Hello to my fellow fanfiction friends. I've been away from the fanfiction scene for some years now. Family life and work got in the way of my writing until eventually I stopped altogether. I only recently became a fan of The Hunger Games series. I watched the first movie and straight away I knew I should have read the book. I downloaded all 3 onto my tablet and within 8 days I had read everything, just in time to watch Mockingjay Part 1 at the cinema. Like many of you, I have been inspired by the story of Katniss and Peeta. Their relaionship is so very real and after finishing Mockingjay I found myself wondering how their lives would have continued. There are so many post-mj fanfics and I've read my fair share. Now I'd like to tell my version.
You'll notice that the first few chapters of this story quote directly from Suzanne Collins' novels, mainly from the epilogue. I want to state that I do not own any part of the Hunger Games franchise. All glory goes to Suzanne and her wonderful story. I simply wish to add my own flourishes.
Please enjoy.
After breakfast, Greasy Sae does the dishes and leaves but she comes back up at dinnertime to make me eat again. I don't know if she's just being neighbourly or if she's on the government's payroll, but she shows up twice every day. She cooks, I consume. I try to figure out my next move. There's no obstacle now to taking my life. But I seem to be waiting for something.
I'm cold. The fire in the kitchen has burnt out again. Part of me, a very small part of me, considers leaving my chair and lighting the embers once more but exhaustion wins again and I pull the shawl around my shoulders a little tighter as a shiver runs through me. Pale light is peaking in through the window so I know that Greasy Sae will be here soon, her granddaughter in tow. She'll light the fire. How long has she been limping into my kitchen to cook my meals? A couple of weeks maybe? A month? I hardly know. Time has melted, each day blending with the next. I haven't left the kitchen since my return to 12 except to use the bathroom. I'm wearing the same clothes I left the Capitol in. My body feels stiff and sore from sitting in the wooden rocker day after day but nothing makes me want to move to a more comfortable spot. I don't deserve comfort.
I don't hear Greasy Sae come in but when I blink she's suddenly there, limping around the kitchen like she owns the place.
"Fire's out again, girl." She says, poking at the burnt out wood.
I watch her throw on some fresh logs and light them up before she turns and heads into the pantry, returning with a couple of eggs.
"You're outta bread too." She says.
As I watch her heat a saucepan and scramble the eggs I suddenly become aware that she's come alone today. No granddaughter.
"Where is she?" I ask. My throat hurts and my voice cracks. I realise I haven't uttered a single word in about three days.
Greasy Sae turns to look at me. "Little Daisy? She's at home with her Momma. Came down with a fever only last night."
She spoons the eggs onto a clean plate and places it on the table. For a moment I simply stare at it from across the room until Sae puts her hand on her hip. I have no desire to eat but reluctantly I stand up from the rocker and take a seat at the table. She watches me until I've eaten everything on the plate then she hands me a glass of milk and 2 small pills, my medication. I force myself the gulp it down. Everything tastes like ash now. Sae takes back the glass and the plate along with the saucepan and begins to wash up. My chair groans as I push back from the table and take the three strides to my rocker.
"Spring's in the air today. You ought to get out." Sae says. "Maybe go hunting. The fresh air will do you good."
The last thing I want to do is go outside. "I don't have a bow," I say.
Greasy Sae place the crockery back in the cupboard and makes for the door. She studies my face and I hear her sigh softly. "Check down the hall," she says. Then she's gone.
I consider doing as she says but quickly rule it out. I can't hunt. I won't hunt. I used to hunt to survive. I don't want to survive anymore. My old bow will forever be tainted with memories of death and murder. Perhaps I should destroy it. Burn it in the fire.
Before I realise it, I'm half way down the hall staring at the door to the study, where I had my tea with President Snow. I feel my heart begin to race and scold myself for being so foolish. Ghosts don't exist.
The door creaks as I nudge it open with my foot. There on the table is a box. I realise that whoever lit my fire on my first night back must have put it here. Lying on top is my father's hunting jacket. I touch the soft leather and pull it to my chest as I peer at the rest of the contents. My plant book, my parent's wedding photo, the spile Haymitch sent in the Quarter Quell and the locket Peeta gave me. My bow and a sheath of arrows Gale rescued on the night of the firebombing lie next to the box.
Suddenly the bow no longer matters. I shrug on the hunting jacket and leave the rest of the stuff untouched. My feet carry me to the formal living room at the front of the house and I sink down onto the large sofa. My hand comes up to touch my face and I'm surprised to find my cheeks moistened with tears. I wipe them away roughly with the back of my hand and catch the scent of my father's jacket. I pull it tightly around me and put my head down against the arm of the chair. I must have fallen asleep because a terrible nightmare now engulfs me. I'm lying at the bottom of a deep grave. I look up at the sky above and strangle a cry as I see the faces of every dead person I knew. They look at me accusingly as each one throws a shovel full of ashes on top of me. I gag as the ashes fill my mouth and nose. I can't get up. I can't breathe. I begin to choke, tears pouring from my eyes but still the shovel scrapes on and on…
I wake with a start, gasping for air. I shield my eyes from the sunlight streaming in through the shutters. Why can I still hear the shovel? Am I still in this nightmare? It's coming from outside. Running down the hall I burst out of the front door and around the side of the house. I stop dead in my tracks. I see him. His face is flushed from digging up the ground under the windows.
"You're back?" I say, sounding more like a question than a statement.
Peeta looks up at me, completely unfazed by my sudden presence. "Dr Aurelius wouldn't let me leave the Capitol until yesterday" he says, wiping the sweat from his face with his forearm. "By the way, he said to tell you he can't keep pretending he's treating you forever. You have to pick up the phone."
I barely register the words coming out of his mouth. I just stare. He looks well. He's thin and covered with burn scars like me, but his eyes have lost that clouded, tortured look. When I notice him frowning at me I make a half-hearted effort to push my hair out of my face and realise it's matted into clumps. I haven't touched a hairbrush in weeks. Suddenly I feel defensive.
"What are you doing?" I ask.
"I went to the woods this morning and dug these up," he says, gesturing to the five scraggly bushes in his wheelbarrow. "For her." He adds.
I look closely at the bushes and catch my breath. Roses? No, not roses. Evening primrose. The flower my sister was named after. It sparks a memory in me. My mouth opens and closes a couple of times but no sound escapes. Peeta makes a move towards me but I back away and run into the house, locking the door behind me. Anxiety builds within me as I recall the evil thing lurking in my bedroom. I take the stairs two at a time but my foot catches on the last one and I tumble to the floor. I force myself to rise and enter my room. It's here, that faint smell of rose. I find it shrivelled amongst the dead flowers. I grab the whole vase, stumble down to the kitchen and throw its contents into the smouldering embers. A burst of blue flame envelops the rose and devours it. I smash the vase on the floor for good measure.
I head back upstairs and open the bedroom windows but I can still smell the stench on my clothes. As I strip I feel my delicate skin crack and flake. I ignore the sting and step into the shower, vigorously scrubbing the scent from my hair, my body my mouth. I pat myself dry and come back into the bedroom just in time to hear Greasy Sae unlock the front door. When she notices I'm missing from the kitchen I hear her uneven footfall on the stairs. I'm perched on the end of my bed, wrapped in a towel when she enters the room. Wordlessly she picks up the hairbrush from my dresser and starts to detangle my tresses.
"I'm no good at braids," she says quietly and parts my hair in the middle, letting it drop down over my shoulders.
She opens the wardrobe and pulls out a pair of clean trousers and a blouse and instructs me to dress while she prepares breakfast.
"Where did Gale go?" I ask when I meet her down in the kitchen.
She hands me my plate of eggs and the usual pills. "District Two," she replies. "Got some fancy job there. I see him now and again on the television."
After a long pause Sae clears her throat and shuffles nervously. "I see the boy has come back."
I ignore her and shovel my breakfast into my mouth. Apparently my appetite has returned.
"I'm going hunting today," I say, taking my plate to the sink.
"Well, I wouldn't mind some fresh game," Sae says, watching me with cautiously as I wash and dry up.
I breeze past her, down the hallway and into the study. I arm myself with a bow and some of the arrows and head out the front door. I look straight ahead so as not to notice if Peeta is still outside my house.
I intend to pass through town and exit 12 by the meadow like I used to. I stomp purposefully out of Victors Village but as I near the square I notice the teams of masked, gloved people sifting through the wreckage of the bombing. I recognise Thom, Gale's old crewmate, standing outside the Mayor's building. He spots me and waves a hand. I tentatively step towards him.
"Did they find anyone in there?" I ask.
Thom nods solemnly. "Whole family," he replies.
I think of Madge, the girl who gave me her pin. I swallow hard and walk away, continuing down the road that travels through the centre of District 12. As I near where my old house used to be I begin to the see the edge of the meadow. It's not a meadow anymore. A deep pit has been dug out. A mass grave. I fight back the urge to gag, skirt round the huge hole and slip into the woods.
It's the old Katniss's favourite kind of day. Early spring. The woods feel alive but I feel my energy slipping. Before long I'm panting and have to sit down on a rock. I don't know how long I sit there but the light is beginning to fade by the time I make it back to the fence line, a sheath full of arrows and no game. Maybe I'll actually hunt next time. I feel sick and dizzy as I walk back into town. Thom is still working in the rubble. I must look bad because he approaches me and offers me a ride home. He helps me to the sofa in the living room and lingers in the doorway.
"I'll be fine," I tell him, willing him to leave. He obliges and pulls the front door closed but a moment later I hear it ping open again. It must have been on the latch. I haul myself up and make for the door but do a double take when I see a small ginger creature slink through the gap. He hisses as I approach. I take in his appearance, the claw marks on his face, the limp of his back foot, his ribs protruding even through his fur. He must have come on foot, all the way from 13. What a pathetic creature.
"She not here," I tell him. Buttercup hisses again. "Hiss all you want. You won't find Prim here." At the mention of her name his ears perk up and he mews at me. Filled with anger I grab a pillow and throw it at him. "Get out!" I yell. I throw another pillow and miss again. I shake furiously. "She's not coming back! She's never ever coming back!" I feel the tears begin to pour down my cheeks and clutch my arms around my middle, as if trying to hold myself together. "She's dead, you stupid cat. She's dead." I fall to the floor and call out in despair. Buttercup begins to wail as well. He circles me, just out of reach as wave after wave of sobs racks my body until eventually I fall unconscious. When I come to hours later he's there, crouched beside me, guarding me from the night. I rub my sore eyes before tentatively stretching my hand towards him. He nudges my hand with his head. He's brave as I clean the cuts on his face and remove the thorn from his back paw. I whisper words of comfort and lift him into my arms. Climbing the stairs, I crawl into bed with Buttercup curled up beside me.
So there it is. If you've read Mockingjay you'll be familiar with this first chapter. I wanted to use Suzanne's wonderful epilogue as a sort of scaffolding to build around. I hope you've enjoyed it. The next chapter will be posted shortly.
Please review if you are able.