After The Hunger Games:
I sit silently. The wind rustles my dark hair, blowing a few strands into my eyes, but I pay no attention. I stare into the woods from my position at the edge of the Meadow. Not looking for anything, but lost in thought. So many questions.
I've known there are secrets. I've known there are things they're not telling me. Something scarred them. Mother has nightmares. Rarely does a night pass when I don't hear her cries. I often see father's features contorted in pain, fighting some invisible source. I know about the Games. I know my parents took part in them. But I don't know everything. I heard them whispering late last night. I perched in the shadows outside their room.
"I think they're ready," My father said, "Especially Willow. She's thirteen now."
"Peeta, we can't do that," my mother answered, "You know we can't. Do you want them to turn out like us? It's better if they can just be happy."
"We have the book, Katniss. We can make them understand."
The book. The book that I went looking for this morning. The book that sparked so many more questions than the ones I already have. I found it under the bed in my parents room. It was in a box with a two other items. One of them was a pearl. The other was a golden pin of a bird and an arrow. I recgonized the bird as a mockingjay.
I took the book out of the box and flipped it open. Pictures and names of people I don't recgonize. A smiling little girl with dark skin, a handsome young man with sea green eyes. My eyes stop on a page showing a girl who looks about my age, maybe a little younger. I'm surprised to find she looks a little like me. Her hair is blonde, but she has bright blue eyes and features similar to mind. I read the name under the photograph. Primrose Everdeen. Everdeen. I know this to be my mother's maiden name. Who is this Primrose and why has mother never told me about her?
This is one of the questions that plagues my mind as I sit here at the edge of the woods. I reach into my pocket and pull out the pin I had taken from the box. I know what mockingjays are. I've heard them singing. Once when I was little, I heard them repeat a strange four note tune that my mother had sang to them.
I look up and see a few Mockingjays perched in the trees. I begin to sing. A song my mother used to sing to me as a child. I know it has special meaning to her, but I don't know why.
Deep in the meadow, under the willow
A bed of grass, a soft green pillow
Lay down your head, and close your sleepy eyes
And when again they open, the sun will rise
The mockingjays take up my song. I look down at the pin in my hand. How much longer until I get answers?
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After the Hunger Games: A Fanfiction