Primrose Mellark

Chapter Three

   I ran up the hill by my house with my arms full. In one hand was a basket full of food and items, and in the other, was a blanket. I ran to the top, but then slowed down from tiredness. I collapsed at the top underneath a single tree that branches hung low, but high enough for me to sit under. I spread my blanket out and flattened it to the bushy grass. I set the basket on the side, so the wind wouldn't blow the whole blanket away. I sighed and sat down on the soft blanket and stared at the low sun.

   I opened the basket and took out the canvass and the paints. I looked at the unfinished painting, and opened the night- black paint tube. I dipped my brush in and turned to the canvass, which sat against the tree. I drew some lines here and there, some lines coming out of the larger black lines. I sat there, calm and relaxed for an hour or so, listening to the birds singing around me.

   Then I dipped in the brush in the green paint, and finished up my canvass. I drew back and gazed at my painting. It was of a large, leaf-less tree against a sunset. It was the one I'm sitting under, or was supposed to be, anyways. Some of the branches stopped at odd angles and such. But it was one of my better ones. 

   I always loved to draw and paint nature. It was so.... I don't know how to say it. Maybe, relaxing, and soft. The kind of soft like the sky. It was hard to explain, really. 

   Here in District Twelve, we had plenty nature. I heard during the Hunger Games period, they had more buildings and less trees and meadows. But when my mother and father destroyed the Capital's reigns, they let it grow back and they started a new place. A better place. That's what I heard from my parents and my teachers. They tell us every single month. It's sort of getting annoying to hear how great and noble my parents were. They are, but I never hear now good I am. The only attention I get is when people tell me to do something like somebody, or they say brightly, "You're mother's really awesome! I wish she was my mom."

   But I'm plain sick of that. Sick of people always assuming I have to do everything just like my mom. One day I plan to do something that will change people's minds about me. I just don't know what yet. 

   I put my paints away and my brush, but let my painting sit out to dry. I took out my dinner that my papa packed for me- which was a soup that he makes all the time- and ate it quickly. I would have to leave soon if I wanted to make it back before dark. The sun was just barely touching the treetops in the distance.

   I grabbed my painting by the back and put the basket in my other hand. I traveled carefully down the steep hill and into the forest below. I walked carefully along the path, careful not to ruin the wet paint on the canvass. 

   By the time I walked, the sun was completely set and the fireflies are starting to come out. I knocked on the door, no able to open it with my busy hands. My brother awnsered it and held it opend for me. I stepped inside the house, warming up my chilled arms.

   "Thanks." I told him. Rye nodded and shut the door behind me. I walked over to the table and set down my basket. My mom was in the living room, reading  a book. I walked in front of her, and she looked up at me. I held up my painting for her to see. My mom leaned forward, and lifted up her eyebrows in awe.

   "You made that, Prim?" she said. "It's fantastic! You really have some of your father's skills." Her gray eyes were full of love for me and my papa.

   "You really think so?" I asked, touched. Then I paused. "Wait. What do you mean by some of papa's tallents?" She blushed, embarassed. I raised my eyebrows, wating for her to awnser.

   "Well... you're cooking is, well..." she trailed off.

   "Horrible?" I filled in for her. "I know. And my archery isn't that great either."