Disclaimer: The original characters and plot are the property of the Suzanne Collins. All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners.
This was written for Starvation's monthly one-shot contest, after the prompt "Light". If you don't figure this out by the third line, this is Mr. Everdeen's point of view as he, erm, dies. So, review, please! Tell me what you think.
Boom. An ear-splitting explosion through the dark.
I've always hated the dark. I've always loved the light.
Dark is the coal mines, deep and dangerous. It's the only way I can keep my family alive. They are the only reason I can bear it.
Dark is the electricity outages, plunging the district into darkness and fright. I remember, when Prim was three; I brought her to the square. The electricity went out and the street lamps went out. The streets hurtled into darkness, leaving the street shadowy and Prim screaming in fright.
Light is the sun, giving life to the world. Light is the moon and stars, breaking through the darkness of the night. I have so many good memories of the light.
When I was two, I was taking a nap in my crib. I remember looking out through the gritty glass window. The sun shone through the coal dust, mid-afternoon rays bouncing off the walls, reflecting in the mirror, casting shadows off of the shape mobile my father had made for me. I remember how I lay there, just staring at the dust moats swirling around in a ray of sun coming through the window. I remember how fascinated I was, how I wouldn't leave my crib until the sun sank below the horizon.
When I was seven, my father taught me how to swim. I remember I loved the way the sun glinted and bounced off of the ripples in the lake in the woods. I remember how excited I was that day he took me the first time. I remember how I jumped into the crystal clear water and how I opened my eyes underneath and the water seemed to sparkle with sunlight. It came so naturally to me. I remember how every sunny summer Sunday I would beg my father to take me to the lake again.
When I was nine, I caught my first prey alone. I remember how it was a cloudy day, and how I readied my bow and arrow like my father taught me to. I remember how shaky my arms were, how hard I tried to steady them. I raised it, hoping. I remember how I aimed and let go of the arrow, how shot it and was overjoyed. I remember how the sunlight broke through the clouds just then, as if it was smiling down on me, praising me at my accomplishment.
When I was sixteen, I started to sing to her. I remember lying in the meadow under the warm spring sun, singing her favorite song, a beautiful mountain air. I remember how we lay there for the whole afternoon sometimes. I remember how my lips stayed parted the whole time, how my tongue moved to form each word for her. How I would sing under the sun.
When I was twenty, I married her. I remember how it rained all through the toasting and as we walked across the district. I remember the rain pouring down on us, soaking our hair, my suit and her favorite dress. I remember how the rain stopped and the sun appeared with a rainbow just as I carried her through the threshold. I remember how I brought her straight back outside and we ran towards the end of the rainbow. I remember how we couldn't find it and laughed like children and how she kissed me.
When I was twenty-two, I made love to her. I remember that Sunday afternoon, the way we kissed. I remember how the sun shown through the window and the sweet smelling breeze that drifted through the open window as I held her in my arms. I remember how we loved each other, as we never had before and how afterwords I loved her even more then I ever knew anyone could love another person.
When I was twenty-three, I held my first baby in my arms. I remember how I brought her out of the house into the sun and I sang to her. My wife's favorite song, the mountain air. I remember how she opened her eyes and looked into my eyes when I sang the last note, how it she looked at me like she wanted more.
When I was twenty-seven, I held my second daughter in my arms. I remember how I loved how the sun shone on her pretty little pink face and how she was so beautiful. I remember how I sang the same mountain air to her as I rocked her in my arms.
I remember all of the cold winter nights I warmed myself by the fire, watching the flickering firelight bring joy to the dark night.
I remember lying in the meadow on sunny days, sweet smelling grass and flowers surrounding me, the cool breeze rustling the leaves.
I remember the sun after the rains, with the wet air and the mockingjays' beautiful tunes whistling through the air.
I remember happiness. I remember light.
Now I stand in a tunnel. I walk away from the dark part towards the happiness. Towards the light.