The Hunger games - I'm still breathing (Everlark)

Chapter 27

The last few hours of sleep we manage to get revive us both mentally and physically for the long day ahead of us.

We trudge through the forest hand in hand, both with empty stomachs. None of us seem to have an appetite today. The swishing of my black dress under my father's hunting jacket is the only sound we hear besides the sound of our own footsteps crunching through the snow.

The snow has transformed the woods. If I didn't know it like the back of my hand we could easily get lost in here. Familiar meeting points have been buried by the white blanket. You could miss them completely if you weren't paying attention.

I walk in a daze, stuck somewhere between the past and the present. Memories with Prim come flooding back one by one, like disjointed movie scenes. They leave me with a sudden warm glow of happiness inside. Until the present takes over and reminds me that I can no longer make any more memories with Prim.

Peeta doesn't say a word beside me; he seems astray in his own thoughts. Maybe he's thinking about his family. It's harder for him to walk in the snow with his prosthetic leg. It hides all the wandering logs and branches that trip him up. I keep my pace slow and steady so that I don't leave him behind. Every now and then he scans the area, checking over both shoulders.

"Are you expecting someone?" I ask. My voice is quiet but it still bounces off the empty tress and echoes through the air.

"No," he replies hastily. "I was just checking that there were no wild animals waiting to eat us in the tree line," he laughs nervously.

"There won't be any stupid enough to come out in this weather," I reassure him. I'm not wholly convinced that that was what he was looking for though. He's been acting so strange this morning. It could just be today though, this time last year wasn't a bundle of joy for either of us.

Were almost at the lake when I begin to hear them. I'm certain that they're coming from behind us. I stop in my tracks and listen. The forest stills, including the disquieting footsteps.

"Did you hear that?" I ask Peeta.

"Hear what?" he asks back, looking at me quizzically.

"Footsteps coming from behind us?"

He looks back over his shoulder to the direction we just came from, a frown furrowing on his face.

"No, maybe it's just our own footsteps echoing?" he suggests.

"Maybe," I mumble.

We carry on walking a few paces, I glance over my shoulders just to double check. There's no one there. But I'm positive I can hear more footsteps coming our way. Am I imagining them?

"Are you okay?" Peeta asks, squeezing my hand.

"Yeah, I'm fine," I smile at him, putting on a brave face. I don't want him to know that I'm hearing things again. I can't have a breakdown today, not on Prim's day.

I shut out the footsteps, emphasizing to myself that they are not real, they're all in my head. Or they're just mine and Peeta's footsteps echoing back at us, like Peeta said.

We finally reach the lake and find that Prim's picture has been completely covered in the snow. All that shows is the top of her blonde head. I bend down on to my knees and brush the snow off, revealing my sister's painted face still intact.

"How did you manage to get the paint to stick like that, even through all this weather?" I ask Peeta, marveling once again at his work.

"Dr. Aurelius sent me all my art supplies from the Capitol to help distract me from my flashbacks. There was a pot of this varnish stuff included. You're supposed to put it on over wood and it makes a picture more permanent," he explains.

"It's amazing," I whisper, running my hand along Prim's outline.

"I'll go and have a little walk around the lake while you read your letter to Prim," he says, crouching down and kissing me on the forehead. "I'm right here if you need me."

I smile at him gratefully as he retreats towards the frozen over lake. I didn't even have to tell him that I wanted to be alone with her. I turn back to Prim and take a deep breath, composing myself to try and get through the whole letter without crying.

"Hey, Little Duck. I've written a letter for you but it might take me a while to get through it so bear with me okay?"

It's no good; I can already feel the tears welling. I swallow them down and rub my eyes, clearing the blurriness so that I can make out my scrawny handwriting.

"I call you Little Duck but I suppose you're not really little anymore. You hadn't been little for a long time, however that's what you've always been to me.

Do you remember where you got that nickname? You were maybe three or four at the time and father decided to take us into the woods for the day. It was a Sunday so he wasn't working in the mines. He took us to the lake. We took it in turns to carry you because your little legs struggled to keep up with us. It was beautiful when we got there, the sun was shining and the Mockingjays were singing. A family of ducks waddling out of the lake had caught your attention. You stared at the mother and her ducklings, fascinated. You slowly walked over to them and crouched down to get a closer look. They weren't afraid of you. I think they could sense your gentleness, even at the young age you were then. They must have known that you were a healer in the making. You began to waddle along behind them, with your shirt un-tucked at the back as usual. You fit right in with them and it was like they had accepted you into their family. Father and I stood a few paces behind you, fondly watching on. I was the proudest big sister in the world that day. From then on you would always be my Little Duck."

I lay my head in my lap, unable to go on. The sobs hit hard and fast, hurting more and more with each breath that I take. My knees are numb from kneeling in the snow but I don't care, nothing else matters now. I scrunch the letter up in my hands and then begin to tear it into tiny pieces. I wish on every single piece for the roles to be reversed. For Prim to be here instead of me.

"Can you hear me, Prim?" I ask the picture.

Footsteps are coming up behind me and I know that Peeta will be holding me again soon. My shoulder to cry on.

Her voice reaches me before he does though.

"I think she can hear every word you're saying. She would have loved hearing that story you just told her."

A small gasp escapes from my mouth. Am I imagining that voice too now? I push myself up off the floor and whip my body around.

I'm standing face to face with my mother.