A/N: Just a little something I was thinking about while watching Mockingjay, that I've wanted to write since reading the books but didn't quite know how. I'm glad to get it out at last and I hope you enjoy.

Annie Cresta strolled slowly into the victor's village, as they torn down the archway proclaiming the village title behind her. The house was forlorn, long forgotten, almost sad. Dust blew in the wind around her and a quiet calm filled the air after the men were finished demolishing the arch.

She entered the familiar doorway, letting her hands linger on the silver knob as she entered. It was too peaceful now, a memoriam of what once was here. She had petitioned for them not to destroy it, hoping to keep the vivid memory alive, but she was voted down. Katniss was the only one to support her in her efforts, whilst Peeta seemed to think it unhealthy to keep shrines of the lost.

One more visit was all she had.

Her heels clicked on the hardwood floors. The wooden railings to the stairs were smooth to the touch, even though the wallpaper around her was starting to peel from the salt air of the nearby beach. She headed straight for the upper floor. She had a single destination in mind.

She opened the door to the bedroom, and to her, it was like a page of time itself. Nothing had been moved, or changed much, save for the open dresser drawers where no doubt Peacekeepers had ransacked for Snow in their attempts to be thorough.

She sat on the bed and let out a small, futile giggle as tears began to spring to her eyes. Already, so soon, she was breaking down in emotions. She hadn't even started to sort through the belongings yet for things she may want to salvage.

For some reason, she wanted the bedding. She stripped the light, feathery green comforter first, and the mint colored sheets next, to a pile in the middle of the floor. A few frames of photos they had taken together just before the Capitol had taken them away and split them apart. Even the old flowers she had saved between two wax papers in the desk, she saved.

The shelf was next, a few books in particular she pulled off. Only the ones he used to read to her at night, those familiar poems and heroic romanticisms from ancient authors. She was glad the Peacekeepers saw fit not to burn them, for they still had some of his handwritten notes inside, a few marked favorite poems.

Annie sighed and took a seat on a chair near her large pile, taking another look around the room. So many memories of him. Maybe it was best they burned it all down. Maybe then she might not miss him so much that it made her insides swell in unbearable pain.

She noticed something then. A twinkling light as the sun came into the windows. A light in a crack between the floorboards. Something was in the floor.

Annie dove for the small carpet that was covering the cracks in the wood, and the scooted one of the floorboards out of the way with a surprised amount of ease. She held her heart at what she found. Their most precious memories, Finnick must've hidden away for himself. A small handheld mirror, a piece of driftwood whittled into a tiny fox, a bracelet made of Star Night vines, and a leather-bound journal. Annie hadn't seen this journal, or even remembered Finnick keeping one, not for quite some time. Tears flowed freely now, as the lifted the book out of the floor slowly, tenderly, wiping the dust off its carefully burned etchings on its cover. A horse, her favorite animal. It was a gift, the most precious he could ever dream up.

She opened it immediately and read:

ENTRY 35.

I know the smell of her hair even when she is not near me. My senses remember her. The sounds of the fabric of her dress, the rustle of her scarlet locks on her face. Her laughter. The distant, almost innocent look in her bright sea green eyes. I can see the ocean in her eyes, and the waves soothe me. The freckles on her cheeks and shoulders, soft to the touch, I feel the familiarity of them on my fingers still. She is my light, my happiness, warm and comforting as the sun on my face. I miss her every day we are apart, more than yesterday, not as much as tomorrow. I live only to hold her in my arms one more time. It is my driving force. She is a symbol to me that there is still light in this world, something worth salvaging through all the cruelty and darkness I have to bear around me every day. She is the face on every one of those terrible women I have to endure in my bed at night, she is the whisper in my ear when they scratch at my skin and beat me with clubs. She is the echo in the empty halls when I am placed in solitary after a dissatisfied customer. There will be a time when I don't have to be strong, when I don't have to imagine. When I can lay with the real women, fair in pale nakedness beside me, in a time gloriously ahead of me. The day will come. It must.

Annie sobbed as she held the journal to her chest, hugging it as if comforting it instead of herself. It took her many minutes before she was able to calm down long enough to open it. She trailed his fingers over his big loopy handwriting, touching it in an attempt to touch him again. She wiped her tears from her eyes, pausing for a moment to consider Finnick. He would want her to be strong. He would want her to read all of this journal, and remember him in his entirety…

He would want her to start from Entry 1.

Not sure if I'll continue this or if it's best as a one-shot, what do you think? Please review.
Signed,
-RedRogue