I'm escorted to the start of the aisle, where Haymitch is waiting for me, smiling. He looks amazing. A slick, black suit. Hair nearly parted and gelled back. Black dress shoes. A golden watch on his left wrist. I don't think I've ever seen him look this good. He holds out his arm for me to take. And I know exactly what he's doing.
"Will you let me be your dad today, sweetheart?" He asks. I smile and take his arm, nodding yes. There's no one else alive that I'd even consider for the roll of my father. It's too important. And Haymitch is the only one that could do the job right.
He scans my dress, taking in every last detail.
"You look nice," he whispers. And I laugh.
"You don't look half bad, yourself," I say, referring to his suit. The color does look great with his skin tone. And surprisingly, there's not a stain to be found.
"I ironed it myself," he jokes, bowing slightly.
"That explains why there's so many wrinkles," I mutter. His eyes widen with fear. He immediately looks down at his suit, checking for any flaws in his work. There are none, though. He surprisingly did an impeccable job. I'm laughing so hard at his urgency to check his outfit that he has to cover my mouth with his dirty hand to keep from disturbing the guests waiting just behind the tree line.
I get jolted back to reality when I can literally taste the dirt from his palm.
"Ugh, Haymitch! Ever heard of washing your hands?" I snarl, spitting the content on the floor. In the corner of my eye I see Madge waving her hands at Haymitch and I. And I know it's time. Both my laughter and disgust stop immediately.
Why am I so nervous? I'm already shaking, and the cool breeze blowing across my face doesn't help. Haymitch senses my fear and gives my arm a friendly squeeze.
"Any last words of advice?" I ask, my voice quivering.
"Stay alive," he says. I frown at him, but he's not finished. "I'm serious, sweetheart. Don't... die out there. Make sure you be yourself. Don't let Katniss Everdeen die... even if you're going to be a Mellark after today. Promise me that."
I don't say anything. What does he mean? How would I die? I'm only getting married... and then Haymitch starts walking. And I walk too. As best as I can in these heels, anyway. I grasp on to my bouquet made of dandelions and white roses, embracing the crowd.
As soon as I come out from behind the trees, everyone that I've ever known stands up before me. They're all honoring me. Not as a leader. Or a rebel. Or a mockingjay. They stand up because I'm a bride. And that's all I am today. And I'm so grateful.
The amount of people looking directly at me is astonishing, and I stop momentarily to take it all in. Haymitch doesn't, though, and I'm uncomfortably dragged along. I decide to look beyond the crowd. The people. I look straight ahead. I find Peeta. And I feel like I'm walking on air. Every bit of stress leaves my shoulders. Every pain in my body relieves itself. And seeing the way that Peeta obviously relaxes, I'm positive he feels the same way.
I spend my whole trip down the aisle focusing on Peeta's bright blue eyes. The closer I get, the more I can see the love and admiration in them. Once I've locked my eyes with Peeta Mellark, I don't even glance at the audience. I can hear Effie's high pitched voice now, lecturing me to "smile for the cameras." But I don't listen to that voice. I listen to the voice telling me not to break eye contact with Peeta.
I walk underneath the gazebo where Peeta stands before me. Haymitch has left my side. But I don't notice. All I notice is Peeta taking my hands in his. Swaying them back and fourth. And then the minister starts speaking.
"Friends, family, loved ones, we have gathered here today at the invitation of Peeta and Katniss to share in the joy of their wedding," the man says. And I smile. It's happening. It's finally happening. I never thought this time would come.
I glance at the minister. Short, peppy man. I've seen him around town before. While trading with Gale he would always end up waiting in line with us. He definitely lives here. We've talked a few times. I'm just not positive of his name.
"This day represents eternal love, happiness, and dedication towards ones that are special to you," he says. I look back towards Peeta, making eye contact again. And as soon as I do, everything that the minister says is involuntarily blocked out. I slightly hear him talk about how much Peeta and I have been through. How much we loved each other both on screen and off. And then I know it's time for the vows.
"We all hope that you will continue to grow closer throughout your years together. None of us knows what the future will bring. Yet your love for one another, and trust in the strength of your union makes possible the act of faith you are making today. As you exchange the vows, which will start you on your journey together, know that our love and support go with you. As you make your promises to each other, we will remember promises we too have made and take this opportunity to make new our own," the man says. And then he looks directly at me. Is it my turn? Do I go first? I don't know what to say - or what to do. I give Peeta a worried look and he clears his throat.
"I guess I'll start," he says. And I smile. He knows how nervous I am.
"I've spent years. Waiting for this single day. Waiting for the promise that I'd be with you forever. When I was 5, and I saw you on that first day of school. All I had was hope. All I had was a tiny puddle of hope waiting for its opportunity to become an ocean. All I had was a piece of burnt bread. And that same piece of bread gave you your hope. Gave you the guarantee of waking up alive the next day. Waking up to your sister. And mother. And me- even if you didn't know it yet. There's no other girl in the world that deserved my burnt, muddy bread more than you," Peeta laughs. And I do too. Not on purpose though. Like I usually do for the cameras. And the crowds. I genuinely laugh. Which I haven't done in front of people for a long time.
"The day you volunteered for your sister was one of the best days of my life, now that I think about it. The day of the reaping. Even if it would only be for a few days, I had the opportunity to spend time with the girl of my dreams. And I didn't care if certain death was the consequence. And in that arena. You could have let me die. Easily. But you didn't... You just didn't. You saved me. My life was in your hands and you kept me thriving. Kept me fed. And happy. That part wasn't very hard," Peeta says, tearing up a little. I can't help but blush.
"We sure put on a good show in front of the cameras. Kept them rioting for the star crossed lovers of district 12. But when the cameras were turned off was when I knew, truly, that you loved me. And that I loved you. And I still do. Now, more than ever." He gives my hands a squeeze. I blink and a small tear rolls down my cheek. He gently wipes it up with his warm finger, and I smile and look down at my shoes.
"So thank you, Katniss," he continues, "For keeping me alive. For saving me. Taking care of me. Letting me take care of you. And I promise we'll be doing the same for the rest of our lives. Always."
He lifts my chin so I'm looking right at him. Into his blue ocean of hope called eyes. In the arena, I remember, they were simply puddles. Like he said. So much has changed since then.
"Our story is just beginning. And it will go on until the day we die," Peeta finishes. "I love you."
I think about what he just said to me. Our story. The one that will be written down in history textbooks. The one that will be taught to innocent children at school. No. That's not our story. We never owned that. The Capitol did. The story of Peeta and Katniss starts today. And then it comes to me. My vows. I know exactly what to say.
"Go ahead, Katniss," the minister whispers. I glance at him, nodding, but immediately turn back to Peeta.
"When I was young, my Father used to read Prim and I a story. As often as possible, I might add. He loved reading. Especially to us. And that story, that my father would read, meant an extremely huge deal to me. And so do you. So I decided to tell that story now." Peeta nods with excitement. He loves my stories. He practically stayed alive for them in the arena. I'm just thankful that I have a good memory.
"There was once a time with peace. A time without war. A time before the Hunger Games. A time before us. And there was once an eight year old girl. She lived with her wealthy grandparents. They didn't want the young girl leaving them, like they're own daughter once did, so they made sure she stayed at their cottage at all times. That way she'd be safe. She would spend her days sitting outside, holding onto the bars of the inescapable fence, looking out into the world, wondering when she'd be able to see it for herself.
During this time, there was a poor boy. He was the same age as the girl, but had an extremely different lifestyle. He lived alone with his 17 year old brother, who worked as a tailor for 12 hours a day. His only source of entertainment was to spent his time exploring through forests, mountains, fields- whatever he could find. He painted whatever interested him, and sold his work for 50 cents each.
On one sunny spring day, the boy was exploring the meadow, when he spotted an old cottage. He walked closer and noticed a young, beautiful girl sitting behind a fence. He was immediately compelled to draw the scene and set up his art supplies a few feet away from the house.
The girl looked up, confused with her sudden company, and said, 'What are you doing?'
'I'm drawing you,' the boy replied.
'Why?' She asked, puzzled.
'Because you're interesting,' he said, looking down at his paper.
'Interesting?' She gasped. 'You're the one roaming around this dangerous world!'
The boy just laughed and said, 'The world's only dangerous if you think it is. It's really full of beauty and opportunity!'
'You're telling me that you leave your house ever day? And go wherever you want?' The girl asked, shocked. She had never met anyone like this before.
'You're telling me that you've never seen the world before?' He relied, looking right into her eyes.
'No,' she whispered, looking down at the ground.
'Then I'm going to show you. Prove to you that out there... it's beautiful,' the boy said, spreading his arms out above him, looking up at the sky.
And the boy did prove it. As he painted, he told the girl of all the wonders of the world. All of the lakes and trees. The animals and sunsets. All of the beauties of nature that she'd never had the chance to experience. And when the sky started becoming dark, and the boy had to leave, the girl defiantly wanted to learn more.
'Make sure you come back,' the girl demanded.
'Of course,' he said, packing up his art supplies in his ripped, brown backpack. 'And this, ma'am, is for you.'
The boy slid the picture he painted through the fence, placing it into the petite hands of his new friend.
'It's beautiful,' the girl whispered, examining the picture with wide eyes.
'I paint what I see,' the boy replied, looking into the girl's eyes. 'I hope you like it. For most people it's 50 cents. For you, it's free,'
'I love it,' the girl said. 'Thank you.'
The boy stood up, trying his best to hide the huge smile on his face.
'Wait,' the girl said, 'What's your name?'
'My name? Does it matter?' The boy chuckled.
'It absolutely matters,' the girl frowned.
'It's Rye,' he muttered.
'Rye. Like the bread?' The girl giggled.
'I guess you could say that,' the boy replied, smiling. "And your name is...?'
'Willow.'
'Like the tree?' He said, laughing.
'I guess you could say that.' she blushed.
The boy stood up and flung his backpack over his shoulder.
'I'll come back, Willow. As soon as I can.'
The girl nodded and watched Rye walk off into the dark night, anxious for the next time she would be able to see him.
Lo and behold, the next day, Rye came back. And with him he brought another painting. This time he had made her a willow tree. He taught her about where her name came from. How he enjoyed to relax under the tree's beautiful leaves in the autumn. How special some willows could really be.
Over the years, Rye painted Willow a picture each day. Of the world. The beauty in it. And taught her about each and every piece of nature that he created. They could talk forever. About life. About love. But they could never actually truly be together. The fence separating them was too sturdy for either of them to climb over or slide through.
By the time Willow and Rye were teenagers, they had grown extremely close to each other. Willow never wanted Rye to leave. She wanted him to stay with her forever. Never wanted him to walk back to his home. Alone. But each night he had to. And each time he left it was torture for her.
When Rye wasn't with Willow, the girl would spend time taking the thousands of paintings made for her and arrange them together in a collage. So she could be reminded of Rye whenever she looked at them. The more paintings she collected, the more beautiful her project ended up looking. Soon, all of the art turned into a single masterpiece.
When Willow turned eighteen, she was finally let out of the house. She was finally free. Finally allowed to be with her one and only, Rye. On that day, when he came to visit her, Willow jumped into his arms. For the first time ever, she was completely happy.
'Over the years, I've created my own world. With you. Everything that you've ever painted for me in in this single picture. You've painted me the world,' Willow said, showing Rye her work.
'It's beautiful,' Rye said.
'I make what I see," Willow smiled. 'The world is beautiful. Thank you for showing me that."
That last line wasn't part of the story. That last line was for Peeta. He has shown me the world. Shown me that it's a wonderful and beautiful place. And no one else could do that but him.
I hope you enjoyed! Be sure to vote, comment, and follow me! Thank you!
-Melanie 🦁