Prologue

Today is Christmas eve. Daniel runs around the house on a sugar rush from the hot-chocolate we had earlier. I sit in my plush red chair in the corner of the living room, starring out the window covered by little raindrops at nothing. My mind wanders to memories that really shouldn't be replayed. But they come anyway. The memories bring pain of longing, sadness, loneliness, and anger. I should be happy at my son's smiles and at how much he looks like his father, but I'm not. I can't. I am too stuck in the past. I should let go and realize that he's not coming back. But the past is just, for some unknown reason, where I always seem to go. It invades my mind and my dreams every day. Every goddamn day. I need to stop acting like my mother who shut down on me when the people I loved most died.

I feel pressure on my knees as Daniel pushes himself up onto my lap. I try to shove away all the unwanted thoughts and focus on my son's blonde hair that sticks out in every direction. He looks up at me with his piercing blue eyes that are still alight with happiness. And sugar.

"Mommy?" he asks in his sweet six-year-old voice. "Why are you sad?" He puts his little arms around my neck and pulls himself into me. I brush away the his hair but it falls swiftly right back to where it was before. I try and give him the best convincing smile - though I'm sure I fail completely.

"Are you ready for bed?" I ask, avoiding his question. He shakes his head and all his hair flies around, messing it up further. "You need a haircut, little man."I say, ruffling his hair. He gives a sweet, high-pitch, little laugh that echos around in my ears.

"Mommy, stop it." He laughs even harder. He pats his hair down as a attempt to put it back to its original state with little success. I wrap my arms around him tightly and stand up.

"How does some warm milk sound?"

"No, the milk is for Santa!" I laugh and rub my nose against his.

"There will still be enough for him after we have some." He looks doubtful but doesn't say anything. I walk into the kitchen and set him down on the counter. I go over and fill two mugs full of milk and put them in the microwave. Daniel swings his legs back and forth while he counts down with the microwave. The timer goes off and I open the door but before I can take them out Daniel's voice cries out.

"Mommy!" I turn around and stare wide-eyes at my son.

"What is it sweetie?" I say, putting my hands on his shoulders.

"You can't take the milk out without protection on your hands. You'll get very, very bad injuries." I laugh at his protectiveness. My smile falters a little when I think of how much he's like his father. I shake my head and I grab the outstretched oven mitts from Daniel.

I set the mugs on the counter. Daniel goes to pick them up but warn him about how hot they'll be. He blows long and hard on his milk and I watch as he blows how much saliva he is spitting out.

Deciding it's cool enough, he holds the cup up to his lips and takes a big gulp. He pulls away and looks at me. Daniel gives me a confused look as I begin to laugh. His upper lip is cover in a big milk-stache.

When he's done I grab the towel hanging its rack and wipe his mouth.

I scoop him up in my arms—even though he is getting way too big for this and I don't have a lot of arm strength—and we go up to his room. Setting him down softly on the bed and tucking him in, I kiss his forehead and stroke his hair.

As I turn to go his little hand reaches out and grabs mine.

"Tell me about daddy." I'm speechless. I knew this conversation would come at some point of his life, I just didn't think it would be so soon. I am reluctant to tell him considering what night this is.

I curl up next to him and wrap my arms around him.

"What is it you want to know about him?" He's quiet for a minute.

"What did he look like? And what was he like?"

"He had blonde hair much like yours. Tall. Strong. Handsome. Polite. Had some...anger issues...he was mysterious.

"Why did he leave?"

"Because...he..because he...He went to leave in a better place."

"Did he not like District 12?'

"No, he did. He liked it very much."

"Then why did he move somewhere else? Didn't he love us?"

"Your father loved us very much."

"Then why did he leave?" The whole conversation is bringing tears to my eyes but I force them away. I can not break down in front of my son. "It because his mother didn't like us, right?"

"How did you..." I start. He looks away in the opposite direction guilty. "Daniel...?" He looks back over, avoiding my eyes, and points at his nightstand. Looking over I see my old diary...journal laying there on the edge. How did he find that? Hesitantly, I reach over and pick it up. I flip through the pages at all my entry I have.

A sniff come from beside me. Looking over I see Daniel with tears running down his delicate face. I wrap my arms around him tightly, quieting him as I tell him it's all right. He nuzzles his head into my neck, dripping his warm, wet tears on me. I rub his back even long after he falls asleep in my arms.

Knowing I should go to my own bed, I gently tuck him back in and kiss his forehead.

I stare at my journal in my hands, wondering if I should read it or not. Knowing I shouldn't I open it anyways and read some sentences of random entries.

I hold it close to my chest as I walk out of the room.

I walk downstairs and pull out the presents I got for Daniel and put them under our small Christmas tree we cut down from the woods.

I go to the kitchen and pull out the liquor that I always save for uncle Haymitch, and pop the top off. I always tell myself that I shouldn't, but do anyway. I drink the liquor whenever I felt most depressed or Christmas eve—today. I tip the bottle up to my lips and let the fiery liquid run down my throat. The sensation is calming but not enough to take away all my pain.

Taking the rest of the bottle with me, I go and lay down on my bed.

Unable to resist, I open the journal and skim read through some of my entries, occasionally drinking some liquor when the heartache is too much.

After I can't take it any more of reading the damn thing, I set it down on the bed side table. The alarm clock beside me says that's it two-thirty. Had I really been reading for that long?

Not bothering to changing out of my clothes I had been wearing all day, I turn of the lamp and snuggle under the covers, and hug his pillow, and imagine it's his warm body that I'm holding.

Even thought I had not expected it to, I curse my brain for giving me another restless night's sleep of nightmares.

It's kind of short, but it is only a prologue. The next chapter will be longer, I promise. I'm not exactly sure about this, so if I get five reviews by tomorrow at noon saying I should continue, then I'll post the next chapter.

~Txcutee