Prologue
The waves are gentle today. They reflect the pristine blue topaz of the sky, gulls wheel in delight. The day is warm, peaceful, soothing. A barge makes its way out to sea; the small group on its deck stand with bowed heads as a narrow-shouldered boy fumbles with the clasp of a container and shakes out the contents over the water.
The subtle breeze whips the fine dust into the horizon, and the narrow-shouldered boy hangs his head sadly as the others touch his arm or face in tender gestures of comfort. One wizened woman pauses and without speaking, hands him a thick envelope. 'From your mother,' she says softly and hobbles away on experienced sea legs.
The boy stares at the packet. Dread and curiosity fight within him, but of course the latter wins, and with a heavy sigh he slowly wanders to the bow by himself. He opens the unsealed fold to see the familiar script of his mother's handwriting.
My dear Son-
I love you. I love you. First and foremost, forever.
I have just told you this when you came to tell me goodnight, and I hope I didn't make you too sad. But it is the truth. I hope the pain of my passing will soon be just an unpleasant memory for you, one among many, many happy ones. I hope you will soon be my smiley boy again; no, I know you will be, because you are your father's son:
You are strong. You are kind. You have passion for life and its many joys.
My mind has been running constantly tonight; I can't sleep. There is so much to tell you. I know you've always had questions and I am so sorry I was never able to tell you. Maybe I finally can, though, if I write it all down…
I think you must already know some things, from what I have been able to share and from Katniss's memory book. Even now, I find it too hard to talk about…much of any of that in this letter. I have spoken to Katniss and if you have any questions about the horrors of that time, you may ask her or Peeta. But you must be patient, considerate and thoughtful with your questions, as I know you will be, for it is a great burden for any of us to have to re-live (even through memory) any aspect of that time.
So, this, my dearest, is about the beginning, because no one else who was there remains to me…
