Summary: It's thirty years after the Hunger Games have been put to a stop. Thirty years after the war against the Capital. Katniss and Peeta Mellark have had two children, their fifteen-year-old daughter Liliana Mellark and their twelve-year-old son, Andrew Mellark. They know their parents had once played a role in the Games. But they didn't have a clue about what was in store for them.
Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games. Suzanne Collins does.
"Goodnight, Mom. Night, Dad," I said to my parents.
"Night, Lills!" They responded.
As I walked to my bedroom, the floor boards creaked under my feet. But I've lived here for my whole life, so by now I have memorized which ones creak, and I manage to step around them. We have a large house for such a small family, that even a slight noise will be heard throughout the house.
I suppose I should introduce myself. My name's Liliana Primrose Everdeen. I am fifteen. I have one younger brother named Andrew. I am the daughter of Katniss and Peeta Mellark, the two victors of the seventy-forth Hunger Games. There wasn't supposed to be two of them, and that is what really started the rebellion.
But I'm lucky. I was born after the war against the Capital and after the Games. So, my family lives peacefully and happily in District 12. I never had to worry about being reaped into the Games. I never had to worry about being forced to fight to the death, for the Hunger Games were diminished almost thirty years ago.
My family and I live in the only other occupied house in the Victor's Village of District 12. The other being owned by Haymitch, another victor of the Hunger Games. In fact, the only District 12 victor of the Hunger Games besides my parents.
But as I lay down in my bed I can't help thinking about how maybe everything is going too perfectly. I'm expecting something to just fly into my life and hit me in the face. And it's killing me to wait for it.
Compared to the horrors my parents had to face, my life is perfect. People say that there is no such thing as perfect. I believe that there is such thing as perfect, but when you find it, it doesn't last forever.
I tried to push those thoughts to the back of my mind, as I drifted off to sleep. But even asleep in my bed my own thoughts echoed in my mind.
Perfect doesn't last forever.
Author's Note:
EDITED CHAPTER AS OF 12/26/2013.
- CJ