TANGIBLE
The class waited for Miss Summers to continue. They had been patient and quiet and were now waiting for the finally. Miss Summers knew the answer to her question before she even asked it:
"Does anyone know what happened to Peeta? Or perhaps Katniss maybe?"
Not a single hand. Miss Summers didn't fret though; she did this every year. She started by walking to the window; where she looked out of it as if preoccupied with something important.
"I have to beware you all though," she said, "for not every story has a happy ending." The children sat up straighter in their seats, waiting with deep anticipation. Miss Summers began as if history was a story.
"After Mr. Peeta Mellark heard Katniss speak at the Execution, he did not overcome his hijack. Instead, he did something scientists and doctors can never understand: he understood what he was. He understood he was something that he could never accept, something that went against everything he wanted. Peeta understood he was a weapon that was lodged into Katniss' heart, and he simply could not bear it.
And so he left immediately, for everything reminded him of Katniss. When he heard a bird sing, he heard of her; when he saw a strong animal, he thought of her; and when he caught the sight of a beautiful flower that crept out of the ashes, he saw her in his mind. He realized he could never go back to District 12, and so he inhabited a small, abandoned house at the edge of the new Republic; a place that was the farthest away from the love of his life."
Miss Summers stopped and looked outside again. She could feel the children waiting. One of them looked at her sadly.
"You mean he never saw her again? That's awfully sad," she said softly. Miss Summers shook her head.
"No darling, it's not sad. Peeta saw Katniss everyday, in his dreams and in his mind. One day Peeta got up and out of nowhere just started painting. He was the most beautiful painter in all of the lands. He drew thousands of this sad and happy. Every week, he would paint something for Katniss. He drew birds and silhouettes and nudes. Every week he would send them to her, and she would later send letters to him. It went on for years; they were the closest pen pals one could be. If you really love someone, and you never see them, you still know they're there."
The boys in the rooms shifted, uncomfortable with the change of topic. The girls in the room put their heads on their heads and sighed dreamily. Both still waiting for the Katniss' story to begin.