Future of the mockingjay

Chapter six: Orange Sunsets

I watch the trees whiz by at incredible speed. Slowly the sky turns to orange, and the sun starts to set. A memory flashes in my mind and Peeta's voice fills my head.

"Let's start with something more basic. Isn't it strange that I know you'd risk your life to save mine... but I don't even know what your favorite color is?"

I giggle. I had replied green, and he had said orange.

"Orange, like Effie's hair?" I say.

"A bit more muted," he says. "More like... sunset."

"What's so funny over here?" Peeta asks, sitting down next to me. The train sped on quietly, and our children slept peacefully on the bed in the small room.

"I was remembering you telling me your favorite color was orange, like the sunset," I say, smiling at him.

I could see him struggling with the memory. Ever since he was hijacked, he had gotten much better. But there were still little gaps, missing memories that he had lost along the way.

"I can't remember," he mutters, frowning.

"That doesn't make it any less sweet or important," I remind him, leaning over to kiss him lightly.

He sighs.

"I just wish I didn't have to need reminding all the time," he confesses. "But as long as you're the one reminding me, I don't care."

I smile, and reach over to kiss him more. His lips are suddenly next to my ears.

"You love me. Real, or not real?" he asks.

I laugh. "Real."

After we rescued Peeta from the Capitol, he would go crazy asking questions about his life and then follow with the line: 'Real, or not real?' It was sort of a joke between us now, but I'm just glad he got over that phase.

I woke in the morning wrapped in Peeta's arms, lying on the bed. It was just like our old ride to the Capitol, except now there were two smaller bodies wedged in between us.

I yawn, and Peeta's eyes open slowly.

"'Morning," I greet him softly.

"Do you need to...?" he shifts a little bit.

"Oh, yes please."

He slowly untangles me from his arms while making sure not to wake Rue and Finnick. I get up and stretch, making my way to the bathroom.

District 4 would be coming up soon enough, and I squinted my eyes out the window to see through the faint misty morning.

I had written a letter to my mother, explaining that we would visit District 4 to see Annie and her. I had asked her how Annie was before her tragic death, and it didn't seem very good.

Ever since mutant lizards murdered Finnick Odair during our mission to destroy the Capitol, Annie was never the same. To make matters more complicated, only about two or three months later, their beautiful baby was born. Annie went back to her home, District 4 and settled down with her parents. Occasionally she would send letters our way, talking about their son, and how she'd sometimes see my mother at the hospital. But I had thought she was slowly healing, slowly getting better. I guess I thought wrong.

I take a shower quickly and get dressed, and when I came out Rue and Finnick had woken up. The bubbly six-year-old girl was staring out the window, watching the world stroke by. The quiet, shy four-year-old boy was sitting with Peeta, listening to him read a book.

I greet them and they crawl into my lap.

"Mommy are we there yet?" Finnick asks impatiently, pouting a little.

I smile at his displeased expression; he was trying to act tough. "Almost, Finnick."

I was worried of what Annie's family would think of my son's name. I was nervous. Will they find it disgusting or see the respect behind his name?

Peeta senses my distress, and he catches my eye across the room. I shake my head, telling him not to worry.

After we get the kids all dressed we go out for breakfast.

They had made more trains like the ones we used going to the Hunger Games but these were all for public use. It was convenient and provided faster transport to other cities.

"Mommy why are we going to the water district again?" Rue asks.

"Fishing district," I quickly correct her. "We're going to see your grandma... and a few old friends."

"How old?" Finnick asks, his mouth full of egg.

"Old as in... the Hunger Games," Peeta fills in. This makes the kids' jaws drop, their eyes big.

How many times did I wake up in the morning, full of thanks that my children weren't born into the kind of world Peeta and I had lived in? To them, the Hunger Games was horrible history, a thing of the past. They were almost fictional to them, until they would see the videos when they're old enough.

To Peeta and I, the Hunger Games was a part of who we were. They were a part of our history; we had played a role in the bloodbath.

My children knew this was a dangerous and sensitive subject; they'd learned to stop talking about it. But I still see the older kids in High School, coming out of the schools with terror and fear in their eyes, after they're shown the recorded footage of the Hunger Games.

Rue has seen the book, but she doesn't fully understand. To her it is a historical picture book, and she barely notices anything but the elaborate drawings by Peeta.

After breakfast is done we all pack our stuff, ready to leave. We near District 4, and the saltwater smell of the ocean pollute the train. The children take it in with wonder, finding delight in the fascinating new smell. Peeta and I smile and play along, though inside we are screaming.