Disclaimer: I don't own
Like the Primroses
Chapter 1
Introduction
I still wake up in the night, twenty years after the final Hunger Game ended, drenched in a cold sweat. I heave air in as the deaths of Finnick, Cinna, Boggs, Leeg, Jackson, Thresh, Rue and Prim, always Prim, still rip through my head in a gruesome slideshow.
I barely make it to the toilet and retch, my limbs quivering as I try to hold myself up. Prims body as she soars into the air is fresh in my mind, a confused, terrified expression crosses her sweet face and then mercifully darkness.
I whimper and rest my forehead on the bathroom wall, exhausted; suddenly warm dry hands are reaching under my knees and back. I'm cradled against a strong chest and carried as a kiss is dropped on my cheek. Soothing words are whispered in my ear as images of iced cookies, primroses and my children replace the monstrous film playing in my mind on a constant loop.
I'm placed back in my warm bed and Peeta lies down beside me. I'm confused, why wasn't he in bed at the start? Normally he is there to rouse me before I have a nightmare. Then I remember, today would have been the day of the reaping; he must have woken early to start on the bread and cakes that would be handed out during the remembrance ceremony.
In the past the day of the reaping was to be dreaded, a day where two families would mourn the loss of their child. Now the reaping is a day to remember those that died in the war over the Capitol. Peeta and I played a major part in the war, our children often ask why our names are chanted in the streets of other districts, or spoken in thank you speeches, they ask why does Uncle Haymitch lock himself in his house every year on this day, and why does Mummy wake up crying in the night? They start to question why my face appears on the television all the time, Katniss Everdeen, Girl on Fire, Mockingjay.
Our eldest has started to realize what happened. School, stories and gossip has given her a basic outline of our hand in overthrowing the Capital, but she still craves the answers I am unwilling to give her when she is still only a child. When there is still a risk that she could be called in an imaginary reaping.
I can only imagine what it must have felt like for my mother the day Prim's name was called, the day I volunteered as tribute in her place and my life was overturned.
Our youngest asks questions, but he is just copying his sister, I watch him all the time, I marvel at his innocence, wishing I could be that carefree. I see his blue eyes light up when he watches his father expertly ice tiger lilies on cookies, and ivy on cakes.
Peeta is still as skilled as ever when it comes to painting, nowadays he draws nice scenes. He paints me, our children, Haymitch feeding his geese, the dandelions in the fields, the forest no longer surrounded by a fence.
But sometimes, after a bad day he draws me with my bow and arrow, aiming it at our children, Haymitch dead on the floor, crimson blood seeping into the dandelion field, morphing them into twisted red roses. He still suffers from his hijacking, but he knows how to handle his flashbacks and warped thoughts, he pours his feelings into his paintings.
He has never laid a finger on our children and he hasn't harmed me, but sometimes I see his hands grip the chair tightly, his knuckles turning white with the effort to keep him under control and I curse the Capitol and President Snow and Coin over and over again until it passes. Then I walk over to him and hug him until his breathing slows and his muscles relax. I know when he has regained his control because his strong arms wrap around me, his head burrowing into my neck, he inhales my scent and it always seems to do the trick. Then we break apart and we carry on with the routines that get us through life.
Reaping day always brings back unwanted memories for Peeta and I, I curl against him in bed as he gently rubs my back, and this simple motion makes me recall our time on the beach in the Quarter Quell. When he tried to persuade me to win as I had more to go back to than he did. How I had kissed him, and for the second time felt something stirring within me. Peeta is so selfless, he is always there when I need him, I try and reciprocate, but it seems like I'm always in his debt, ever since he gave me the bread and kept me alive. He's been keeping me alive since the Games. I've always wanted to do more for him but he insists that just being with him is all he needs. I realized that being with Peeta is about love, not paying a debt. Even if Prim hadn't been called the day of the reaping I knew somehow, someway, I would have ended up with him.
He saved me after my father died and he saved me after Prim died, and all he did was plant a line of primrose bushes. I remember the first year after Prim had died, and how Peeta and the primroses seemed to help me live again…
'Ello 'ello 'ello! This is my first Hunger Games story, I read the trilogy in one sitting about a month ago and it has been circling in my mind since then. Whether it's the characters, the themes, the concept or the film coming out I can't get The Hunger Games out of my head. Anyway, this storyline came to me at work as I was thinking about how Katniss recovered after Prim's death, and how the Primroses must have had some significance! Anyway please read and review and I'll post the next chapter ASAP!
Thank you
Annabelle