We ran until the screaming stopped, and when it sounded for the one hundredth time it was far away. I called the Mayor and he sent out a patrol, he said they wouldn't stop until they found Evan. He thinks it must of been Gale, and I believe him. Once I get my hands on Gale I swear I will kill him. Madge chokes on a tear while Ivy sobs. I would go over to pick up Ivy but I feel useless and un dependent. I should be the one-or we should be the ones finding our child. But I'm sure Gale was becoming dangerous. Why wouldn't they put him in Jail forever? I'm sure this is his last straw. I thought for once that we were safe. Safe. Safe. No. Back then Gale was my partner while hunting, the one who took care of my family. Now he steals one of my children, jealously is strong in him. He destroys our life, and destroys many around him. He's like Snow, the now and the present.
Peeta stands besides me shaking, Undersea comes out shouting for us to go home. Madge follows us, Ivy wanted her so. I was trying not to shake. I tightened my grip on Peeta's hand, to help it. Peeta was looking so distraught. "I can't believe him" Is the first thing I say when we make it inside. Madge's eyes glitter from tears, she walks down the hall into the children's room. Ivy follows her after looking at us with concerned eyes. "What do we do now?" I ask. "Well to get it off my mind I'm going to paint" he said. I look at him. He smirks, a half smirk. "Okay, I'll watch" I said.
We pass the room hearing giggles and laughter. At least I know Ivy is safe, in our house. I sit across from Peeta. Watching his strong arms graze up and down the canvas, for a moment I wish that canvas was my body. I swallow at the thought. He looks at with it such emotion. Even when tired I never fall a sleep. Peeta is such a good artist you can't miss how he does it. He turns it around at least a half hour later. I gaze at it for a while. I can't muster something to say about it.
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Everllark fanfic: Forever & Always
Fanfiction**WARNING CONSTRUCTION**I WROTE MOST OF THIS WHEN I WAS TWELVE-THIRTEEN. I HAD NO IDEA WHAT I WAS DOING HALF THE TIME I WAS AN O-K WRITER. AND TRUST ME IT GETS BETTER AS IT GOES (I'm 17 now) The cold air hits me, awakening my nerves. My piece of min...
