Future of the mockingjay

Chapter five: Annie

I reach Greasy Sae's, and politely nod at the people sitting drinking and eating her hot soup. Greasy Sae had always been a favorite, and she had been Gale's friend and mine ever since our illegal hunting started. I set my load down on the counter, trying not to shake the wobbly wooden stall too much. Of course Greasy Sae was offered a proper building-type structure for her 'restaurant' but she would always prefer her rickety, old wooden stall that I loved so much.

"Hey, Greasy Sae!" I yell out, sitting down on a stool. "Greasy Sae it's me, Katniss!"

A frail yet tough old woman wobbles into my view, her hair in a wild mess and her hands greasy with oil. She smiles at me, showing the gap where her two front teeth should be.

"Greasy Sae, I brought you another load," I say, pushing three rabbits toward her. The other two are still slung over my back.

"Thank you dear, I know just what to do with these beauties," she praises, patting my hand. Then she yells over her shoulder, "Hey Bill, give me a hand will you?"

A large, round man came up behind her. His head was so shiny; it reflected the dull lighting above. He grins and waves, and I smile back, trying not to throw up as I take in the sight of his blood-spattered apron. The faded white cloth was now covered in a horrifying abstract painting of red. I was getting the vibe that he was the butcher.

"Gee thanks girl. I'll use these real well," he says, winking and then lugging the rabbits away.

"So, what'll you have sweets?" Greasy Sae asks, trying to wipe off the remains of the rabbit fur and blood of the counter with her hand.

"I'll have what everyone else is having," I say tiredly, resting my elbows on the counter.

"Oh, great choice. That'll be my special dog stew, coming right up!"

Soon enough, a piping hot bowl of dog stew is in front of me. I take my spoon and doubtfully ladle a scoop into my mouth. I chew through the meat and swallow down the soup, grateful for the warmth in my stomach.

"So... uh, well I might just be getting old here, but I thought I saw someone today," Greasy Sae starts, fiddling with a loose bit of string on her shirt.

I knew this was coming.

"Yes, Gale was here this morning," I say, taking the bowl in my hands and sipping.

"Well fancy that! I didn't recognize him at first! Such a man now, it's been..."

"Just about twenty or so years," I say. As if I needed to be reminded.

"Right, right. Twenty years," she says absentmindedly.

I stand up. "Well it was really great seeing you Greasy Sae, but I better get home now," I apologize.

"Right then," she says, giving me a quick squeeze on the hand. "Say hello to your kids for me, will you?"

I promised I would, and then set on my way back home.

As I opened the door, the first thing that hit me was the smell. Sweet, fragrant... and delicious!

"Peeta I'm home!" I call out, putting my things up. I take the rabbits to the kitchen and drop them in the sink. "Peeta?"

I look in the oven. Sure enough, sitting in neat little rows are pastries, rising by the minute. Peeta's been baking.

"Peeta, darling, I'm home!" I yell again, puzzled why he hasn't come down.

I walk upstairs, looking through the rooms. Both our kids were at school, and their rooms were empty. I came to our door, and I knock.

"Peeta?" I call out. No answer. "Peeta, I swear, if you are playing some stupid joke on me, then I'm going to-"

The door swings open just then, and Peeta is standing there. His face is pale white, and his beautiful blue eyes are red and puffy.

"Peeta?" I whisper, afraid to ask for an explanation. "Are Rue and Finnick... where are they?"

"No, no," he says, his voice strained, "they're ok."

"What's wrong?" I demand, pushing my way past him and into our room. I look around for any signs of danger, but everything seems just as we left it.

"Katniss, calm down," he says, putting his arms around me.

"Don't tell me to calm down, Peeta," I say, turning around to face him. I put my hands on either side of his face. "Tell me what's made you like this."

His face saddens as he sees the pain in my eyes. He kisses my cheeks. Then he pulls out a picture and holds it out in front of me.

In front of me, framed by the white shiny edges of a photograph, is Annie Cresta. Finnick Odair's widowed wife. She is still the beautiful woman I remember with the long, dark hair and sea green eyes.

"Annie?" I ask, looking at Peeta questioningly.

Then two words leave his mouth. Two words I've heard all too often.

"She's dead."