The Hunger Games - Extended Epilogue -- ON HOLD

Epilogue

Author's Note: 

This is the actual epilogue written by Suzanne Collins. This serves as a reminder of what it is that we do already know.

They play in the meadow. The dancing girl with the dark hair and blue eyes. The boy with blond curls and grey 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 is safe, here it is 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. And the book. 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 am afraid it could be taken away. That's when I make my 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.

Author's Note:

I'm sorry if you cried/died/are lying in a pool of tears thinking what to do with your life. I am. Again. Anyways, please vote and comment. This chapter belongs to Suzanne Collins, and no one else. So please, in the comments, don't congratulate me on my 'amazing writing skills' because they are not mine.

Love,

Your author,

Raquel