I stand firm and ready. I lock onto my target, whose shifting feathers have revealed its location. I raise my bow and pull the arrow against the string so that it slots securely into place. I know this is right. Some days the action is forced, but today it comes more naturally. Waves of the same memories repeat on a loop. A cycle of faces, scenes and fire stream by; several move rapidly, others in prolonged motions. The arrow quivers, and I discover my hand is shaking, sending convulsions to travel up my arm. I need to focus. My stomach churns nausea and frustration together to create an uncomfortable mix that strangles me of breath. I wait for the moment to pass, clearing my mind. If I don't do this, our meal won't be as satisfactory today. Although we gain a fair sum from occupying a popular baking business, it isn't enough to provide three meals daily. District 12 isn't as poor as it used to be, but reconstructions after the bombings were a struggle, even with the donations provided by other Districts. And with two smaller mouths to feed also, bringing food home seems all the more important.
The Capitol is no longer as selfish with wealth, yet still I look forward to the day when I can feed my family at the push of a button, like I remember they had done. The days are getting better, though. We've transformed Panem into a democracy, where we can elect our President and District Mayors. We can have a say, and there is more equality across our societies. And on one of these days in the future, I will be able to show the young ones the book, tell them how different life was, and how, if they had asked someone back then of the biggest game they could play, just like they do now, the answer would have been the worst game of them all.
I release the arrow. It sails horizontally, skimming nearby trees during its course of direction, and sinks into the turkey's left wing. Not being my intended aim, I fear the bird is only wounded. The second shoot that follows drives through its chest, and I'm certain that I've finalised the kill. I gather my bow, arrow, and stuff the bird into my hunting bag. As I trek through the grass towards home, I replay the times when I was in a different part of the forest, when I had a partner to make a slow day seem better than even the best of hunting trips. I dismiss the thoughts and continue to follow the journey remaining, level headed.
I'm greeted by the smell of warm bread. Customers decrease to near zero by late afternoon, and so Peeta bakes for the following day, as well as supplements for our evening meal. I enter the kitchen to find him with our two children covered in a coating of flour and smeared with dough. The children giggle when they see me, and Peeta rotates swiftly round.
"Guilty," he claims, grinning, as he raises two dusted hands in the air. I join in their laughter, dumping my hunt onto the table.
"I guess this means only my hands are clean enough to finish the icing Daddy left in the bowl this morning," I say teasingly.
Prue's eyes widen suddenly. "But Daddy! You said it was all gone!" She folds her arms across her chest and Peeta feigns a shocked expression.
"You got me!" he exclaims, placing a hand over his heart. "I was going to surprise you after dinner... will you ever forgive me?"
She ponders this for a moment, and then grins, displaying the gap where her two front teeth had been. "Okay! But only if I can have it now?"
"Well like your Mother says, you can't gobble up icing when your hands are like a ghost's," he says, as he chucks her affectionately under the chin. "Take your brother with you and then you can both have some."
Little Gale claps his sticky hands excitedly. Prue takes hold of one and I watch them skip happily away.
I remember trying to choose their names. Initially, I had been reluctant on the idea of children, but eventually agreed after Peeta's persuasion. I knew he would make the ideal father, and so I didn't want to be the one that took his only chance away. I'd never given much thought to children, let alone naming them, yet the holding of my first overwhelmed me with such love and the need to protect her that I shall never forget it. And because of this, we named her after my late sister and friend, who we continue to treasure for an eternity and longer.
I thought he would be more difficult to name, but his grey eyes were enough to remind me of an older companion who shares the same ones.
"This looks promising!" Peeta says, peering into the hunting bag. "Nice catch, darling." He comes over to kiss me but I slap him away.
"Don't even try it with a face like that," I say, reminding him of his white powdered skin.
"Like what?" he asks, touching his face with a look of innocence. "Like this?" He reaches towards me and wipes his hands across my cheeks. I exasperate with laughter and let him plants kisses over my face, leaving my lips until last.
A bell chimes, indicating the arrival of a customer. It's rare that we receive late orders, especially so near to closing time.
"I'll sort this one," I say, untangling myself from Peeta's embrace.
"Don't be too long," he says, kissing my fingertips. "There's a kitchen to be cleaned." He winks mischievously.
"You mean, a kitchen you've got to clean," I snort, although we both know too well that this particular room is one we are used to tidying together more than frequent.
I dash down the hallway and open the door leading to the bakery itself. There is little food left on the shelves and in the counter now, so I think that they must be quite desperate if they can't wait until tomorrow.
"Sorry to keep you waiting," I say, keeping my face down whilst attempting to remove the majority of the dough and flour plastered to my face. "Can I help you with something?"
"Hey Catnip."
I've lost count of the times I have imagined this almost fanatical scene in my head. I've always pictured us smiling at our reunion. Sometimes we've bumped into each other at the Hob, now a legal trading system for District 12 because of our new Capitol permitting the items, such as my hunts, which had once been forbidden. At times it's me searching for him. My favourite ones are when we discover one another both hunting in the Woods. I'm not certain why I've never pictured him coming to find me here, or even in the meadow where Peeta and I watch the children play, but I guess I've always imagined this to be a private moment, just me and him.
My head shoots up. He's standing at the counter, a tall figure, wearing a monochrome military uniform that I don't recognise. Yet it's his face that is all too familiar. Despite his skin being a darker shade of olive, he shares my dark hair and grey eyes. It's him. He's here.
Gale.
I choke his name out in a whisper. He gives an awkward smile and rubs the back of his neck with his hand.
I run around the side of the counter and hug him tight, my face pressing against his chest, inhaling the faint smell of apples and oranges that I remember so well. He responds instantly, and the warmth of his hands on my back fills my eyes with a wetness that spills as silent tears onto his shoulder.
And I realise that I couldn't have created a more perfect moment. Despite being apart for countless years, Gale has always held a place in my heart. And now that he's here, I don't want him to ever leave, because it's not until now, in his arms at last, that I finally understand how much he has always meant to me.