"A man who is 'of sound mind' is one who keeps the inner madman under lock and key." - Paul Valery

When the weather had begun getting colder, Peeta had decided it was time to think about cleaning out his house. It had sat empty for months and, although somewhat occupied for a while now, hadn't been kept up as so. There were rooms Peeta still hadn't stepped foot in, with all of his movements being confined to his bedroom, the bathroom, the kitchen, and the living room. They were the necessary rooms, and Peeta hadn't wanted to confront any more demons than were necessary. He didn't want to know what demons may have been lurking in other corners of the house.

As it turned out, Peeta shouldn't have been worried. He'd made it through both the upstairs and downstairs without coming across anything that prompted an emotional response. Now there was nothing left other than the cellar, and he wasn't really worried about that one.

His attempts to recall whether or not he had ever stored anything in the cellar came up blank, but this time Peeta didn't think it was the hijacking. If he had bothered to store something down there, then it hadn't been important enough for him to remember.

The cellar of the house could only be reached by going out to the back of the house and opening a metal door that led down into the ground. It was difficult for Peeta to maneuver down the stone steps with only one real leg, and he felt the coldness of the concrete wall as he leaned on it for support. Luckily, sun was coming in directly through the door, which allowed enough light through to light up the entire cellar.

Upon reaching the floor, Peeta gazed around at the dirty, unused room. In the limited light, he almost missed the small chest that sat pushed up into the corner. It was instantly familiar once he saw it. The chest had been one of the few things he had taken with him from his parents' house. It had stored the majority of Peeta's belongings during the move, but as far as he could remember, he had mostly emptied it and put all of the items around the house. He must have decided that the cellar was as good a place as any to store the chest and forget about it.

Peeta walked over to the chest and kneeled in front of it, ignoring the cold roughness of the stone under his knee. The key was still in its place in the lock, which could only mean that there was nothing of value in the chest. Peeta turned it anyway in curiousity.

At first glance, the chest really did appear empty. Then the photographs strewn across the bottom caught his eye. He gasped as he took in the faces that he had been working the most fervently to forget.

It wasn't often that people in District 12 took photos. A camera was a one time expense, but the cost of film could add up and was often difficult to find. Peeta knew that his family's own camera had been passed down and was old enough that it still working was a miracle. His mother liked having the luxury, and she would gather the family for photographs whenever she could round up the money for film and whatever it was she needed to develop it. The photos were of rather poor quality, with the cheapest materials being used and being developed by someone with only a rudimentary knowledge of photography, but they served their purpose of taking Peeta back to the past.

Peeta could recall the moment when his mother had shoved these pictures in his hands as he was preparing to leave their house in town for this one in Victor's Village. It was only a few of the least noteworthy, in his mother's eyes, ones that she had taken over the years. His mother proudly displayed the ones she liked best in order to show off their "wealth." Still, it had shocked Peeta that she was willing to part from any of them, and he had almost expected the photos to be ripped from his hands as he knelt down in front of her to store them in the chest.

Once he'd gotten to his new house, Peeta hadn't seen the need to display them, and they had been the only items to remain in the chest when he stored it.

Now Peeta realized that all of his mother's other photographs would be gone, burned to ash just like the bakery and every member of his family. It was one of the least important things gone, he knew, but he still felt a twinge of longing to be able to look at the other photographs. The Capitol probably had better images of his parents and brothers if Peeta ever wanted to look for them, but there was something about these photographs that made up for their slightly blurred and faded subjects.

Flipping through the photos, Peeta could see the progression of him and his brothers through the years. Even his parents got noticeably older as he flipped. They were false representations. The smiles on everyone's faces were forced because of his mother's insistence that they smile or not eat dinner that night, and everyone looked stiff and awkward as they posed. Still, there was something endearing that hadn't been there the last time Peeta looked at these.

He wondered briefly if he should take them into the house and find a way to display them. It was the only way Peeta knew to honor his family now that they were gone. He was turning the key again, pictures in hand, when he suddenly second guessed himself. Before he could even process his actions, the chest was open again and the photos were dropped to the bottom where they scattered. Peeta looked at them briefly before closing the chest's lid once again and successfully locking it.

Peeta couldn't do it. He couldn't look them in their faces every day. Not yet. He knew where the pictures were though, and they would be there when he could face them.