**This is a story told in the point of view of the next generation of the Hunger Games characters (their kids) and their stories with a piece here and there from the original characters**
I do not own the Hunger Games
Janelle POV:
The woods are so peaceful. I could stay here for hours on end, days maybe. Listening to the wind dance in the trees, and the brook topple over the stream. As the sun is just starting to rise, it creates a checkerboard like pattern on the ground. Morning forest air is the freshest air in all of District 12. This is where I am complete. Although there are animals here, some slightly more deadly than others, I feel safe here. Safer than I do in my own home for some bizarre reason. Then I hear the most disrupting sound ever… a twig breaking. For the love of all that's holy, couldn't he just walk on the rocks or dirt? His footsteps are so loud and he doesn't seem to care. Him disturbing my peace isn't the only thing that has put me in a foul mood today. Today is my birthday.
"Janelle!" He yells. "Janelle where are you? Janel- Oh! Ow… fuck!" Oh brother.
I leave my perch in my favorite tree and silently walk over to his body sprawled across the forest floor. Laying face first in the ground, his foot tangled in a root behind him.
"You called?" I ask.
He looks up at me. His dark hair hanging just above his gray eyes, mom must have just cut it, certain patches are uneven. Although he has Maysilee to do it, mom insists. He smiles at me showing me an extremely toothy yet goofy grin. He pushes himself up off the ground with ease and brushes himself off. He looks exactly like dad. 6 feet tall, olive skin tone, dark hair, gray eyes, and muscled build. I'm surprised to see him out here though; dad and I are the only 'early birds' in the family. He, mom and Greg like to sleep as long as they can.
"I knew you'd be out here somewhere. I just wasn't sure where since I don't come out here all that often. You're needed back at the house. Today is a very special day don't you think?" He asks giving me a teasing smile.
"Please don't remind me." I whine. He knows I don't like birthdays. None of my siblings do, cause mom and dad always seem to go a bit over board with the celebrations. Reminding us every year how short life really is and how we're fortunate not to have to fear our birthdays like they did.
When my parents were teenagers they had to fear the annual reaping which lead to the Hunger Games. I learned all about them when I was twelve. Though they probably should have left out some of the detail until I was older. My dad was never actually in the Hunger Games, but he was a big part of the revolution that brought down the Capitol. Mom however was in the Hunger Games. She was the victor of the 69th Hunger Games when she was 15. When I was 15 I snuck into mom and dad's bedroom closet and found her games tapes. I watched my mom kill people with an axe mostly. It was kind of freaky to witness, but I wasn't as messed up after watching as dad thought I'd be when he caught me. I understood why mom had to do the things she did, and I didn't hate her as she thought I would. Why she thought that I don't know, but I do understand why mom has nightmares now and then that she can't wake up from.
My younger brother Greg turned 12 a few months ago, so I imagine they'll be telling him about the games soon.
We walk back to District 12's Victor Village–where we live–and I can just imagine what's going on in our house. Mom's probably decorating, dad's probably calling up everyone in District 12 to come to a birthday party that's supposed to be a surprise, and Greg is probably at the bakery making me a cupcake.
Though he's only 12, he took up an interest in cooking and baking at a very young age. Whenever we would visit the Mellark Bakery in town, he would always become happy. I guess the bakery for him is like the forest to me. Mr. Mellark or Uncle Peeta, has always been so kind to him, and as well as taking on his own son as an apprentice, he took on Greg as well. The Mellarks live next door to us. Their house is almost an exact replica of ours on the outside, but our house is a tan color while theirs is a mix of peach and off white. I learned that the house we live in used to be Aunt Katniss's. But when she married Uncle Peeta, she moved into his house. Personally I'm glad they're not my parents, because they go even more over board than mom and dad do.
When our house comes into view Grayson steps in front of me and holds my shoulders.
"What?"
He pauses. "You know how mom and dad like to celebrate right?"
"Yea." Where was he going with this?
"I overheard them yesterday, and… they want to through the party in the town square."
This cannot be happening. I can feel all the color drain from my face, oh god, I hate parties. "Well… I mean it's not like they're inviting the whole town right?"
He remains silent.
I groan, "Why do they insist on having a huge party? I'd be happy with a cupcake and a new shirt or something."
Grayson just shrugs. "I just thought you should know. Oh but remember, it's a surprise." He winks at me and walks into the house. "Mom! Dad! I found her!" He yells.
Oh gawd here it comes. I walk through the open door leaving the September air outside, and am bombarded with kisses and hugs. But I don't get very far into the house when I'm ushered back outside.
"Oh my, you've gotten so big!" Mom says while crying. "It feels like yesterday you were taking your first steps and saying your first words and oh!" Dad hugs me and has tears in his eyes too. "Oh Gale say something!" Mom says.
"I was going to, but you seem to have said it all." He grins the same goofy grin he passed on to Grayson and probably Greg as well.
"My baby girl is 17! Oh, my heart is beating so fast! I need to sit down." Mom goes back inside.
"Take it easy Jo!" Dad calls after her.
"Take it easy!" She yells from inside. "Gale Hawthorne do not tell me to take it easy on my only daughter's 17th birthday!" Dad turns to me.
"Your mother is a… a little emotional right now."
"You think?" I ask giving him a smile. He pulls me into a hug. When he pulls away the tears in his eyes are on the brink of overflowing. "Dad please don't cry."
"Sorry Janey." He says wiping his eyes. He gave me that nick-name when I was trying to say my name the first time. Instead of saying Janelle, I managed to say Jane-y. Most people just call me Jane, but some like Grayson and Greg call me by my full first name. "I was just thinking about how much you're like your mother."
I stare at him confused.
"Well, what she was like when she was your age. I mean, you practically are a mini Johanna."
This was basically true. I had my mother's looks: brown hair that went just past my shoulder blades, chocolate brown eyes, tanned skin tone, and thin figure. I also had some of my mother's personality traits, good and bad ones: a bit of an attitude, secret compassion for things, solitude, tough, and on occasion I speak my mind when I shouldn't. But I also have some of my father's traits: hunting skill (though I don't like killing things, I just use the lightness of foot I have to walk through the woods), quiet, enduring, caring, and I tend to get over active mood swings from both parties.
"Why don't you…uh.. go down to the bakery and pick up some bread for tonight?" Dad asks nervously.
"Didn't Mr. Mellark drop some off last night? Like always?"
"Uh.. We need more." Dad says not meeting my eyes. He was never a very good liar, that was mom's job. "Oh and pick Greg up while you're there. He's needed back here."
"Greg can walk home by himself. He does every day." Dad just looks at me frustrated. Mood swing number one of today. "Fine, but I don't have any money."
Dad reaches into his pocket and gives me some coins. Turns me around and gives me a small shove. "Bye now." He says and walks into the house.
Oh dad.
I make my way down to the bakery and push open the door ringing the bell. Inside there is a front counter with a display window with cakes, pastries, cookies and other sweets.
A man rounds the corner with a white apron on and flower on his cheek. I think it's Mr. Mellark until the sun from the skylight hits him and I can see it's not. Although he resembles his father in many ways, the eyes are different. Peyton Mellark. He's five months older than me, and five inches taller. He's one inch short of 6 feet, giving dad the opportunity to glare down on him if need be. He has his father's build, blonde hair that hangs in his mother's gray eyes, and he's a people person just like his dad, but he never seems to talk directly to me for some reason. In fact, he hasn't talked to me since-
"Well if it isn't the birthday girl!" Mr. Mellark announces as he walks to the front of the store and gives me a big hug.
"Hey Mr. Mellark."
"Janelle Hazelle Hawthorne, how many times do I have to ask you to just call me Peeta? Mr. Mellark sounds to official." He scrunches his face like he just sucked on a lemon.
I laugh. I call him Mr. Mellark, and he calls me by my full name, we've been doing this for years cause we both know the other hates it.
He joins into my laughter. "So what's the plan for tonight? A parade? A televised party?" He asks.
I hope to the highest heavens none of the above. "Don't know. I'm not allowed into the house right now."
"Well I guess you'll see tonight. 17 years old, wow!" He gets up and moves to the back of the counter. "Do you need Greg?"
"Yea, I'm supposed to take him home, and I need to buy some more bread."
"Which kind? Greg! Your sister's here!" Peeta yells in the back.
"Surprise me." I say.
"Peyton, will you go get the fresh cheesebuns out of the back? Oh, but make sure it's not from your mom's secret stash." Peeta asks.
Peyton just nods his head, looks back at me, then moves down the hallway.
"JANELLE!" Greg leaps into the air when he sees me and into my arms. He is so much like Grayson and dad, with his olive skin and dark hair, but his eyes are different. First of all, he wears glasses, and his eyes are almost a chocolate gray swirl. Mostly gray though.
"I made you a cupcake!" He says with a smile. "Close your eyes."
I close my eyes.
"Now hold out your hand." He instructs. I do so, and he places something in my hands. "OPEN!" He yells.
In my hands I'm holding what appears to be a red velvet cupcake (my all-time favorite) with cream-cheese frosting (also a favorite) and the number 17 written very delicately in a rustic color of gel frosting.
"It looks delicious! Thank you Greg!" I hug him.
He smiles at me. "Happy birthday!"
"Happy birthday." I freeze. I have heard this voice before, but not in a very long time being spoken to me directly. The voice is calm, yet kind, and on the same side powerful in its own way. Wow I am over analyzing this… but why?
I turn so I am facing the source of the voice, and standing just a few feet from me, is Peyton Mellark. He hands me the bag of cheesebuns. "Dad says it's free of charge."
"Thanks." I say calmly. Then smile at him for extra friendliness, just to show him that it's okay to talk to me.
He blushes slightly, then I turn around, grab Greg's hand and we walk out into the midday sunlight. And I feel my heart beat slow down to its normal pace.