2010م - 1444هـ
Mockingjay



I stare down at my shoes, watching as a fine layer of ash

settles on the worn leather. This is where the bed I shared

with my sister, Prim, stood. Over there was the kitchen

table. The bricks of the chimney, which collapsed in a

charred heap, provide a point of reference for the rest of the

house. How else could I orient myself in this sea of gray?

Almost nothing remains of District 12. A month ago,

the Capitol’s firebombs obliterated the poor coal miners’

houses in the Seam, the shops in the town, even the Justice

Building. The only area that escaped incineration was

the Victor’s Village. I don’t know why exactly. Perhaps so

anyone forced to come here on Capitol business would

have somewhere decent to stay. The odd reporter. A committee assessing the condition of the coal mines. A squad of

Peacekeepers checking for returning refugees.

But no one is returning except me. And that’s only for

a brief visit. The authorities in District 13 were against my

coming back. They viewed it as a costly and pointless venture,

given that at least a dozen invisible hovercraft are circling

overhead for my protection and there’s no intelligence to

be gained. I had to see it, though. So much so that I made

it a condition of my cooperating with any of their plans.