Twisted Perfection ~ Everlark

Birthdays and Questions.

3 months later
Katniss' Pov:
Today is Peeta's birthday. We sit in the meadow, drinking lemonade and eating biscuits he baked for today. I lay my head on his lap, as he gently strokes my brown tresses. The air is light and breezy. For late September, a few leaves still cling to the branches for dear life, although they'll soon plummet to the ground in a matter of days or even hours. Mine and Peeta's birthday's are oxymoronic yet so similar. Mine promises the day more May sunlight as more crops are being produced and Peeta's promises warm clothing started to be worn again, yet both provide change.

For his birthday, I gave him a new easel because his was looking old and worn. He received it with great enthusiasm and love. His knees shift beneath me. I look up to see him with an expression of curiosity across his face and a cheeky smile. "What?" I ask him, laughing slightly. "I was just thinking of something funny." He says. I turn my head back to face the myriad of trees that circle us. "Do tell." I say, forcing a Capitol accent. I feel his chest rise. "When I was younger and it was this time of year, me and my brothers would think that trees were properly alive, if you know what I mean?" I nod my head, not speaking to let him continue. "Well, because we thought they actually had feelings and such, when they dropped leaves, we thought they were sad." I laugh at Peeta.
"You're cute, you know that?" I ask him.
"Yes, I know that." He says in a fake cocky tone. He kisses my head and leans his back against the tree we're near against.

"Do you ever miss your brothers?" I ask him. "Or any of your family as I matter of fact." I hope this doesn't bring too many memories of his mother. I'm sure she loved him, in a motherly way, but when he thought of her, he could surely only see the hand that came fast across his face for only burning a loaf of bread. He takes a sharp inhale. "I miss them all. But in different ways. I miss my fathers sentiment and my brothers comedy." He says toneless. I can't help but to notice he left the part of his mother out. I nod my head gently. 
"Katniss, can I ask you a question?" He says, with slight hesitancy in his voice. I sit up so I'm facing him. Peeta's face is full of curiosity but also timidity. I brush a few stray hairs out of his face to break the awkwardness.
"We haven't talked about this yet, but...what's your view on the notion of us having kids?" I stand there a little speechless. Not from shock, but because I literally don't know what to say. To be honest I know the answer and I know he won't like it. The truth is right now I'm no where near ready to have children. I don't even know if I will ever have children. We live in a world where people are still grieving for loved ones they lost. I wake up every night screaming from the top of my lungs from lost children and mutts. Peeta still has venom attacks. Haymitch is a lousy drunk that me and Peeta will ourselves to keep alive every day.
I've been in the Hunger Games twice. I've watched children die in front of me or in my arms. I've seen people enjoy it too. I've seen my ribs slowly appear from starvation. I've seen my father die and my mother leave me, mentally.

I've seen my sister obliterate in-front of my own eyes.

I've seen a revolution start, strangers following someone they don't know all for a world in the future they may not even see. I've seen Peeta being tortured and there's nothing I can do to help him. I've seen and heard his howls at night for something real. I've seen Peeta try to kill me various times. I've seen him scream things at me that aren't true. They live in my memory, as fresh as the day they were spoken. I've seen him fight it all, but give up too many times to count. He came back to me eventually, but the old Peeta that I once knew will never be quite fully there. I've seen my best friend die, his blood still partly on my own hands. I've gotten so many people, innocent and guilty, killed. I've seen myself kill people in the mirror of my soul. I've seen myself on bad days when I look starved of oxygen and love. I've seen Peeta on bad days when he can't put two words together. I've seen him rock back and forth, back and forth, rocking on the wooden floor, in sync with the cracked floorboards from many years of weight. I've seen both of us decaying, but still managing to get through. I've woken every night to mine and Peeta's screams and yells. I've seen so many people die. I've nearly seen myself die.

Answer me this:
Is that the type of world my potential child should be brought into?