Maybe Foxface Is The Real Opponent Here~

EPILOGUE

Watching my daughter die was the hardest thing I've ever had to do. Talon, my oldest son, died age sixteen, and my baby girl Finch was fifteen. If they were both alive today, they'd be twenty-one and seventeen. It's been two years since the 74th Hunger Games, and this year it was announced there wouldn't be any more. 

My two children died for nothing.

Talon, he was so handsome, so strong, and Finch, so shy, so clever. Talon had a girlfriend. Seylin. Beautiful, with raven black hair and sapphire blue eyes. She's refused to ever be anyone's girlfriend since he died. And Finch, well, I don't really know. When the two victors from her Hunger Games visited our District, they told me she was the cleverest in the whole arena. My Finch!

Talon was one of the smartest in his school, handsome and strong. We had hope when he was chosen for the Games. But then the boy, Gloss, slit his throat.

And now I'm alone. My wife, Aneah (An-eh-a) couldn't handle Talon's death and killed herself when Finch was about twelve. It made a lasting impression on Finch, so she never really socialised, always getting angry when people gave their apologies about Aneah and Talon.

Finch's favourite things were:

~Quizzes and puzzles

~Nature

~The tire swing by our house

~Sorting things into precise order

~Building birdhouses for the remaining birds.

She was perfect. They both were.