BTW kinda forgot to mention it in the previous chapters but obviously all of the books and charactors are owned by Susanne collins 3 :p
That is why on this day I play this game at least a dozen times saying the words over and over again in my head, mumbling parts as I go, "I am Katniss Everdeen... My sister was killed by a bomb... I haven't seen Gale since" depending on the day and how significant it once was to my past the game changes. I add new information that is most relevant to the day. "I am Katniss Everdeen... My sister was killed by a bomb... the same sister I volunteered to save 10years ago today" and so it goes on. I only stop to check the time on the clock, and try to remember where or what I was doing ten years ago at this time, I do this now, 15.15, right now I would have been saying my final goodbyes – most likely to Peeta's dad, he was the last person to visit me at the justice building – I think of him , how generous he always was to my father and me, his eyes... so like peeta's there was something gentle and caring in them which made you trust them, and then I think of his last words to me, the last thing I think I ever heard him say "I'll take care of the girl, make sure she's fed" prim, I remember how worried I'd been, it may sound strange but I didn't care that I had just volunteered my own death sentence, all I cared about was prim and how she would survive without me, everyone loved prim she was so like my father, so likable, so liked, I remember how scared of her starving I'd been, I knew she had gale, but he had a family to feed too, he would have already been putting less on the table with me gone, it was a lot to expect him to care for my family as well, but maybe without knowing it, right there in those last words, peeta's father gave me something that I had only felt once before – when peeta through me that bread - and thought, now was lost forever– hope. and now I think of what this war did to him, what I did to him, all of this -all the things that happened and took the lives of innocent people – started when I pulled out those berries, it was then I became the mocking jay, when I shot into that force-field, I put those I loved most in danger, my mother, Peeta, Hazelle, Gale, Posy, Rory... they all could of died because of me... Prim died because of me. It's not until I hear hunter crying again, that I snap back to reality and realise how hard I have been crying, I was about to get up from the front porch step of our house in the victors village, when I hear footsteps in the hall up stairs – they are so recognisable as peeta because of the sound of the prosthetic leg he was fitted with at the end of our first games - he will be going to get hunter so I settle down on the step ready to delve back into my past when I realise the time – 15.20, Iris will be on her way back from school, like I said she knows some-what of my past, even though we were incredible vague, unlike her brother who doesn't really understand, When Iris see's me crying she gets curious, starts asking questions as four-nearly five year olds do, I'm so unstable today who knows what I'd say if she starting questioning me, I want her to know the truth but I don't want to scare her, there's a fine line between the two.
I turn on my heel and head towards the bathroom to splash my face with cold water in an attempt to remove the red blotchiness from around my eyes about 5 minutes later with my eyes looking half-decent I head up stairs to find Peeta, I Find him I one of the spare room that he has kind of converted into a Painting Studio, it is positioned right at the front of the house and looks out onto the whole district, there is a large window and Peeta loves using it to paint scenes from 12, I look around the room my eyes wandering from Painting to Painting there's so many of them. Haymitch stumbling around in our Kitchen last Christmas – he fell over and knocked red wine all over the floor – in the corner of the painting a slightly younger Iris is giggling at her Uncle Haymitch as always when he does "funny" things. Funny, that is, when it's not you having to clean it up. Beside it is a painting of the district right from the window. I study it, it's so lifelike you could mistake it for the window it's self. I take in them all, a painting of greasy sae cleaning the house as she used to when I first came back to the district, several of me and the children, I look around searching for my favourite. It's at the very end of the room pride of place in shining gold frame. A painting of Iris and hunter playing in the meadows on the outside of the woods right by the fence, Iris dancing and giggling in the middle of the fields amongst the flowers, sunlight dancing across her face and Hunter slightly further away from his older sister looking closely through the fence, with the same concentration Peeta has when he paints, and the same expression I have when I'm in the woods, it makes me hopeful that my son will someday live up to his name, - Peeta won't let me take him to the wood right now, he's afraid something might happen, he's probably right , taking a hyper toddler into a woods full of danger is probably not the best idea, and since I've been reminded all too often in my past that my plans don't always work out , I wouldn't really like to take the chance– I'm in the painting too ,sitting next to Peeta in the soft Spring Grass watching two of the only good things that have ever happened to me, Peeta's eye's on Iris laughing with her. Mine staring intently at Hunter with that same look on my face that is on his.
I love it because it's so innocent, I makes me feel hopeful, like it could have been painted anywhere in the world, the green grass growing, flowers dotted around amongst it, two young children innocent and content, no idea of their parents past, two parents, looking lovingly at their children, as if for a moment they had forgot about the blood and the pain, about the lives lost, about the torture ,about the war, starvation, fear and all the scars – metal and physical that they bared, for a moment even if it was just that, they were transported forward in time to a place where children have a childhood, without the threat of peacekeepers or starvation, where they were not forced into battle, where everyone had enough money, where the every district was totally back on its feet and free from the capitol and all of their worries where all families lived forever in the moment of this painting - carefree and able to enjoy their children's lives as well as their own. Living there lives with innocence.
thoughts on this chapter? 3