He runs fingers through the soft, time-worn pages of the dictionary. He doesn't know exactly why he wants to look up this stupid word, but suddenly it's the only thing of any importance.
Flip, flip, flip, flip, flip - Wait, here it is:
vic-to-ri-ous
[vik-tawr-ee-uhs]
Adjective
1. Having achieved a victory; conquering; triumphant.
He throws the book against the wall in disgust. He's even mad at himself for wanting to look it up. After years of reliving his Quarter Quell he should know better.
Maybe's there is a few word they forgot to write down in there...
Scarred, broken, haunted.
He throws the dictionary at the wall. A thin crack appears in the window. Another mark.
A baby's cries ripple through the halls. Carefully, she slips out of bed. Better waking to this then screams echoing in your own head.
Tip-toeing through the hall like there's someone she might wake, she reaches the baby's room. The little boy is wailing from his cradle. She leans over and scoops the infant out of his bed. As she rocks the baby, humming a soft lullaby, she wanders into the living room to the wooden rocking chair.
From the window, she can see veins of white lightning high-lighting the dark sky. She presses her eyes shut and holds the baby a little tighter.
There is water. She can feel it trying to swallow her. She's gasping desperately for air.
Swim, Annie, swim.
Oh, god, the screams. Pleading for help as she unknowingly wins, wins, wins.
"Annie, please, come back to me. It's okay."
Finnick, it's him. He wants her to come back.
Her eyes flicker back open. This time it isn't her crying out, it's the little boy tucked into her arms. She bounces him again, he quiets down. The lighting and thunder shakes the baby as much as it shakes her. Stroking the baby's soft bronze hair (it's Finnick's hair), she wonders if maybe she should get Peeta or Katniss. She moved to 12 to have their help with her little episodes.
And so she wouldn't be alone.
She walks into the tattoo parlor, a cigarette hanging out of her lip and her eyes saying, "Mess with me and die," - she looks the part. But she's good at acting, isn't she?
Everyone is giving her weary looks and they probably expect her to pull out a knife. Well, she may be carrying one... that doesn't mean she'll use it.
Stomping up to the front counter, she slams down a piece of paper with fourteen names on it in her best handwriting. The tattoo artist sits her down, whips out her tools, and starts. The woman keeps stealing glances at her, expecting her to cry. But, she's seen and felt much worse then this.
When the last name of the District 7 tributes is branded on her skin, her shoulder - forever - she leaves without another word. In the safety of her own home she gazes at the names, a bittersweet smile creeping onto her face. Maybe she's partially to blame for their tragic deaths. Maybe she didn't mentor these kids the right way. But don't let anyone say she didn't try. Because that's a lie.
Leaving the bathroom, not seeing the cursive names reflected at her in the mirror, it's hard to remember that there was people behind those names. Fourteen very real people.
Fourteen kids who's lives were cut short. Fourteen kids she couldn't save. Fourteen kids who are forgotten.
Rest in peace, kids. Because this is probably all you'll get.
Clink, clink, clink…
He tips the bottle back, so that he can every last drop of liquor. He needs every last drop to erase everything – every single memory - even if it's only temporary.
The problem with hangovers and intoxication is that they only last so long.
Katniss asked him to stop. Like he would ever listen…. She threatened to eradicate his secret stash. He didn't doubt Katniss could, she just doesn't have the motivation. Plus he still had his secret-secret stash to rely on.
She thinks if he'd sober up and start living he wouldn't need the booze anymore. Oh, and there's his health to think of! No look is scathing enough to describe his thoughts upon hearing this. But she still thinks he could make the pain go away the way they all do. Of all people doesn't she get the pain doesn't go away? That they'll all wake up to the screams of those they killed forever.
There's no such thing as forgetting.
There might be a game, but there aren't any winners.
He wishes they'd never have to hear their parents scream. Parents are supposed to be wise and powerful, not as scared as you are.
Katniss says he's being stupid, they're going to hear stories, whispers, they'll probably even study it in school, and it'll get out eventually. They'll know everything. They'll know their parents are killers.
What happened to being able to blindly trust your own parents?
It still stings when their little girl figures out her Mummy and Daddy can't be invincible.
It still hurts to know they wonder why Mummy wakes up screaming, clutching the sheets, only Daddy can calm her. They know that Daddy had foggy moments where he doesn't know who his own kids are anymore. He can't remember anything.
What's real?
Well, that's a great question, kiddos.
Everyone needs a refuge. Hers are the trees.
Prickly pines, fruit trees, towering oaks…it didn't matter as long as she's safe, high, and hidden. Nestled carefully on their outstretched limbs, safe from prying eyes and questions, is the best place for her to be.
What happened to spunky Johanna Mason? Where did she go?
That Johanna Mason was a different person. She was tough, she was a rebel. Not a helpless shell, clinging to the seams of sanity. Maybe she's finally losing it. Honestly? She would be too terribly surprised.
She doesn't look the same anymore. She has new scars, a new look of vacancy in her eyes. Tons of hastily applied mascara and eyeliner along don't hide hollow eyes.
Maybe if she jumps from the tall branches of her trees she'll soar like a bird.
Or maybe she'll just fall, fall, fall.
They plant a garden full primroses, rue flowers, and memories.
And she's never been as gentle with anything as she is with those flowers. But they're primroses; they're her little duck, so how can she not be gentle? The little patch of dirt and grass grows. It flourishes, full of bright colors and exotic scents.
Her children play hide and seek in the garden, their giggles making it seem like a happy place not a cemetery. They don't know the garden and meadows they play in are graveyards and Mummy doesn't exactly want to be the one to tell them.
Flowers and the laughter of little kids, most definitely wins compared death and doom.
The new government makes two memorials. One for those who died during the Second Rebellion and one for the children who where killed in the Hunger Games.
She knows a few people on each list. She even killed a few people on the second.
In Remembrance of Those Lost in the Rebellion:
She slowly reads down the line of names. Oh, god, it's so long! She smiles bitterly at Finnick Odair and Allan Boggs etched on the stone. But when her eyes reach Primrose Everdeen a little noise comes out. A half-sob, tiny tears leak out of her eyes.
She really hates the name of the next memorial.
The Victims of the Hunger Games:
She stops to run her fingers over Rue's name and then gazes sadly at Mags's. The list is way too long.
Victims? Why didn't they include the victors, then?
Victim and victor aren't to terribly different in that game.
When he decides to go back home to District 12 he, unknowingly, walks in on a make-shift Thanksgiving.
Katniss opens the door. She looks exactly like he remembered. Long, silky black hair caught in a braid and deep Seam grey eyes. After looking like she wants to punch him in the gut, she walks away, her lips pressed in a tight line.
Johanna grins at him from behind Katniss. He notices that she has a spiky new haircut, as her lips curl into their signature smirk. She swirls her drink and wiggles one of her favorite fingers at him. Awkwardly, Peeta leads him inside their home. It's amazing he can be so civil with someone who loved his wife.
He perches on the sofa, ready to fly at the first sign of danger, while Peeta goes off to find Katniss, his ashy blond hair flopping in his face. Haymitch gulps liquor from his bottle, while smirking at him. Annie hovers around them, holding a bouncing five year old who plays with her long, dark, curly hair.
That could possibly be the most awkward, albeit painful, dinner he's ever had.
When Gale returns to the motley Thanksgiving, he comes with an invitation.
Seated around that table in District 12 is something that resembles family.
Peeta sits at the head, next to Katniss. He's scarred in every way but may just be the most whole of them all - except for Finnick and Annie's innocent little boy.
Katniss plays with her food sometimes and tugs on her braid. She's drifting through bitter memories.
Annie stares off into nowhere. Maybe she can't see them anymore.
Johanna and Haymitch make snarky comments and stir their martinis. They cope.
Gale puts on his brave face and pretends he doesn't want to crumble and disappear into the ground.
They may be broken. They may be haunted. They may be a little insane.
But their family and in the end, that's all that really matters.
These little drabbles just got shorter and shorter as I continued... I'm not sure I really like this, but then, I always say that!
Please don't go favorite-ing without reviewing. Or just review, it'll be appreciated!