Hey everyone! I am so in love with the Hunger Games Trilogy, I decided to continue on with the story. I DO NOT OWN THIS IDEA. Suzanne Collins owns this idea. ALL RIGHTS GO TO SUZANNE COLLINS. I am just continuing on to what she had written. I hope you like the fourth book!
CAUTION: If you have not read the last Hunger Games book, Mockinjay, do Not continue on. MANY SPOILERS. I don't want to ruin it for you all!
I pick a white blooming Primrose from the ground and hold it tightly against my chest, allowing the sweet familiar scent fill my senses. The scent always calmed my nerves... And right now, I needed it. I slowly crouched down to my knees and rested the single delicate flower on top of my sister, Prims, memorial grave. I take three of my middle fingers, press them against my lips and close my eyes. Prim was a fighter. A believer. A symbol of hope. She nursed the sick back in District 13 out of pure dedication. Prim was always eager to help a patient in need or be an assistant to my mother. She cared for anyone, even if she didn't like them. I respect her for that. I couldn't do the same. I take the three fingers off my lips and hold them above me, towards the setting sky.
"I love you" I whisper quietly, melting to my knees in desperate sorrow. It's not fair. I should of been the one to die, not her. I stood right there, useless, as I watched her be swallowed up by the flames. It was so quick. She didn't even get to say her last words to me. I could of swore she was going to scream out my name, but instead, she just looked at me. Those big, beautiful blue eyes boring into mine with such emptiness - and then she was gone. Just like that. My little sister is dead. And I did nothing to save her.
I lean back to sit with my knees propped up and lock my gaze on the memorial. Everyday I come here to talk to her. Tell her about my day, how I'm feeling... As if she were here. Right by my side as usual.
"I wish you were here" I mutter, grazing my gaze along the grass while playing with the lace on my boot. "You know," I begin. "Peeta baked a cake this morning. He made it specially for you."
I twist the lace from my boot around my finger, making it look like I have webbed feet. This instantly makes me think of Finnick. The star victor of the 65th Hunger Games who not only wooed everyone with his dashing masculine looks, but owned the crowd with his unfortunate love story. He came from District 4 and was my friend. Considerably family when he wasn't trying to 'woo' me on his own.
District 4 specialized in fishing. The ocean was his second home, and I didn't blame him. He swam like a shark; fast and furious. But then again, he's gone. Dead. All because he helped me finish my task to kill Snow. He risked his life, just like everyone else, to help the rebels win. Now his son would never get to meet his own father. Only in pictures would he be able to see Finnick. A father, a husband, a gallant victor, and a great friend.
Even though their deaths were so long ago, it hits me in the face almost everyday, just like when I witnessed it. Now I think of it, I saw all of them die right in front of me. The thought makes me feel sick. I felt it. The hot, stinging tears that threatened to spill. I have to get away. I hurriedly bring myself to my feet and swipe the back of my palm over my damp cheek. "Happy birthday," I mumble. But before I can even finish, I'm already gone. I walk to Victors Village in silence, though in order to get there, I have to pass through the Seam first. Still some remains of the bombing ten years ago surround the area. Most people rebuilt their homes and shops, with the help of the Capitol. President Paylor is making sure District 12 is cleaned up and flipped around to healthy city. She is making sure no one is left on the streets on the verge of starvation. She's giving what we desperately needed years ago.