Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games nor In Flanders Fields.
Author's Notes: So hey, I know it's way too early/late for a Remembrance Day / Veterans Day one but I felt bad for not making one, so here it is a good 4 - 5 months late. R&R please!
"Katniss!"
"What?" I replied.
"Come here! You have to see this!"
"Alright! Be there in a second!" I stood up off of the couch, striding over into the Kitchen where Peeta was sitting, clutching an old looking piece of paper.
"What is it?"
"Come look." I sat down in a chair next to him, his dreamy eyes focused on the paper looking excited. I scanned the paper he was holding, it had yellowed in some areas due to age but the writing on it was still legible.
"What's this?"
"It's a poem." Peeta replied.
"A poem? Have you read it yet?"
"Yes. I thought you should have a look at it too though."
"Well come on, let me read it then." I took the paper away from Peeta and held in directly in front of myself to get a better look at it; I noticed the date of the paper was nowhere to be found. I looked over to Peeta and he gave me a reassuring look.
"Go on, read it out loud." I took a deep breathe, and then began to read the poem making sure to pause at all of the punctuation.
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks still bravely singing fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the dead; Short days ago,
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved: and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe
To you; from failing hands, we throw
The torch: be yours to hold it high
If ye break faith with us who die,
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields
I began to cry; Peeta hugged me and looked at me with a concerned look. I knew I had to be strong for him; for everyone but I just felt compelled to cry, like a child who knows that his mother is not coming back but still cries because they grieve and yet still think it will make their mother come back.
"You ok?"
Whipping my eyes clear of the tears, I hugged Peeta back. I gave him a reassuring smile and then placed the Poem back on the table.
"I'm fine. It just… reminded me of everyone, who died for us, all of us."
"So you don't hate it?"
"Peeta, how could I? It was absolutely beautiful. It must have been written a long time ago, before we were born."
"You know we did learn a little bit about World War One in school, you remember Katniss?"
"Yes, do you think it was written then?"
"Well it could have been written for any war, but the paper looks old enough to be my great, great, great, great, great, great, great, you-get-how-many-greats-I-mean grandpa."
"Yeah. Be sure not to rip it, we could get it evaluated to see how old it really is. Maybe that could give us an idea to which war it was written in."
"Oh Peeta, a poem like that needs more attention."
"Yes, well we'll see." I pondered that a moment then I remembered that I completely forgot to look at who wrote it. Picking up the old paper carefully not to wreck it I looked around to find a name, after going from bottom to top I finally spotted it.
In Flanders Fields, By Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae
A/N: Remeber, R&R please!
~Kingdomalith