I am a teacher now, taming the fire of a fight for life, and gifting it to each child. Some days I struggle, trying to figure out how to pin words to the Hunger Games. For a child who has grown up in the secure land of the new world, how can you possibly bring to life what I, Peeta, and everyone else went through? How can you illuminate a battle so desperate? Even my own children, whose blood runs with my own very flame, cannot picture the fate claiming day of the reapings, or the dank halls of District 13.
Gale chose to keep his knowledge to himself, except if our own children should ever want to try their hand at hunting and setting snares. He prefers to keep the woods quiet, besides the barely audible sound of his tread across the leaves. He makes a good living for our family, bringing in the rich meat and pelts. The Hob is legal now, though few are skilled enough to feed themselves off what they can hunt, so deer and rabbit are hot commodities.
I make a decent living too, though the new mayor assured me it isn't really necessary for a human to teach the material. There were enough books and movies on the rebellion, he had reasoned, that there was no need for me to resurface those painful memories. But, for me, it was a part of the healing process. By teaching it myself, I could honor the non public faces of the rebellion. I might have been the Mockingjay, but what about Boggs, who manned the mission to President Snow's mansion? Or my Gale, who risked himself countless times? And lastly, Prim? What's more honorable then a little girl going to care for the wounded?
Either way, it felt wrong to let the tales of the Games and the following rebellion be taught by the robotic, prerecorded tones. Bloodbaths should be recalled with a human mind and a human voice to speak them, and little humans themselves deserve that bit of tenderness. Perhaps it was the disparity in my eyes that led him to discover that I needed the job, but not for the money.
Nevertheless, life goes on. Gale's pre dawn, pre dew hunts become a ritual, while I prepare the children for school. Our daughter looks remarkably like me, and acts similarly to both Gale and I. When it was her turn to hear about the Games, my past, she was struck with an awe sort of respect. She didn't understand, quite yet, but yet, she did. The fight, the reasoning behind it, made sense to her, even if it hadn't made sense to me.
What I wouldn't do to be so innocent and simpleminded again, to see things as they really are. The beginning years of bliss in my childhood, before my father's death, were all I had to remember of such a time. I cherish her years as a quiet, cheerful girl, clinging fast to the hope that our fight was enough to make it last a little longer.
The boy, though he may be Gale's child, looks almost like Peeta. He carries the deep, soul searching gaze, though his eyes are grey. His personality is a cross between the two, quiet and respectful, fierce and passionate. The innocent years never belonged to him, however. His gaze let me know instantly that somehow, he already knew of the evil in the world, but he was not afraid.
Through all of the titles the fight gave me, it is the epilogue of the same battle that leaves me smiling. As my children say 'I love you, Mother' when they leave for school, it is a special sort of happiness that rushes through my veins and feeds my fire. I pause by the doorway for a second, watching them walk, pointing out the chirp of each bird, identifying them.
But, as I slip back inside, crossing the room to poke the fire, I peer out the window towards Peeta's home. Sometimes, if it's not the screams I hear first, I can see the flash of his blonde hair through the windows. I wonder if he feels desperately alone, but I don't feel welcome to comfort him.
"What do you want for dinner, Catnip?" Gale calls from the door. It may have been years since our original encounter in the woods, but he still adorns me with that nickname.
I smile, genuinely. "Whatever you can find."
He chuckles. "At least it's a perfect hunting day. It might be blisteringly cold, but the snow will cover my tracks."
"Be careful," I warn him as I accept a small kiss. The electric fence may be another figment of the past, but it's almost a ceremonial saying now.
"As always," he replies in the same fashion. I watch him stride off towards the woods, before once again closing the door. Hunting is still just as precious to me, but the deer won't be out in the beginning of the blizzard. Likewise, I have no classes to teach today, as the other teacher will start everybody on the Dark Days before it's my turn.
I look out the frosty window towards the rest of the Victor's Village, or rather, what's left of it. The homes that were never lucky enough to home a killer have been torn down, for more farming fields or other homes. Peeta and I's are the only that stand. Even Haymitch had left his, concluding that it was only the closet of his drunken ghosts.
I see nothing, and feel the same. I never pined to see him, I am Gale's, but it still stings to think of how badly I might have hurt him. I resort to poking the fire and endlessly rearranging the piles of paper for my next class, debating how wrong it really would be to go over there. For someone who was thrown in an arena as little more then a killing machine, I really do hate to have enemies.