Twisted Perfection ~ Everlark

After the end, it's a new start.

My mother always said there was no love like it. Greasy Sae always said there was no pain like it. When asked to describe the pain of it, my mother would smile sweetly and say, Katniss, just take all the drugs you can get. But Greasy was less coy; she relished telling me of the pain to come. 'It's like someone reaching inside you and pulling your guts out with their bare hands. It's like being ripped rather than cut. It's so intense that if you didn't know it would be over when the baby was born, you'd be begging someone to just shoot you. The only blessed thing, she said, is that the mind protects you somewhat from its memory, 15 hours of brutal agony will seem like 15 minutes when you recollect. And by then you'd have the memory of holding your new-born for the first time and all that medieval torture you went through will seem like a price worth paying and a distant memory. Yep, that's what Greasy said; never one to beat around the bush. 

But the pain was not torture like Greasy said it was. I know what torture feels like. I've felt worse pains; losing loved ones and grieving being the most. Prim's death loomed over me like a grey cloud full of rain, but it never went away, the cloud just lightened. It's a pain that ached and ached and ached inside my whole body, but I have to remember what Peeta told me one day: Pain is always there, but suffering is always a choice. I chose to suffer for a little while, and sometimes I still do. But with the love, hugs and kind words of Peeta and my sweet babies, I always get through it. 

My babies. My children. At first, it terrified me. Looking after a new life, when I had taken so many away from this world. But like the realists they both are, Peeta and Haymitch told me to let go, after I tried to hold her in me.  I was scared to deliver her into a world where she would hear the aftermath of my nightmares. But eventually, I let nature take over; it always wins anyway. 

Willow. We named her after the tree. The tree that had seen me starve, cry, mourn and shoot many times. It still sees me doing the latter today. It has always been something to lean on. There are hundreds of Willow trees surrounding the meadow. But beyond all those, there was now only one that I leaned on. My Willow. My gorgeous Willow. The young girl that wouldn't have to hug a bow to prevent her family from starving. That would never have to lose her brother Rye to an unnatural cause. Rye. We named our little boy after Peeta's grandfather. Peeta said he was a strong man, but gentle and noble; rather like Peeta I imagine. Carrying Willow felt impossible and terrifying. Carrying Rye was a little easier, but not much. 

In the end, the fear of them hearing my nightmares became a reality. She asked me one day why I scream in my sleep. I told her that I just became scared when my eyes were closed, that the darkness scared me. I thought it best to compare them to something not as scary as what they actually are. But I found a way to survive them. Peeta. 

My husband: he'd forever be my always. I don't know how I managed life without his love. If you ever fall in love, fall in love with someone who wants to know your favourite colour and just how you like your coffee. Fall in love with someone who would do anything to hear your laughter when they can't. Fall in love with someone who puts their head on your chest just so they can hear your heart beat. Fall in love with someone who places each of their soft palms on your face when kissing you. Fall in love with someone who looks into your eyes, like they're a pool of hypnosis. Fall in love with someone who would never want to hurt you. Fall in love with someone who thinks you're perfect just the way you are. That's what I did.

I feel in love with someone who never got tired of my chaos. Who found the colours to paint me, where the world had left me gray. Who paints flowers so they will not die. And who always paints with orange; the one he never has enough of. The one he uses to colour his sky.

If I loved him less, I might be able to talk about it more. I had simply never found someone so right. Sometimes this shocked me so much that I was unable to speak. If I loved him less, I might be able to talk about it more. How sweet it is to be loved by him.

They play in the Meadow. The dancing girl with the dark hair and blue eyes. The boy with blond curls and gray eyes, struggling to keep up with her on his chubby toddler legs. It took five, ten, fifteen years for me to agree. But Peeta wanted them so badly. When I first felt her stirring inside of me, I was consumed with a terror that felt as old as life itself. Only the joy of holding her in my arms could tame it. Carrying him was a little easier, but not much.

The questions are just beginning. The arenas have been completely destroyed, the memorials built, there are no more Hunger Games. But they teach about them at school, and the girl knows we played a role in them. The boy will know in a few years. How can I tell them about that world without frightening them to death? My children, who take the words of the song for granted:

Deep in the meadow, under the willow

A bed of grass, a soft green pillow

Lay down your head, and close your sleepy eyes

And when again they open, the sun will rise.

Here it's safe, here it's warm

Here the daisies guard you from every harm

Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true

Here is the place where I love you.

My children, who don't know they play on a graveyard.

Peeta says it will be okay. We have each other. We can make them understand in a way that will make them braver. But one day I'll have to explain about my nightmares. Why they came. Why they won't ever really go away.

I'll tell them how I survive it. I'll tell them that on bad mornings, it feels impossible to take pleasure in anything because I'm afraid it could be taken away. That's when I make a list in my head of every act of goodness I've seen someone do. It's like a game. Repetitive. Even a little tedious after more than twenty years.

But there are much worse games to play.

My nightmares are just dreams. So, I'm a dreamer, and he is my dream. Me and Peeta will always be. I'll never finish falling in love with him.

                          The end.