A Fresh Start-After Mockingjay (Before the Epilogue)

Chapter Twenty-Two

"You're just saying that." I conclude, shaking my head at him.

"I'm not just saying it. I've told you before. Nothing could make me forget that day, not even the Capitol."

I look up at him and then back down, "We better start this book." I say, wanting to drop this conversation completely but honestly expecting him to try and continue it, but he doesn't. He sighs and nods his head, knowing that I don't want to talk about it anymore.

Then he takes his pencil and carefully starts to sketch an outline of my father. "Does it look right to you?" He asks after about thirty minutes of complete concentration and put forth of skill. I'm amazed but one thing is off. It's the only way I would like anyone who sees this book to see my father.

"Yes, but could you change his mouth?" I ask him.

Peeta gives me a look, "Um, sure. What's wrong with it?"

"Will you make him smile?" I ask him softly, hoping he can.

He nods, "What did it look like?"

I take a deep breath and close my eyes, my imagination taking me back to the morning before my father died. That was the last time I remember being completely and truly happy, and seeing my father's smile as he told us goodbye before he left for the mines, never to return. "Kind of crooked, but not in a funny way but a soft, beautiful way." I say softly, wishing so badly to open my eyes and see him there, sitting next to me. But he won't be. A few minutes later, I open my eyes and see him. He's not here, he's right before my eyes on the page and I see my other favorite person sitting next to me.

"It's perfect." I say to Peeta and see his own smile that makes me happy too and remember it's the closest thing I'm going to ever get.

"How did you get it so spot on?" I ask him in disbelief.

"You know, I just drew your smile on his face." Peeta tells me softly, looking lovingly into my eyes.

"I must have his smile too then." I say, loving Peeta's drawing.

"You know that it's my favorite thing about you." He says softly, shyly.

"What?" I ask him, confused.

"Your smile. Even if it's so rare." He chuckles.

"There's not much to smile about these days." I say truthfully and sigh.

Peeta sighs, "Yet, I manage to see one at least once a day." I feel my face grow warm and I look down, not being able to help but to produce a smile. He's the only reason I smile these days. "See that? That is my favorite thing." Peeta says in awe.

"Stop." I say, embarrassed.

He grins, dismissing my embarrassment. "Here. You can start writing now if you want." Peeta says, handing me the paper and dulled down pencil. I start with his name. I write it my best and most gentle handwriting. And then I start copying down things about him that I want to remember forever and that I want anyone who reads our book to know about my father. How much he loved my mother, sister and I and how good he was at hunting or fishing, or even making my mother happy. How his teachings helped me keep our family alive and also helped me survive the Hunger Games and keep Peeta alive. I include how beautiful his voice was and Peeta asks me to include how the birds fell silent when he sang. Somehow, it quickly becomes therapeutic for us.

We manage to get through twelve people that day but not before sealing each page with our tears. I wish that everyone was here to see what Peeta and I have accomplished. To live in a world without fear of the things they died from. Even though a lot of the people who died were not nice to me, for instance the Careers in the 74th Games, they were just trying to survive. They didn't deserve to be in the position they were in. Not tributes from the 74th Games or even from the first and definitely not in the 75th. None of us deserved it and it's the most unfair thing I can think of. I just wish they were all here to live in a world without fear of the Games but they're not. They're dead because of Snow and some because of me.