Because I have to, I'll state what's already blindingly obvious: Suzanne Collins owns the Hunger Games universe and all its citizens.
To Remember
On a beach at sunset, a woman lifts her son off the ground by his arms. The child's laughter can be heard ringing throughout the ocean, settling into the sand. In the distance, a group of dolphins break the surface of the water, almost as if they were drawn by the child's voice.
The woman's smile falters when she hears the laugh. It is the most magical sound she's ever heard, of course, but that's what makes it unbearable. The fact that it is not only one of the things, but the thing that reminds her of him. The one she loved, the one it destroyed her to stay away from. The one who was torn away from her again and again until the very last time.
The woman lets go of her son, who is by now so used to it that he doesn't even notice. He thinks this is normal behaviour. Don't all mothers occasionally sink to the ground when their children laugh or smile at them? Isn't it normal for all mothers to cry themselves to sleep every night? As far as the child's concerned, the only thing wrong with his life is his lack of a father.
But the child is happy. He rolls around in the sand and mimics the sounds that the dolphins in the water make. The child doesn't care that the day will soon end, he doesn't care that he has sand on every surface of his body, he doesn't care that his bronze-coloured hair is tangled with seaweed. He runs back to his mother, who is staring toward the horizon, a single tear falling down her face.
"Why you crying, Ma?" asks the boy. He wipes the tear away with a sandy finger.
The woman smiles at him, pulling him close to her. "Because another day's gone by." Another day without your father, she thinks.
The boy frowns. He doesn't understand why this would be a reason to be sad. "But there's still a lot of days left in the world. There's tomorrow, and the day after that and the day after that..." He looks up at his mother and grins. She can't help but smile back – even though her son's smile reminds her of his smile, even though he would have said the exact same thing, even though she can see him in her son's sea-green eyes every day. She tries to be happy. She pushes the pain and the grief away and reminds herself that although one part – one enormous part – of her world is gone, she still has everything to live for right here in her arms.
And if her child reminds her of him in almost every way, so what? It's good to remember. It keeps him alive in her heart, her mind, in every bone of her body. She never wants to forget. Never wants to forget the way his laugh soothed her, or how he always kept one hand protectively on her, or how handsome he'd looked on their wedding night, how soft and vulnerable he was when he first told her he loved her so many years ago. No, she would keep all these things with her and maybe one day she would tell them to her son. So he could know just how amazing and sweet and brave his father was. So that his memory will live on long after she's gone. Long after everyone who ever knew him is gone.
But for now, the woman only kisses her son's forehead and gets to her feet.
On a beach at nightfall, a mother and her son walk home, hand in hand. The son notices a small change in the way his mother walks now, the way her face looks more serene than he's ever seen it. This makes him happy.
That night, for the first time in a long time, the woman falls asleep on a dry pillow.
First of all, thank you so much for reading. I don't usually write like this, so this was partly an experiment but mostly, I just wanted to pay a little tribute to Finnick and Annie and their child.
So what do you guys think? I wrote this at 4 in the morning while I was hopped up on coffee – does it show?