Rosemary Acker was pronounced victor of the 55th annual Hunger Games, however she didn't feel like a victor. The trauma and horrors of the games continues to haunt her for many years to come. Watching her friends die one by one, under the hands of P...
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Rosemary was scared things would be the same as they were those five years ago. But if she was being honest, she didn't know how things were back then. During those times, he saw her as a child, but much changed and she wasn't a child anymore- she was a woman now. Her heart raced as she stood on the outskirts of District 5, her gaze locked onto the train tracks that stretched out toward the horizon. The setting sun cast a warm, golden glow over the landscape, igniting her auburn hair with fiery highlights. She clutched the hem of her faded green dress, fingers trembling in a mixture of excitement and nervousness.
Right before Porter left her the previous day, she had informed Rose that Haymitch would travel home. So, that morning, she spent hours getting ready, making sure the dark circles under her eyes wouldn't be as visible as the days before. She brushed her hair for the first time in a week, cleaned her body and scraped the dirt from under her nails. She didn't want Haymitch to notice that she never healed.
She was afraid she would miss him on his way back to District 12 and since this was the first real chance, she had to meet him, and she would hate herself for being to late— or afraid. Haymitch meant more to her that she would ever tell anyone, not even him- at least not now.
"Rose," a voice called behind her, causing her to spin around. There he was, the man she had been waiting for, standing a few yards away. Haymitch Abernathy, disheveled and worn from his years in District 12, but undeniably the man who held a piece of her heart.
"Haymitch?" Rosemary whispered, hardly daring to believe her eyes. She took a hesitant step forward, her eyes locked onto his weary but familiar face.
He walked toward her with a lopsided grin, the setting sun casting a warm halo around him. "Hey, sweetheart," he said, his voice rough but filled with a warmth that sent shivers down her spine.
Haymitch couldn't deny the tugging feeling in his heart as he gazed at her carefully. The years had transformed her from the girl he once knew into a woman who bore the weight of her own experiences with both strength and grace. He saw her about one day per year, during the Hunger Games, however, her never got the chance to see her.
Rosemary's once adolescent face had matured, her features more defined and marked by the passage of time. Her eyes, once filled with youthful innocence, now held a mixture of wisdom and sorrow. They were still a vibrant shade of green, but they seemed to carry the weight off the world within them. Her long auburn hair cascaded down her back, the braids of her youth replaced by a simple yet elegant style that framed her face. A few strands of hair escaped, softly framing her cheeks as if to soften the gravity of her gaze. There were faint scars on her skin, a testament to the challenges she had faced and overcome. Rosemary's posture exuded a quiet confidence that came from surviving trials and tribulations. She wore a simple, practical dress that spoke of a life shaped by practicality rather than luxury. It was evident that her beauty had been preserved, but it was the strength emanating from her that truly caught Haymitch's attention.
