Post by lildizzle on Jul 26, 2011 18:28:56 GMT -8
Title: Family Day
Competition: July 2011
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1,634
Disclaimer: The Hunger Games belong to Suzanne Collins
Summary: Katniss and Peeta, 24 years after their first Reaping.
I wake in a cold sweat, gasping for breath. It is a nightmare that has plagued me for years now. I stand in a crowd of people as President Snow stands on a stage, two reaping balls in front of him. He draws slip of paper and reads out a name. My daughter’s name. And then my son’s. I see their panicked, frightened faces, eyes filled with tears, voices calling out for me and pleading for help. But I stand completely paralyzed, unable to move or speak. All I can do is watch as Snow tortures and kills my children. Peeta’s children.
I feel Peeta’s arm around me, stalwartly strong and comforting. “Want me to go check on them?” he mumbles as he pulls me close to him. He knows what I dream about.
“Mmmm,” I groan in reply, both wanting him to do so and not wanting him to leave my side. But I don’t need to say anything. Peeta kisses my cheek before he slips out of bed and down the hall, and a few minutes later I feel the blankets lift as two small, warm bodies are deposited next to me, one on each side.
“Go back to sleep, Katniss,” Peeta whispers as he tenderly strokes my hair. “I’ll have breakfast waiting at the bakery. Happy Family Day.” He kisses three foreheads before heading out. I drift back to sleep in the pre-dawn darkness, my mind assuaged by Thera’s and Leo’s warm life and steady breathing.
Family Day has become one of my favorite holidays, but I used to hate it, for it took the place of an older day. Reaping Day. When President Paylor first announced the change of holiday, she had said that it was not a day to tear families apart, but to bring them together, to celebrate a day on which no children would be reaped. All I could think about were the families that had been ruined by the Games and the rebellion, by me. Families like Rue’s and Finnick’s, like Peeta’s and mine.
But as we grew together, as Peeta and I became a family of our own and as that family began to grow, I came to cherish Family Day as I do them.
She and I rise soon after the sun; most families will sleep late today, but most families aren’t the Mellarks. I let Leo sleep a bit longer as I help Thera pick out a dress and braid both of our long dark hair. I pick him up as he slowly rouses, still groggy with toddler sleep, and we head out the door.
I pause at the side of the house. “Flowers, Mom?” she asks, knowing what I’m thinking in the same intuitive way as her father. “For Auntie Prim?”
“Of course, Thera Rue!” I say as brightly as I can muster. I make a silent promise to Prim that I will live today, that I will be happy, because she can’t. It’s the same promise I make every time she crosses my thoughts, which is often.
Thera returns with the blooms, and we spend a few minutes affixing them to each other’s braids, even though I have to kneel down with Leo still in my arms to do so. It’s a good thing he sleeps well enough for both of us.
“Good morning, my loves!” Peeta says, grinning, as we walk through the bakery door. “I’ve missed you.” He kisses Thera and me before taking Leo.
“Daddy!” says Thera, as if she’s embarrassed. “We were just at home!”
“That doesn’t mean I didn’t miss you.” He lowers his head to his son’s ear and whispers, “Leo. Leonidas Finnnick Mellark. If you wake up without crying, I’ll let you eat cookies for breakfast.”
This does the trick. His gray eyes are suddenly open and alert.
“Really, Daddy?” says Thera excitedly.
“Well, kind of. Chocolate chip pancakes. Go sit down, they’ll be ready in a minute.” Thera takes her brother to the small table in the back of the bakery where she often does her homework after school. I begin to help with tasks I can see need doing at the front counter, but Peeta insists I go back with the children and wait for my breakfast.
As I sit down, Thera hands me a mug of hot chocolate while Leo climbs up in my lap. Peeta soon joins us, and we eat our decadent breakfast of pancakes, fruit, and freshly-whipped cream.
We are just finishing up when Thera exclaims, “Oh! I almost forgot your present, Mommy!” and runs off. “Happy Family Day!” she says, presenting me with what appears to be a small, homemade book. “Daddy helped me, but it was my idea.”
I turn it over in my hands. My Family by Thera Rue Mellark I see written in my daughter’s hand across the top of the first page. On each of the next four pieces of parchment, she has drawn each of us, using what looks like Peeta’s good pastels. Next to each portrait is a description of each of us. My eyes are welling up to the point where her words are blurry. I’ll read it later, I think. “Thank you, Thera. I love it.” And it’s true, I do.
“Because that’s what you do love somebody, right Mommy? You draw their picture in the book and write what you love about them. Like the book you and Daddy have?”
“That’s right, baby,” I say quietly, staving off the tears.
Peeta, sensing my mood, swoops in, saying something about
wanting to make a cake to celebrate this beautiful day, but where could he find a lovely assistant? And soon they are busy whipping up batter and frosting, father and daughter so alike in so many ways.
We spend the rest of the morning in the bakery as a stream of families come through the door, buying bread for picnics and family dinners, cookies and cakes to share with their loved ones. When business dies down in the early afternoon, we finish packing our own picnic lunch, close up shop, and set off toward the Meadow.
Peeta helps me spread the blanket over the soft grass, and we eat sandwiches while the children play. Other families are picnicking in the Meadow that day, and Thera soon runs off with school friends of hers who are engrossed in a game of make-believe.
I sit between Peeta’s outstretched legs, my back against his chest, Leo napping in my lap, Peeta’s arms around the both of us, a brilliant sun warming us as a soft breeze sweeps across the Meadow. And just as I’m feeling as happy as I ever have, I am overcome with a crushing sadness, because as good as it is right now, one day, it has to end. As soon as the thought enters my head I push it aside, but the nagging doubt persists.
Thera and her friends run by, and I hear them teasing each other. My daughter’s voice calls out.
“Anton Whitward, if you pull my braid again, I’m telling!”
“Oh yeah? If you tell, I’ll send you to the Reaping, Thera Mellark!”
I freeze. My entire body tenses up as I am seized by a paralyzing numbness. A thousand gruesome images race through my mind, each more horrific than the next. I am instantly overcome by a desire to do something I haven’t done in a very long time. I yearn to run, to not stop running until I’ve found a hiding space, someplace dark and small and enclosed, where no one will find me, where I can cry and scream and rail about how unfair it all is, how this never should have happened to me, to Peeta, to anyone. But there’s nowhere to run here in the Meadow, surrounded by other families on what is supposed to be a day of celebration.
“Katniss,” he whispers in my ear. “Katniss, it’s okay. I’m here, we’re here. Snow is gone, there is no Reaping, Thera and Leo are safe. I love you.” Peeta has turned my face to meet his, and I find myself looking into blue eyes alert with concern and compassion. He repeats his words, searching my eyes with his, desperately calling back me back to him. Gasping for breath, I manage to cling to my tenuous grasp on reality.
“Let’s go home,” Peeta says. I’m quick to agree. He gathers the children and our belongings, and we walk back to the house as dusk sets in. At Peeta’s request, I rest while he makes supper for the children and gives them baths, but he comes to get me when it’s time to tuck them into bed.
“Katniss,” he says as we prepare for bed ourselves. “Did you read Thera’s book?”
“No!” I say, surprised, even as Peeta slips it into my hands. I almost feel ashamed that I’ve forgotten. I study each of her pastel portraits. It’s remarkable, really, the way she’s able to capture each of our expressions so well, even at her age. I read the words that accompany the picture of the slim woman with long, dark hair and gray eyes.
My mom is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. She is most beautiful when she sings to the mockingjays and they sing back to her. I think she’s the bravest person I know because she goes into the forest all by herself. Thanks for being my mommy. I love you.
I read the words dozens, hundreds of times before my eyes grow heavy and Peeta eases me into bed and the sanctuary of his arms. Even though I know he’s not going anywhere, I whisper, “Stay with me.”
Before I give in to my exhaustion, I hear his soft voice in the dark night. “Always.”
Competition: July 2011
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1,634
Disclaimer: The Hunger Games belong to Suzanne Collins
Summary: Katniss and Peeta, 24 years after their first Reaping.
I wake in a cold sweat, gasping for breath. It is a nightmare that has plagued me for years now. I stand in a crowd of people as President Snow stands on a stage, two reaping balls in front of him. He draws slip of paper and reads out a name. My daughter’s name. And then my son’s. I see their panicked, frightened faces, eyes filled with tears, voices calling out for me and pleading for help. But I stand completely paralyzed, unable to move or speak. All I can do is watch as Snow tortures and kills my children. Peeta’s children.
I feel Peeta’s arm around me, stalwartly strong and comforting. “Want me to go check on them?” he mumbles as he pulls me close to him. He knows what I dream about.
“Mmmm,” I groan in reply, both wanting him to do so and not wanting him to leave my side. But I don’t need to say anything. Peeta kisses my cheek before he slips out of bed and down the hall, and a few minutes later I feel the blankets lift as two small, warm bodies are deposited next to me, one on each side.
“Go back to sleep, Katniss,” Peeta whispers as he tenderly strokes my hair. “I’ll have breakfast waiting at the bakery. Happy Family Day.” He kisses three foreheads before heading out. I drift back to sleep in the pre-dawn darkness, my mind assuaged by Thera’s and Leo’s warm life and steady breathing.
Family Day has become one of my favorite holidays, but I used to hate it, for it took the place of an older day. Reaping Day. When President Paylor first announced the change of holiday, she had said that it was not a day to tear families apart, but to bring them together, to celebrate a day on which no children would be reaped. All I could think about were the families that had been ruined by the Games and the rebellion, by me. Families like Rue’s and Finnick’s, like Peeta’s and mine.
But as we grew together, as Peeta and I became a family of our own and as that family began to grow, I came to cherish Family Day as I do them.
She and I rise soon after the sun; most families will sleep late today, but most families aren’t the Mellarks. I let Leo sleep a bit longer as I help Thera pick out a dress and braid both of our long dark hair. I pick him up as he slowly rouses, still groggy with toddler sleep, and we head out the door.
I pause at the side of the house. “Flowers, Mom?” she asks, knowing what I’m thinking in the same intuitive way as her father. “For Auntie Prim?”
“Of course, Thera Rue!” I say as brightly as I can muster. I make a silent promise to Prim that I will live today, that I will be happy, because she can’t. It’s the same promise I make every time she crosses my thoughts, which is often.
Thera returns with the blooms, and we spend a few minutes affixing them to each other’s braids, even though I have to kneel down with Leo still in my arms to do so. It’s a good thing he sleeps well enough for both of us.
“Good morning, my loves!” Peeta says, grinning, as we walk through the bakery door. “I’ve missed you.” He kisses Thera and me before taking Leo.
“Daddy!” says Thera, as if she’s embarrassed. “We were just at home!”
“That doesn’t mean I didn’t miss you.” He lowers his head to his son’s ear and whispers, “Leo. Leonidas Finnnick Mellark. If you wake up without crying, I’ll let you eat cookies for breakfast.”
This does the trick. His gray eyes are suddenly open and alert.
“Really, Daddy?” says Thera excitedly.
“Well, kind of. Chocolate chip pancakes. Go sit down, they’ll be ready in a minute.” Thera takes her brother to the small table in the back of the bakery where she often does her homework after school. I begin to help with tasks I can see need doing at the front counter, but Peeta insists I go back with the children and wait for my breakfast.
As I sit down, Thera hands me a mug of hot chocolate while Leo climbs up in my lap. Peeta soon joins us, and we eat our decadent breakfast of pancakes, fruit, and freshly-whipped cream.
We are just finishing up when Thera exclaims, “Oh! I almost forgot your present, Mommy!” and runs off. “Happy Family Day!” she says, presenting me with what appears to be a small, homemade book. “Daddy helped me, but it was my idea.”
I turn it over in my hands. My Family by Thera Rue Mellark I see written in my daughter’s hand across the top of the first page. On each of the next four pieces of parchment, she has drawn each of us, using what looks like Peeta’s good pastels. Next to each portrait is a description of each of us. My eyes are welling up to the point where her words are blurry. I’ll read it later, I think. “Thank you, Thera. I love it.” And it’s true, I do.
“Because that’s what you do love somebody, right Mommy? You draw their picture in the book and write what you love about them. Like the book you and Daddy have?”
“That’s right, baby,” I say quietly, staving off the tears.
Peeta, sensing my mood, swoops in, saying something about
wanting to make a cake to celebrate this beautiful day, but where could he find a lovely assistant? And soon they are busy whipping up batter and frosting, father and daughter so alike in so many ways.
We spend the rest of the morning in the bakery as a stream of families come through the door, buying bread for picnics and family dinners, cookies and cakes to share with their loved ones. When business dies down in the early afternoon, we finish packing our own picnic lunch, close up shop, and set off toward the Meadow.
Peeta helps me spread the blanket over the soft grass, and we eat sandwiches while the children play. Other families are picnicking in the Meadow that day, and Thera soon runs off with school friends of hers who are engrossed in a game of make-believe.
I sit between Peeta’s outstretched legs, my back against his chest, Leo napping in my lap, Peeta’s arms around the both of us, a brilliant sun warming us as a soft breeze sweeps across the Meadow. And just as I’m feeling as happy as I ever have, I am overcome with a crushing sadness, because as good as it is right now, one day, it has to end. As soon as the thought enters my head I push it aside, but the nagging doubt persists.
Thera and her friends run by, and I hear them teasing each other. My daughter’s voice calls out.
“Anton Whitward, if you pull my braid again, I’m telling!”
“Oh yeah? If you tell, I’ll send you to the Reaping, Thera Mellark!”
I freeze. My entire body tenses up as I am seized by a paralyzing numbness. A thousand gruesome images race through my mind, each more horrific than the next. I am instantly overcome by a desire to do something I haven’t done in a very long time. I yearn to run, to not stop running until I’ve found a hiding space, someplace dark and small and enclosed, where no one will find me, where I can cry and scream and rail about how unfair it all is, how this never should have happened to me, to Peeta, to anyone. But there’s nowhere to run here in the Meadow, surrounded by other families on what is supposed to be a day of celebration.
“Katniss,” he whispers in my ear. “Katniss, it’s okay. I’m here, we’re here. Snow is gone, there is no Reaping, Thera and Leo are safe. I love you.” Peeta has turned my face to meet his, and I find myself looking into blue eyes alert with concern and compassion. He repeats his words, searching my eyes with his, desperately calling back me back to him. Gasping for breath, I manage to cling to my tenuous grasp on reality.
“Let’s go home,” Peeta says. I’m quick to agree. He gathers the children and our belongings, and we walk back to the house as dusk sets in. At Peeta’s request, I rest while he makes supper for the children and gives them baths, but he comes to get me when it’s time to tuck them into bed.
“Katniss,” he says as we prepare for bed ourselves. “Did you read Thera’s book?”
“No!” I say, surprised, even as Peeta slips it into my hands. I almost feel ashamed that I’ve forgotten. I study each of her pastel portraits. It’s remarkable, really, the way she’s able to capture each of our expressions so well, even at her age. I read the words that accompany the picture of the slim woman with long, dark hair and gray eyes.
My mom is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. She is most beautiful when she sings to the mockingjays and they sing back to her. I think she’s the bravest person I know because she goes into the forest all by herself. Thanks for being my mommy. I love you.
I read the words dozens, hundreds of times before my eyes grow heavy and Peeta eases me into bed and the sanctuary of his arms. Even though I know he’s not going anywhere, I whisper, “Stay with me.”
Before I give in to my exhaustion, I hear his soft voice in the dark night. “Always.”
This is so adorable. I love the idea of Family Day replacing Reaping Day, and I love that Thera inherited Peeta's artistic ability and uses it to make that book for Katniss 
