2. i don't have pictures, but i have memories
I always thought it was strange; how I can only remember different memories at different times. I always told myself that I'd always remember every second I'd spent with my father; but I find that I can only remember certain moments with him at certain times. Lately it's been harder to think of him, like all my moments with him are slipping through my fingers. All my memories have been engulfed by memories of Rue, how I couldn't save her, how she looked when the boy from District 1 drove the spear into her stomach…
The Games are taking over my mind, stealing away all my thoughts. I can't picture Prim, only Rue. Not my father, only Cato. Even though I won them, I can't forget them; the Victory Tour's in just three days; the Capitol's sick way of making sure we don't forget them.
When we returned home, my mother, Prim and I moved into our new house in the Victor's Village. It's been hard, sleeping in a new bed. I push up from my seat on the windowsill, creeping my way around my bed to the door and into the hall. Everything is so crisp and new, so sometimes when I get home I wipe my fingers covered in dirt on the white walls, and then clean it off. It always stays white, never has a stain or a smudge left over afterwards.
I walk down the stairs, stopping at the laundry room to pull on a large coat that covers me down to my ankles and my leather boots. While passing the living room, I stop. Prim is lying on the floor, in front of a glowing fire. And suddenly, it comes back: "Katniss, you always need to be careful with fire," my father says, "it has a mind of its own; it can quickly engulf anything in its path." We're sitting in front of the fire, at our house in the Seam. His arms are around me, and we're wrapped in a blanket. "It's very dangerous, fire," he says. My mother comes from behind us, kisses our foreheads. She's holding Prim's small form, and she sits next to us, the fire igniting her face. Her smile.
I grin at the memory. If only he could see me now, I think. Girl on fire.
I step through the kitchen door, into the cold night air. There are no stars tonight; the sky's covered in clouds. I make my way down the row of houses, past where Haymitch lives, toward the City Circle. Everything is peaceful tonight, like there is no Victory Tour, no Games. A world without the Capitol. Gentle snowflakes swirl downward, the calm before the storm.
On my right, one of the basement windows is open. I make my way towards it, shivering from the cold air. I lean down, lying on my stomach. Peeta's standing next to his easel, in just an unbuttoned white dress shirt and grey briefs, his slightly muscular legs pale in the small amount of moonlight. His face is soft; full of emotion, but still calm. He's painting and entire canvas brown, his hands and arms covered in splatters of paint.
*V*
"Can I join you?" I whirl around, my shirt flying open. Katniss is lying on her stomach, her face peeking in at me through the window. I relax. I always think the Capitol is watching me, and that any second they'll jump out and take me away. "Sure." I watch as she gets up, sticks her big boots through the small opening and inches in, jumping to the floor. When she hits the ground, she stumbles a bit, so I rush up and catch her in my arms. For a second our eyes meet. Her silvery grey eyes staring into my face. "You ok?"
"Yeah. I'm fine." She gets up and walks over to my easel, eyeing the variety of colors I have. "So much paint everywhere," she says, looking at me. "And some on your face."
Face? I don't have any paint on my face. "Wha-?" I start, but she suddenly sticks her fingers in a can of red paint, and flings it at me, the liquid splattering all over my face. She laughs, shrugging off her jacket and throwing it on the floor in the opposite corner of the room. She's in lavender silk pajamas, her shorts ending just above her knees. I grab the paint closest to me, brown, and throw it at her. "Ahhh!" she squeals, laughing and covering her face with her hands so it doesn't get into her eyes. "That's not fair," I say, "You got paint in my face, so now I have to get some in yours." I pick up the green can, grab her from behind, trapping her arms. "No fair: You're stronger than me!" she laughs. I scoop up some of the paint, and throw it in her face. She breaks free, laughing, her black hair twirling around her as she moves. She grabs blue paint and starts flinging it at me. The yellow paint is closest, so I grab it and start throwing it at her; we're both laughing, trying our hardest to evade each other's throws while trying to hit each other. Finally I hit her in the chest, and it goes all over her stomach and arms.
She sends a paintball flying, and it hits my chest, coating my bare skin and stomach. We're both screaming and laughing so hard and for a moment, there are no more Games. No Victory Tour. No Capitol to control us, just us two, in the cold basement, snowflakes flying in.
I sink down onto the ground, breathing heavily, leaning on the wall. Katniss comes over and sits next to me, collapsing in my arms. Her head is resting o my shoulder, my head resting on hers. I reach over to the side and grab a painting tarp, pulling it over us. We sit in each other's arms, oblivious to the cold, and I look around. The floor, the walls, even a little bit of the ceiling, is covered in spots of paint. I hold her closer, and we sleep.
I'll always switch views between Peeta and Katniss, unless otherwise noted. So, next chap will be Katniss again. This story will be long, with lots of juicy twists. I also have school, so I'm sorry if I don't update all the time, but I'll do it at least once a week.