NOTE: This story takes place right after Prim dies. It is a simple, right, and beautiful ending to a crowded, marvelous series.

SURFACING

Love never falters, nor changes with the shifting wind of time. Love is true. Love is simple and beautiful and is worth living for. I know this because I have had the privilege of seeing it. Mother and father lay together; their arms intertwined. Behind them is a fire, a soft magnificent fire. Never have a seen one that looked so calm. Prim is on the floor beside it, playing with beaten up dolls. Everyone is so happy, including Buttercup, who lies next to Prim, her coat pristine.

Mother plays with father's beard, smiling at a small joke or amusing comment. Father looks back, finding me with his kind eyes. "Katniss what are you doing by the door? Come here." I follow his instructions. I have been waiting so long for him to say that. I sit next to father's warm body, edging into his strong chest. "I missed you papa," I said, placing my head on his chest.

"I missed you too darling," he said quietly. Prim looks at us, smiling. At that moment everything is perfect.

"Papa, is this a dream?" I ask, hoping the answer isn't true.

"I'm afraid so love." I start to feel tear welling up in my eyes. "Stay strong, for all of us," Papa said. "Stay true to who you are."

I look at his eyes, looking for something. "How can I stay true if I don't know who I am."

"Yes you do darling, all you need to do is accept it."

The two weeks after Prim died, I stayed in a room in the President's mansion, alone. Except, I wasn't really alone; I had all the company I wanted. When I was feeling particularly lonesome, Prim would always come to me. She would tell me all these magnificent stories. I would listen intently to her the sound of her voice and concentrate on her words. She would always surprise me by saying that the story was real, it actually happened.

"You can't live in the past anymore," she said to me.

"But that's all I got anymore."

"No it's not Katniss. You have a life still out in front of you. Stop feeling sorry for your self and live it." God she sounded like… like me. I was turning into my mother. I was turning into something I hated and didn't even notice. Sometimes, instead of Prim, Papa would appear. He wouldn't say much though; he would just lie beside me and stroke my hair. And sometimes, when you listened real close, he would sing. During those times I would close my eyes and concentrate on his voice, on his words, and on the meaning behind them. Soon enough I would catch myself singing along or humming his tune. And whenever I would open my eyes, it would be nighttime and Papa would be gone.

One day, Prim gave me her doll.

"What's this for?" I asked.

"For remembrance of course."

"What are you talking about? You are right here. You'll always be here." Then she bent down and grabbed my shoulders and looked strait in my eyes.

"Live for us. Live for all that have gone." Then, she was gone.

But something remained: a sense of… longing. A wanting to walk out of my lonely room and into the crooked world better than I entered it. And so I walked out of the room, closing the door on the past, and looking evermore forward to the future.