Hey guys! I have decided to write a story about Katniss and Peeta as well. Please review and tell me how it is! Thanks!
Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games.
Chapter One: Decisions
I don't exactly know the meaning of the word 'healed'. I never understood it, and especially after I was sixteen, in my first Hunger Games, it just caused more confusion.
When I was 17, after being shot in District 2, when I was discharged from the hospital, that was the term the doctor used to describe my condition to Plutarch Heavensbee, the head of the rebellion, in the sense that he conducted all undercover operations.
"She's completely healed. She should be fine." That was what the doctor had told my mother. "She'll be fine."
Yes, well. I had wanted to say. What about the nightmares, Doctor Greendon? Do normal, healed people wake up screaming about mutts with human eyes?
But I didn't.
Instead, I stayed quiet, playing my role as the Mockingjay. Katniss Everdeen, The Girl With The Berries, The Girl On Fire. Mockingjay. How many names have been given to me. How many titles have been placed on my shoulders.
Yet this is what it amounts to. A badly damaged girl, a girl with nightmares, with no parents, and no sister. With no one but the Boy with the Bread.
The Girl With the Berries and the Boy with the Bread. How ironic.
But through it all, sweet, loyal, gentle Peeta has stayed with me. I did not lose the Boy with the Bread for good.
One thing to be grateful for.
The nightmares have been more vicious lately. All of them the result of a simple question that Peeta asked me two months ago.
We were sitting at the kitchen table as Peeta painted and I skinned a squirrel. He had turned to me nervously.
"Katniss, I know you feel nervous about this. I know you don't feel good about it, but I just wanted to ask. Do you…do you want to have children?" he asks me.
I froze.
Children would be a very bad idea. I was already messed up, broken beyond repair. A horrible mess glued together by pure will. By knowing that I needed to live.
I knew the recurring nightmares that would occur. The horrible dreams of watching my child walk to the stage to their death. Just like that day I watched Prim walk to the stage towards her impending demise. But as her sister, and being of legal age, I could still save her.
But as her mother, I would not have that option.
No, no, no. I couldn't have kids now. I couldn't.
But then I looked at Peeta, and I saw the hopeful spark in his eyes. I know Peeta wants kids. I can see it in his face. And why shouldn't he? Why should he be denied his dream because of me?
But, broken up as I am, would I be able to handle kids?
Eventually, I came to a decision.
"I'm twenty now," I had told him. "You can ask me twice every year until I hit menopause. That's my limit. But I promise I will think about it when you ask me."
Peeta smiled, and I knew he hoped that I would change my mind.
I didn't know if I would do so.
All I could do was hope that whatever happened would be for the best.
13 years later -
It's been more than a decade since I told Peeta about my decision. And, true to his word, he asks me twice every year, on the 8th of April, and the 23rd of November. This leaves me ample time between the two to think about my decision.
It's been a no every time.
It hurts me to see Peeta's face those two days, always hoping at first, then turning into glumness, before it brightens again, thinking of the next time he can ask me and hope for a assent.
It's on the 15th of August that I think about it, really think about it. I make myself focus on the positive instead. I think about my mother's face when Prim was born. I was little then, only four, but I can still remember the joy and the tears of my mother as she held Prim to her tightly.
The families I sometimes see in town, their faces brighter as they hold their children.
Children were meant to be a blessing, isn't that what they say? A blessing. Not a curse. Not something to have nightmares about.
There are not even any more Hunger Games to worry about.
I think of my mother, and for the first time I admire her courage. I always despised her for abandoning us after Dad died. But I never really thought about how brave she was.
She chose to have us, even though she knew there was a possibility we could be reaped. Even though she knew there was the chance that she would have to watch us die on screen. Her own children.
Yet she chose not only to have me, but Prim as well.
I am the coward now.
My child can have a bright future, free from the Capitol and starvation and poverty. Free from the Hunger Games.
And so I make up my mind.
I have to trust that Peeta knows what's best for me. I have to trust that I am making the right decision. I hope I am.
I walk into the house to see Peeta sitting at the kitchen table icing the cake. I see the sadness on his face and I know what he's thinking. He thinks I will never change my mind. But he will never press me. He will always accept my decision. Sweet Peeta has done so much for me.
It's about time I did something for him.
I take a deep breath and steel myself. Then I blurt it out. "Yes."
Peeta doesn't look up. "Hmm?" he asks me, concentrating on the cake. "Yes," I repeat. "I want to have children."
Peeta freezes. "Katniss? Did you say you want to have children?" he asks me. I smile sadly. Poor Peeta. He must have totally given up on me ever saying yes. I can't trust myself to speak. I simply nod.
In a second, Peeta's arms are around me, squeezing me hard, and I hug him back as he kisses me. I can taste his tears on my lips.
I can finally do something to make Peeta happy. And for all I know, maybe this would be for the best for me too.
I certainly hope so.
Peeta finally releases me, and our smiles mirror each other. I haven't smiled like this since…well since my father died, I suppose. But now I know that happiness is possible.
I focused on the thought that my child will never have to know the world I lived in. The world that didn't care if its children died…
I tried to push away the depressing thoughts. I am still happy, although the elation is fading slightly, replaced by a little fear. So I go where I always go. The one place I feel free.
The woods.
Peeta turns his attention back to his cake, a smile on his face. I shrug on my father's hunting jacket and I'm off like lightning. I duck under the fence as usual. Every time I go to the woods, my mind is a jumble of thoughts and emotions. I feel the freedom that I always get here. But there are new emotions now-sadness and hurt and a little bit of anger.
I think back to when I was 16, a time when Prim was still alive, when my mother still lived in District 12, when Gale still used to be my best friend. I knew what my life was then. I knew what it consisted of. The Hunger Games existed, and I still felt the hate towards the Capitol.
But those emotions were easier compared to these.
Today, I let myself wonder what it would have been like if Prim hadn't been reaped in the Hunger Games. The following sequence of events would have been drastically different.
On one hand, The Hunger Games would still exist.
But on the other, my sister would still exist.
Is this right of me? To be willing to let others die so Prim could have lived? I bring myself back to earth with a bump. No point in wishing for things that could have occurred. Prim is dead, and Gale is gone, and my mother will never set foot in District 12 again.
Dreaming is pointless. My life will always be this way.
Shaking away all those thoughts, I retrieve my bow and arrow from the log where I always stash it. I creep through the forest, my arrow nocked, and my bow ready to fire. From the corner of my eye I spot a deer and I let the arrow fly as I turn, one foot poised, my bow drawn and ready.
The arrow pierces the deer right in the eye and it falls. I walk over to it, and skin it, leaving the meat behind in my bag.
It is at times like these that I miss Gale. He was the one person who would always be there for me. My hunting partner and my best friend. We would argue, light-heartedly, about who got the lion's share, before sharing the spoils equally and heading off to town.
But those days were gone.
And they could never come back.
I check my squirrel and rabbit traps. I get two fat rabbits and a healthy squirrel, before I stash my weapons away and start the long trek back to town. It is only mid-afternoon, and I decide to stay a little longer. I stop a couple of metres from the fence and let myself fall onto the grass, trying to shove away the memories on my shoulders. Today, for the first time, I think about what a normal person's life would have been like, before the wars and the disasters that destroyed the world and left only Panem surviving. What technology would they have had? What would their lives have been like, without the Hunger Games and the starvation and the poverty? I idly let my mind wander, and watch the sky turn from blue to orange, and then pink.
I sigh. Time to go home.
Peeta is waiting for me, and suddenly I feel so glad that he is here, that I didn't lose him along with my family, and Gale. I think of all the people I have lost over the years. Rue. Cinna. Darius. Finnick. My father. My mother. Prim. Gale. Boggs. All the people who died fighting along with me, and for me, in the wars.
How many people have lost their lives because of the Hunger Games and the war? I know about the memorials that have been erected, about the arenas that have been destroyed. Yet, it feels so small compared to how many people gave their lives for us.
But Peeta is here, and he will always be with me until the day one of us dies. It is at this moment that I realise how deeply I really love him. So I throw myself into his arms, and whisper, "I love you."
I can sense his surprise. I am not normally very open with my emotions. I prefer to show my love for the people I care about in different ways. Less subtle ways. But today, I don't care. If Peeta dies tomorrow, I want him to know that I love him.
He hugs me tightly, and then scoops me up, carrying us to the bedroom. "What about dinner?" I weakly protest. He shakes his head, not breaking stride.
And for today, I go along with him.