My mother is the Mockingjay. Her flames live within me. My father's dandelion blooms in the flames, rising out of the ashes like a Phoenix. I am their daughter, their Phoenix, their beloved Magnolia Lae Mellark.

My brother has taken after my mother, letting the flames engulf the beauty in life. The days that we spent playing in the meadow are gone forever, only to be replaced by my fear of him. Maybe it's my fear for him.

My parents have nightmares daily. If they aren't together when they are remembering, it takes hours to calm them down. Most of the nightmares my mother has revolve around my dead aunt, Primrose Everdeen. Whenever she passes by a picture of blonde little girl in the house she breaks down into a fit of sobs screaming her name.

When I was younger and my mother had one of her breakdowns I would always ask my father why she was crying. He would always answer the same thing with tears in his eyes. "She's remembering, sweety. Why don't you and Aramis go and play outside?" I've grown too old for that answer anymore.

Throughout all of this, my father has stayed rock solid, anchoring my mother to earth. I can't say that I've done the same.

It has been a long time since I have been able to calm my mother down; I simply do not contain the patience to do so. Whenever I see her in such a state it is impossible for me to not break down as well. The only ones who can ever really calm her down are my father, my brother, and Haymitch. She will get worse if it is anyone else.

I have grown used to my mother panicking even more when I am the one trying to calm her down; Haymitch has told me about how scared she was when carrying me while he was in one of his drunk stupors.

My father has become the one person who I have found the means to confide in and trust. I am 16 but whenever I run into trouble there is still nothing I want more than to run back into his arms so he can comfort me. He is not only my mother's anchor to earth and her sanity, but my one and only salvation.

Despite our differences, my family is close. My father keeps us together, and I'm almost sure that our family would be crashing to the ground and burning without him. We know everything about each other, everything. My parents were in the Hunger Games and were almost killed one more than one occasion. Knowing about the things that they went through and have nightmares about scares me sometimes, but like my father I have chosen to try and get past it. He has set an example that I try to follow in every aspect of my life.

I remember hearing him telling me a quote from the days before the disasters. "Times change. People don't." He couldn't have said it better.

"Mags, can you get Haymitch?" My father says in a strained voice from upstairs using my nickname. I raise my head in curiosity as he says, "I need some help calming your mother down. Can you hurry?"

"Alright dad!" I shout and I rush out the front door into the street. I sprint to Haymitch's door and rap my knuckles against the hard wood. Nobody answers, so I look around impatiently. I hear a loud groan emitting from the alley next to his house and I head over, I myself groaning. I see him sulking in a pile of garbage, bottle of alcohol in hand. "Haymitch, mom needs you. She's having one of her break downs again, and it's bad this time." I say, impatience and annoyance written all over my face.

"Slow down, sweetheart. She can wait a little while. I just need a drink first." His voice is heavy and slurred, obviously drunk already. His breath reeks of the strong spirits; I can smell it from here.

I crouch down to his level and whisper, "Haymitch. I'm going to lift you to your feet, and if you put up a fight I will personally bash your skull in after I drag you over to help my mom. Now let's go."

"Just like your mother." He grumbles as I pull him to his feet. I pretend not to hear him as I sling his arm over my shoulder and start to drag him back to my house, trying not to think about when he last washed or where he has been. I shrug to readjust his grip on me and to clear my head. Since when did I ever care about getting dirty?

I throw open the door and shout, "Dad! I got Haymitch!"

Haymitch rubs his temple and says, "You sound like Effie when she has a microphone. The difference is you don't have a microphone, sweetheart."

I shake my head stubbornly and say, "You've just got a hangover. Now you had better not make me drag you up the stairs unless you want your head throbbing worse than it is now."

"I was right. You're just as unpleasant as your mother."

"You're not exactly perfect either." We finally make it up the stairs and we enter my parent's room. My dad is holding my mother down, saying soothing words as she screams and squirms in his grip.

"Finally. Now help me with her, but be careful. She still knows how to throw a decent punch."

Haymitch snorts and says, "So do I, Peeta. Unlike you I'm not afraid to throw one back."

I leave the room and head towards the meadow. It pains me whenever I hear her screams, it's almost as if I feel her pain. Not being able to help her only makes it worse.

I sit in the middle of the meadow cross-legged, closing my eyes blissfully. My parents had small moments like this only to have it stolen away from them, which is why I appreciate it that much more. I remember when my mother's break downs were less frequent, when she was able to play with my brother and I. Now we are too old for such things, yet I still yearn for her to hug me without the fear of me getting hurt.

"Are you okay?"I open my eyes and see my little brother, Aramis, looking at me with a concerned look on his face. It's amazing how sometimes my father's dandelion is able to shine through the flames I had once thought engulfed everything about him.

"Yea. Mom's having a break down. You can go home and help calm her down if you like."

"Nah, you need me more right now." He says, sitting down on the grass beside me.

I feel the need to respond, but I stay silent and close my eyes just as the breeze comes. My dark brown hair flows behind me and I enjoy the feeling of it tickling my scalp. It almost feels as if all my problems are being thrown to the wind, being blown away. Almost. Maybe Aramis is right; maybe I do need him right now.

I think I did a decent job on this. I'm happy with it, now I'm wondering if you guys like it?

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Bye!