Hello. This is my first Hunger Games story in a while. It's not really got the hunger games in it so I suppose you could interperet it as anything. It's about about Katniss' and Peeta's daughter and how she feels.

This fic is written for one of my best friends - Emma L. She has been a great source of comfort for me and she is somebody that I trust with things that I can't tell many people. I know she tries to be a great listener and she is, one of the best! I also know how she felt recently. She's been there for me :) I couldn't think of any other way to show my appreciation so Emma, this is for you. Thank you, for everything.

This is also for my big brother Andrew, who I think about every day and am thankful that he doesn't live in a world like this.

P.S. The song is a Hebrew Lullaby called, 'Laila, Laila'. There was a few I could have used to for this but Laila Laila is my favourite.


Sometimes she looks in the mirror and wonders how she came into being. She will push away her dark curls from her forehead and squint, as if she's trying to see herself in a different way. The conclusion she comes to is that she is nothing useful or memorable. She is just herself. It's not a massive accomplishment.

When she goes in the bathroom, Lily likes to wait until the bathroom mirror steams up and she can't make the blur out as herself. That way she can sort of pretend she doesn't exist, which is kind of how she wants it to be. Death is easier, it's living that's the hard part. Not being is easier, Existing is the hard part


It's sometimes impossible, being a good listener. Everyone takes her for granted. Everybody will chatter away to her about their problems and expect her to come up with a solution and, if she can't do that, a sympathy hug or something of the sort. Nobody seems to understand that Lily has her own problems too, that she is sick and tired of nobody being ready to listen to her.

And she wants her friends to come to her, she really does. Lily wants her friends to be able to come to her whenever they have a problem because she does genuinely feel sympathy for them and genuinely wants to help. So she can't see a way out. She can't see a way to tell somebody her problems when she wants people to come to her.

Nobody knows her problems. Nobody knows that her mother and father argue quietly a night, when the whole house should be sleeping softly. Nobody knows that sometimes her mother will have nightmares and will cry alone in her bed at night, a sound only Lily can hear.

Nobody knows and it terrifies her more than anything.


Sometimes, when the world is quiet, she will think about her life and why she is on this earth. Is there a purpose? Or is she just here as a matter of science. For so long, she has refused to let herself to get into the philosophy versus science debate. She chooses both. She chooses neither.

When Lily was younger, her mother used to sing her a song. It was a song made up long ago, long before their world even existed. It's not in a language that is recognisable but the words are soft and sweet. Her mother knows the English version and will tell her what the words mean but sometimes she gets it wrong. This isn't a language anybody speaks. And her mother can get things wrong, she isn't perfect.

Laila, Laila, haruach goveret (Night, Night, the wind grows strong

Laila, Laila, homa hatzameret,, Night, Night, the trees rustle

Laila, Laila, kochav m'zamer, Night, Night, a star is singing

Numi, Numi, kabi et haner. Go to sleep, blow out the candle)

Laila, Laila, itsmi et enayich, (Night, Night, close your eyes

Laila, Laila, baderech elayich, Night, Night on the way to you

Laila, Laila, rachvu chamushim, Night, Night, the rode armed in full gear,

Numi, Numi, sh'losha parashim. Go to sleep, three horsemen. )

Laila, Laila, haruach goveret, (Night, Night, the wind grows strong,

Laila, Laila, homa hatzameret, Night, Night, the trees rustle,

Laila, Laila, rak at m'chaka, Night, Night, only you wait

Numi, Numi, haderech reka. Go to sleep, the road lies empty.)

Her mother doesn't sing anymore.


Lily has a messed up family. Torn apart by war, no person has been left untouched. Sometimes she thinks that it's easier to pretend it's never happened, easier to pretend it's something that came from a story or a childish thought. Never real. Because reality is dangerous.

So she pretends that she doesn't see the tear tracks on her little brother's face in the morning, and that she doesn't notice how puffy her father's eyes are and that she doesn't see the look in her grandmother's eye on a certain day of the year.

Because it's easier that way.


She once thought that being yourself was easier, because you don't have to pretend. She was wrong. Being youself is harder because you have to confront your fears, failures, lies and other unpleasant things. Being somebody else is easier, it's a clean slate. You can change the things you don't like about yourself and keep the things you do. It's easier.

Too bad she doesn't live in an easy world.