I wake up with early morning light falling through the windows, into the room. Peeta is there, with his arms around me, knowing that I find it difficult to wake up alone. When he sees me awake, he strokes my hair.
'No nightmares.' He says
'None.' I confirm. He kisses my forehead and then gets out of bed. I fall back into the realms of sleep, as I hear Peeta padding down the stairs.
When I come round again it must be mid-morning. I slip out of bed, take a shower and change into some grey trousers with a burgundy shirt which I leave hanging over the top of my waistband.
Once downstairs I find Peeta sitting at the table with a mug of tea in his hand, staring into space. As I enter his line of sight, he doesn't look at me. I sit down opposite him and take his free hand, which is resting on the table and clenched in a fist, in my own. Something has triggered a flashback and he is trying not to slip.
The reason for this then hits me like a ton of bricks: Memorial Day. The one day every year when everyone remembers the rebellion, which both Peeta and I incited, and the Hunger games, which both Peeta and I took part in, and the events which lead to both. A bulletin on the television was the trigger that prompted the flashback, probably. I hold Peeta's hand until his grip loosens.
Memorial Day is taken very seriously all over Panem: a special video is shown in schools and on screens all around the country, in schools there is a lecture from the mayor and another video is shown to pupils over the age of eleven containing footage of past Hunger Games. The video contains mostly footage from the 74th and 75th games with occasional snippets of others. It is not designed to scare the children (although many are frightened after watching it), but to highlight the atrocities of the games which most consider worse than the actual war that ended them. This year is the first year one of our children will see it.
The girl already knows not to ask questions and that we will tell her details when we feel fit. But, whether it is the right time or not, we will have to explain everything tonight, before she hears rumors from other students about what her parents did or did not do and having the surname 'Mellark' does her no favors. The nightmares will surely be awful tonight.
After Peeta has returned to this world, somewhat free of his flashbacks for the time being, we put on our shoes and head out for a walk. I pick some of the evening primrose outside of the house from its bush and hold it in one hand; the other is intertwined with Peeta's. We walk out of Victor's Village, which still retains its name although Peeta and I are the only victors in residence after Haymitch passed away, and towards the town. At this time of day I would usually be hunting in the woods and Peeta would be baking at home, but today is an exception.
The brief walk to the square is nice. The sun is shining and the birds singing, once we arrive in the square, business is taking place as usual, but there is a heavy atmosphere, slightly masked by the beauty of the day but made obvious by the distinct near-silence. All conversations that were taking place in whispers, cease as Peeta and I walk past. No one openly stares but it feels like it. It doesn't surprise me. Peeta and I are the only people still alive in District 12, who were directly involved in the war, so this was bound to happen, it always does on memorial day.