Crossing the Bar
Sunset and evening star,
And one clear call for me!
And may there be no moaning of the bar,
When I put out to sea,
But such a tide as moving seems asleep,
Too full for sound and foam,
When that which drew from out the boundless deep
Turns again home.
Twilight and evening bell,
And after that the dark!
And may there be no sadness of farewell,
When I embark;
For tho' from out our bourne of Time and Place
The flood may bear me far,
I hope to see my Pilot face to face
When I have crossed the bar.
-Alfred Lord Tennyson
I softly closed the book and set it back on the windowsill, turning away from the view of the softly rolling waves and blue water of the Victor's Island in District 4. The book had been given to me by Katniss just over two years ago, on the anniversary of his death. She had found it when she was looking through the library that resided, though was rarely used, in the former Capitol. She said what had made her think to give Annie the book was the poem, because of who it made her think of.
I agreed, if he had ever written anything, taken the beautiful words he could craft and penned them down on paper, it would have been like this. It spoke true of what he would have wanted, and yet I could not bring myself not to cry, not to hold sadness as the poem wished.
A small droplet of water dropped down, staining the dress that was really a old white shirt of his. It wasn't fair for them, so many people were happy, free. And yet I was still trapped, by memories and sorrow when everyone else had broken free of that.
Peeta had cracked one day shortly after the rebellion, and stuck out at Katniss. Many tears had joined the salty ocean as Katniss cried on her and Johanna's shoulders but she had gotten over it. Peeta was happily married to a girl from district 7, and Katniss and Gale were together as they always should have been. I had always liked Gale after he rescued her, he, more then anyone deserved to be happy with Katniss.
I was glad for my friends, even Johanna had found love, a man from District 1 who was able to balance out her general unpleasantness. But it was hard not to be jealous and feel that I deserved that more then any of them. My games drove me mad and I was finally overcoming that, he was killed. Him, who had spent his whole life as a prostitute just to protect the ones who he loved. And when he broke free, got married, he was killed. We were having a baby, a bright new future in front of us, whose lives had been ruined by the games and the Capitol.
And what about my son, who will never get to know just what a wonderful man his father was. He looks like him, acts like him, and yet will never know him. He would have been a wonderful father, no matter how much he doubted that. Just as wonderful to his son as he has always been to me. Why did he have to die, what did I ever do to deserve it? What did he do to deserve it?
A fallings star caught my eye, reminding me that I should be going to bed, but I couldn't draw myself away from the window. How many nights had I stood here with his arms around me, his head buried in my hair. He had always said that this was his favorite view except for me.
The crisp fabric fluttered against my skin, as I pulled myself together and made for our, no my, bed. Though his smell had faded from his pillow, as he had rarely been allowed to spend anytime in his own bed. The scent still remained on his favorite shirt which I wrapped around me now.
A small rapping on the door pulled me out of my thoughts and a face peaked around the door.
"Mom, is it okay if I spend the night here?"
A soft smile breaks across my face, "Come on, lie down," I said patting the bed.
I was thankful for Finnick, it was only because of him that I had managed to pull myself out of the pit of insanity that the games had put me in. He had no father anymore so I had to take care of him on my own and that meant I couldn't relapse after his death. He was the sweetest boy I knew, just like his father. Even at five, he knew what day it was tomorrow, what our visit to the beach with all of our friend to set petals floating in the water was to honor. He knew that tonight, of all nights, I would need him more then anything. The late visit hadn't been for him, it was for my benefit.
I wrapped my arms around, knowing that he could feel the tears that were sliding down my cheeks. But he didn't remark as we both fell into the oblivion of sleep.
The man sat bolt upright in bed, sweat dripping down onto the clean white sheets. A man and a woman came rushing into the room, hearing his screams.
"I remember, I don't know how I just do. It has started coming back."
Tears had started flowing down his cheeks, "Annie, I am so sorry I left you, but don't worry, I will find you."
I couldn't help but include that poem in this story. It is a tradition in my family for the eldest to read it at every funeral. My uncle was suppose to read it at my grandfather's before he was killed so he ended reading it at my uncles when my aunt read it at his. I don't own the Hunger Games, or the poem.
My loyal readers will know that I do trivia at the end of my chapters...
Crossing the Bar is involved in a book that is very similar to the Hunger Games. The first line of the book is
"Now that I've found the way to fly, which direction should I go into the night.". In the book the poem could get the main character in a lot of trouble, all because it tells you to fight. Can anyone name the book?
