traces of dirt, despite having been on the ground. She knows who it is. The legs bend and he’s leaning down towards her, studying her face.
She wonders if she has the same look on her face as he does: cold and hard. Like a statue. But his face is so cruel and demeaning because his soul is rotten. Hers is cold because she’s looking at the man who has killed her.
President Snow’s breath hits her ear, warm and hot. He’s smiling, and it’s the most absurd and grotesque image she has ever seen.
“It’s over,” He says. She wonders if he’s born with breath that smells like blood or if he actually drinks it. None of it would surprise her. But then she becomes aware of his words and waits for the bone-chilling feeling of dread (the feeling that has been constantly etched at the back of her mind since Prim’s name was shouted at the reaping) to set in. “You’ve lost, little bird.”
It doesn’t. There’s nothing. Only the glint of gold, as the sun’s ray catch on the mockingjay pinned to her blood-soaked jacket
Triumphantly she grins up at him. If she had enough energy to spit in his face she would, but this will have to do for now.
They might have killed her, but it has only made way for something bigger. And, as she sees something akin to fear in Snow’s eyes, she knows that he knows this too. It’s not over.
It’s never over.