Fighting For Freedom

As I lie in the chopped-short grass outside my home, gazing at the stars above me, I spread my arm out to the side by habit. Instead of feeling Zem's warm body like I used to, my hand touches the silky cold grass.

This is where we belonged together. I remember the nights were we would lay out on this very hill, and she'd tell me about her day, and I'd point at a new constellation every night. When we saw the last lumberjack, the same man everday, go into his home that night, we'd promise to stay out for only five more minutes, but we always ended up back in the our house half an hour later.

I pull my arm away and lay it back over my stomach on top of the other.

She's gone, Johanna, I remind myself in my head. Then I look back up, and my finger automatically comes up. I point out the Hercules constellation to only myself. This particular constellation reminds me of myself, for if the club he was holding was an axe and he was a woman, it could be me.

I use my hands to push myself to my feet and walk back into my home. As I trudge up the stairs, I think of how I have to leave on a train tommorrow morning to be a mentor for the 69th Hunger Games. I don't want to be one, I really don't, but Blight needs my help and I'm going to give it to him.

I don't know Blight well, but I do know that he lost his family, too, just as I did. But not because he didn't do what President Snow wanted me to do. Snow killed his entire family just because he wanted to. I've decided to have a 'little talk' with him when we get there.

The doctors back in the Capitol that treated me immediatly after I got out of my games insisted that I wasn't insane, but I carry a knife in my pocket every day and everywhere. Whenever I try to get myself to take it out, I immediatly shove it back in. If people stare at me for more than a second, which happens often, I dig around in my pocket and grip the knife because I'm afraid they're going to try and kill me.

That has to be insane.

I decide to call my doctor in the Capitol.

"Hello, Johanna!" He answers.

"Hey, doc. I got a letter from the Hospital the other day telling me that they're getting me a therapist. Is that just for the couple of weeks I'm in the Capitol? Or are they going to call me all the time?" I ask.

"Just for when you're in the Capitol, dear."

"Good. But I don't need a therapist," I say.

"Johanna? Can I ask you something?" He doesn't wait for my reply. "Are you, perhaps, carrying a knife in your pocket at this moment?"

This takes me by surprise.

"How did you know?" I question suspicously.

"A lot of the other victors did the same thing. They got our therapist to help them and most of them are weapon-free at all times!" He exclaims.

"Ugh. Fine. I'll see the terapist. Bye."

"See you soon!"

I hang up. In my bathroom, I dig under the cabinents and find my secret stash of whiskey. It's something I can't help, having it. It helps me forget the arena. Popping off the top, I drink the entire bottle and decide that maybe I'll drink some Scotch or something with Haymitch and Finnick and Chaff in the Capitol tommorrow.

Well, I don't know if Finnick will be up for it, but Haymitch, from 12, and Chaff, from 11, surely will.

I flip off the cap of another and start chugging it.

When I wake up, I realize I'm on the ground in my bathroom. I must've passed out, drunk, last night. I don't have a lot of time to get prepared for the cameras, so I take a quick shower, brush my hair, and get dressed in simple clothes.

If the people in the Capitol don't like my style, well, guess what? Screw them.

Blight and I come out of the doors to our homes at almost the exact same time. He's not exactly stable, but he's looking better than me. I don't tell him I have a couple bottles of whiskey in my bag.

I take my seat on the stage at the reaping. I try to look as not-drunk as possible, because I'm not going to let my district down.

The two tributes for this year are Masella and Jared. They both look hopeless, but I try not to show it as I walk towards the train station. The tributes will be there in a few minutes, when they're finished saying their goodbyes.

Ignoring the cameras that greet Blight and I at the station, I hop onto the train and, after stealing a few bottles from the dining area, stash my whiskey in my quarters. I'll share a bottle with Blight if he wants to. Then I feel sorry, because while I'm busy vomiting in the toilet, he'll be taking care of our tributes.

That night, when we're at dinner, Baily tries to control my wine. I ask for a couple glasses, but Baily tells them they shouldn't.

"You're not my mother," I say to her with an edge of pain. Then I turn to the Capitol attendant. "Get me my wine, please."

"But, Johanna," Baily begins. "Too much wine is bad for you!"

"Have you been in the Games?" I ask angrily. "No? If you had been, you'd know I need a glass of wine right now!"

Our tributes stare at us. "Okay, everyone, calm down," Blight says. The attendant gets me a glass of wine so small, I don't know how I'll even get drunk from it.

"See?" I snap. "That's all I wanted!"

The next night, after we've arrived in the Capitol, I meet with a few of the other mentors down at the ground floor of the training center. Haymitch sent out word that any mentors who want a drink could come, young or old.

The people who show up are Finnick, Haymitch, Chaff, me, and Blight.

"What do you have there?" Chaff asks, gesturing at my bag.

"Oh," I say, opening my bag. "I brought some whiskey from home. . . And stole a few from the dining area on my floor," I admit.

Haymitch and Chaff start to guffaw, finding it hilarious I steal whiskey. "Well, good," Haymitch says. "We need it. I've got some beer and scotch, though."

"I brought Vodka," Finnick adds.

As we sit down, I introduce myself. "I know you guys know who I am, but since we've never formally met, my name is Johanna Mason, I'm from District 7, and-"

"You're a murderer!" Haymitch shouts, and Chaff and him share another laugh.

I join in on the laughter. "Yes! I'm a murderer! Now hand me some Scotch."