This is a snippet of my contribution to the A Candle For the Caribbean, being hosted by @loveinpanem Please, consider a donation to these wonderful charities to benefit the people affected by Hurricane Maria. With your contribution to A Candle For the Caribbean you will not only gain access to some great stories and art by multi-fandom authors and artists, you will be benefiting these islands who are still trying to recover from this disaster.Â
This story is set in my What If universe, directly after Peeta is flogged in the Square.
A heavy sigh escapes my lips as I swipe at my nose, trying to not let the tears fall from my already scratchy, puffy eyes. More tears wonât do Peeta any good. Just like my motherâs tears didnât do her any good when my father was killed. I remember her, curled up into a tight ball on her bed, sobbing for what seemed like days, until she cried herself out. That was the day her eyes took on that vacant, haunted look, nearly resulting in Prim and I starving to death.
Except, we didnât I think as a lone, petulant tear slides down my face. Prim and I didnât starve to death on that miserable, cold and rainy day in April, because the sweet, battered boy lying on the kitchen table behind me decided to help us, changing our world forever with two charred loaves of bread.
Thatâs all it took. Those two loaves of bread provided the spark for me to keep going. They provided the spark for me to remember what my father had taught me about finding food in the forest. They provided the spark for me to survive, to want to survive.
Just the smallest spark, can light the dark. Thatâs how you change the world.
An old song my father used to sing jumps into my head. It, like many others, was one he only would sing while in the depths of the forest, as he felt the lyrics were too revolutionary to be heard while at home or in Town.
Itâs the kind words
A simple smile
More than showing up
Going the extra mile
Itâs giving everything
When youâve got nothing left
Sharing a little hope
With a single breath
Thatâs how you change the world
âKatniss!â I hear from behind me, startling me from my thoughts. I turn to see Peeta fidgeting, trying to turn his head so he can see me. âKatniss? Where are you?â
âIâm here!â I say in a loud whisper, sweeping around the front of the table to take his hand, warming it between my own. I sit back onto my chair, crouching down to rest my chin on the hard, wooden surface.
âIâm sorry. I was stoking the fire.â
âYou were singing,â he says in a raspy voice. âI could hear you.â
I gulp, my blood going cold at the thought of what President Snow would do to us if he heard me singing that song. âIâm sorry if I woke you.â I brush a wayward curl off his forehead, leaning over to kiss the same spot. âYou should try to get some more sleep.â
He shakes his head, as well as he can while lying flat on a table. âNo. I want you to sing some more for me. Please?â
A spike of fear stabs my heart, followed directly on its heels by a surge of protectiveness and anger. Fear is exactly what Snow wants me to feel right now. Well, if thatâs so, then I choose to not fear. If he wants me broken, I choose to be whole.
At least for right now, in this moment.
âHow about I tell you a story instead?â I whisper.
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One week ago, @andthisisthewonder was the first writer to give our crazy challenge a go ...
Here are the lines she was given to start with :
After six years of radio silence came the call Katniss Everdeen had been dreading for years. Her mother, the last living member of her family, was dead.
Though it had been six years since Katniss had fled her hometown of Panem, she knew she had no choice but to come back and take care of her motherâs possessions, sell her house, get rid of the last vestiges of the life she once knew.
No other directions, or clue. Just her imagination.
If you want to know what she came uo with, itâs under the cut ...
After six years of radio silence came the call Katniss Everdeen had been dreading for years. Her mother, the last living member of her family, was dead.
Though it had been six years since Katniss had fled her hometown of Panem, she knew she had no choice but to come back and take care of her motherâs possessions, sell her house, get rid of the last vestiges of the life she once knew.
-------
Amongst her motherâs possessions, she found a small dented metal box she had never seen before. A combination lock hung through the loop. Katniss was about to set it aside for later investigation when she noticed the five numbers the lock had been set to. It was Primâs birthday.
With an ache in her chest, Katniss pulled on the lock and it popped off in her hand. Inside the box was a mess of mementos and pictures that only worsened the pain. A pale pink ribbon, a painted rock covered in purple hearts, a family picture from that brief, happy period of Katnissâs life when she had belonged to a family of four. Before her father was killed in a work accident. Before Prim was struck by a drunk driver.
Before her mother had slit her wrists.
Katniss was ready to lock the box and drop it into the single cardboard box of her motherâs possessions that she would allow herself to take. She didnât want these pictures, these memories, but it felt wrong to throw them in the trash. Instead, she would tape the box closed, take it home, and shove it into the furthermost corner of her closest where it would sit untouched, except for a layer of dust.
A blond head of hair caught Katnissâs eye before she could close the box. It was short hair, neatly slicked back. It couldnât be Prim or her mother. They had always worn their hair long. Katniss dug beneath the pictures of her childhood and found a cracked framed photograph of her mother as a teenager, standing in a dark blue dress with a corsage on her thin wrist beside a man who bore a striking resemblance to Katnissâs ex-boyfriend.
Peeta.
Peeta who she hadnât seen in six years, not since she had run into him at the grocery store the day before Thanksgiving his junior year of college. He hadnât spoken to her, had barely looked at her when her cart had nearly collided with his in the produce section. She still remembered how his glare had ripped her open, still remembered all the things she wanted to say: Iâm sorry. I lied. I still love you. I never stopped.
But she hadnât said a word. She couldnât. Not after the argument they had had two years prior, almost to the day. His last words to her had been unimaginably cruel, but she had deserved them. After all, her last words to him had been a lie.
But she had done the right thing. She knew she had. Even now, kneeling on the stained carpet in her motherâs bedroom, completely alone, she still believed she had saved Peeta from himself. He had been ready to drop out of college, giving up his scholarship in the process. He had been ready to give up his entire future just so he and Katniss would no longer be five hundred miles apart.
She couldnât let him come home to a mother who treated him so coldly, to a father who turned a blind eye, to a small town he would never escape from. She loved him too much for that. When Rye had called her and told her Peetaâs plan, she knew she had to do something drastic, something cruel, to keep him from making the biggest mistake of his life.
So she did.
She tried to push Peeta from her mind, but it was impossible when she was staring down at his father. She had no idea Mr. Mellark had taken her mother to prom. Had they dated? Had they been in love? Her mother hadnât met her father until after high school, but she had remained tight lipped at any boyfriends that came before. A few months after a whirlwind courtship, she and Mr. Everdeen had married. No couple had ever been happier or more in love. This metal box had the wedding pictures to prove it.
Katniss popped open the frame, careful not to break the glass further. Maybe she could find a new frame for it and deliver it to Mr. Mellark. He might appreciate the memory. His wife wasnât around to disapprove. They had finally divorced last year.
The picture of her mother and Mr. Mellark fell into her lap, heavier than a photograph should be. Katniss flipped it around and found a key taped to the back underneath four numbers carefully written in black sharpie. She didnât recognize their significance, or have a clue as to what they meant, but something stirred within her, a memory or a thought she couldnât pin down. She had to know what the numbers meant and what the key was for.
If you wxant to know what @mtk4fun wrote after ... stay tuned :)
A HUGE and MASSIVE thanks to all the writers who wrote, write, will write for this challenge :)
Up to the lovely @peetabreadgirl to follow on our crazy idea.
After @sandyeyes, PBG only had at her disposal the last lines of what had been previously written ... as usual :)
Itâs under the cut :)
She settled her head back in his lap and watched her index finger trace the imaginary outline where her lips had been. Peeta's head fell back on the seat and he expelled a deep breath from his lungs, his fingers continuing their soft ministrations on her scalp. It was so relaxing. Her eyes closed and she let her hands rest on his thighs, fingers clinging to the belt loops of his pants. They'd learned something strange at the bank, and now Katniss wanted comfort from the only arms she'd ever cared to receive it from. And she wanted to give it in return, if he'd take it.
Lightly, her fingernails scratched at the skin of his lower stomach. She waited, her stomach a flutter of unsettled nerves until she felt the swelling of his manhood under her cheek. She licked her lips in anticipation of having him again. She'd missed him so much.
Carefully, she released the metal button from the hole, letting his pants fall open a little. She looked up at him for any signs that she should stop, that he didnât want this. What she saw in his eyes was pure need, and she felt his hips flex ever so slightly. She hooked her finger above the zipper and applied pressure, dragging it down until it wouldnât go any further, then sliding her flattened palm up his hard shaft. He groaned, lifting his hips to push his clothing down, his cock springing free with the movement.
Katniss looked at the swollen member, memories of their times together flooding back. Reverently she traced it from root to tip, swirling her finger around the head. She couldn't believe she was here again, with him.
Peeta shivered and tightened his hold in her hair, but she wasn't about to rush this.
Wanna know what happens next ? It will be up to @burkygirl
After @andthisisthewonderâs entry , to which @mtk4fun added her piece , @finnicko-loves-anniec did hers, @xerxia31 added to the craziness of the story.
Please keep in mind she had NO clue what was written before - save for 1the very first lines of the story, and @finnicko-loves-anniecâs last lines⊠So ⊠wanna see what she came up with?
itâs under the cut.
Katniss nodded. âI didnât realize they knew each other.â Her fingers brushed against Peetaâs as she skimmed her fingers over the image, and his blood felt like ice. âWhat do the numbers and the key mean, Peeta?â
Peeta shifted, almost flinched really, breaking the contact between their fingers, and Katniss let her hand fall into her lap. She tried to pretend that it didnât hurt, his reluctance to touch her even that innocently. Even that fleetingly. After all of this time, she should be over the effect he had on her.
Should be, but clearly wasnât.
His brows furrowed, and he flipped the small, tarnished brass key over and over, the lamplight catching it with each revolution. Katniss watched, making no attempt to touch the key, or him, keeping her hands tightly fisted in her lap. There were no markings that she could see, nothing to indicate where it could possibly have come from. No way to know why her mother had kept it.
âI think,â he said finally, âThat this is a key for a safety deposit box.â
Katniss scowled, looking again at the key that was now still, lying flat on the palm of his large hand. She supposed it could be a bank key, but it also could be a suitcase key or a bicycle lock key or a key for any other damned thing, and something about his tone, his almost certainty, rubbed her the wrong way. âWhy do you think that?â she asked, almost managing to keep the pique from her voice.
Almost.
Peeta frowned, then closed his fist around the bit of brass, taking several deep breaths. She watched his eyes flutter shut, could almost hear him making a slow count to ten in his mind. When he finally reopened his eyes, he fixed them on her own, and the blue fire she saw in them was almost enough to make her run again. But she couldnât, not this time. She could only hold his gaze and listen to the hammering of her heart in her ears.
His mouth opened and shut several times, as if he couldnât decide what to tell her. It was beyond frustrating, Katniss could remember a time when he told her everything, she knew he was remembering too. But those days were long gone.
Finally, he shook himself free from whatever internal debate he was having, and dropped the key unceremoniously onto the table. âI know itâs a safety deposit box key,â he clarified, his voice flat, tired sounding. âI know because I found one just like it in my fatherâs things.â
Next one will be @nancymay - stay tuned on @loveinpanem
This time, itâs up to @nancymay to pick up where @xerxia31 left the story.
Just like the other writers, @nancymayâ was given the very first lines of the story and @xerxia31ââs last words :
â Finally, he shook himself free from whatever internal debate he was having, and dropped the key unceremoniously onto the table. âI know itâs a safety deposit box key,â he clarified, his voice flat, tired sounding. âI know because I found one just like it in my fatherâs things.â â
Want to see what happens next?
itâs under the cut...
Katniss reached out, her fingers fumbling as she tried to pick up the key. It was really a very non-descript piece of dull metal. Something that could easily be lost again, dropped down the back of a chair or forgotten at the bottom of a drawer. It could be that easy to leave all this behind.
But there was the challenge of those suspicious eyes, watching from across the table for her next move. He wasnât going to volunteer any more of his story; not without some sort of a fight. âSuits me,â she muttered and pushed back her chair. Swinging her mane of dark hair over one shoulder, she reached back to untie the leather cord that always stayed around her neck. Â Briskly, she pulled the locket out from her shirt, pretending not to care what he thought about her still wearing it, and threaded on the key so they clinked together.
She raised her eyes to his defiantly. âFor safe keeping.â
He still wouldnât speak to her. He had said too much already.
âI suppose a visit to the bank is called for then,â she sighed, her energy sapped by his resistance. âWill you walk with me at least...Please?â
It was her pleading that broke his resolve.
On the way, they had to pass by the park. It had been changed, fewer trees and more play equipment. Less places to hide. âRemember how weâŠ.â kept starting in her head, but there was no point in that. She was sick of it; this whole day and the way things were between them. She kicked at the gravel, dragged back to a much younger version of herself. âFuck it,â she thought, there was nothing to lose anyway. âIâll race you!â she picked up her speed a little turning to see his puzzled expression.
âFirst one to the swing is the winner!â
He shook his head, but couldnât help a small smile from sneaking out.
âScared Iâll beat you?â she taunted and jogged in place, before setting off.
âFuck it all,â she thought and let herself run. Her boots were heavy but she pounded down the path, pumping her arms, the locket and key hitting her chest with each stride.
Blind to the looks of joggers, she sprinted past them helter skelter, focused only on her own race. She could practically hear young Katniss, laughing at her breathlessness and how weak she had grown. Â Approaching the swing set, all she could see was a blur of red through either her sweat or tears. She seriously wondered if she had started to lose her mind, as well as everything else that had been taken from her. Until he passed her, his familiar lolloping gait rousing her spirit. No way was he going to beat her now. She gave a last spurt, brushing his shoulder as she made it past him to the prize. First to sit on the swing.
He fell down on the grass at her feet, hands thrown back over his head, chest heaving, and peered out from under his arms. Of course she had beaten him. He sat up and rubbed his damp hands through his hair, realising he was glad that hadnât changed.
âYou always have to win donât you Everdeen.â
âIf you think Iâve won, then tell me,â she gasped, still barely able to speak. âWhat did you find in your fatherâs deposit box?â
---
Next entry will be the doing of @titaniasficsâ ... Stay tuned :)
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Well, itâs now up to @sandyeyes to continue the story :) Just like the other writers, she had no clue whatsoever happened before :) Just just had @hutchhitchedâs last words to give her directions ...
Just a quick word to let you know the LAST writer is writing the LAST piece of this story right now (chapter 15) ... so expect more regular updates from now on.
Now, under the cut shall we ?
Peeta didnât say anything, but a corner of his mouth twitched as he stared at her shoes. Katniss followed his gaze, and saw a small bird pecking at the crumbs of their lunch. âYou sure about that?â
She shifted, trying to put some distance between herself and the bird, but the movement sent it fluttering away. âIt left,â she said flatly, refusing to meet his gaze.
âBut it approached you. It felt safe with you.â
âIt was hungry, Peeta.â
She felt her hand come to rest on top of hers in her lap. âSo am I.â
Instinctively, she flipped it over and slotted her fingers through his. âYouâre lame,â she muttered.
âYou love it,â he teased back, jostling her shoulder.
She squeezed his hand, then leaned back on the steps, staring up at the cloudless sky. The bright blue that greeted her was almost blinding, but she could make out a plane coming from the west. It would fly right over the house, but none of the passengers would know it was there. They might see dark shapes, might guess they were flying over a small town, but the specifics were insignificant. They had better places to see, to be. Just like her.
She turned to look at Peeta, and was unsurprised to find that he had leaned back as well, and was watching her. âCâmon,â she blurted out, and sprinted back into the house. Peeta followed, holding fast to her hand. They ran out into the garage, and she finally let him go to unlock her car. Popping the trunk, she began to rummage through the boxes.
âWhat are you looking for?â Peeta asked, but she shook her head.
âI donât know,â she said. She wanted something meaningful, but disposable. Something she could tear and shred and burn, a final âfuck youâ to the life she thought she had left behind. All that remained, though, were things she had already decided to keep. Everything else had long been thrown away or donated. She slammed the top of the box she was rifling through, and collapsed against it.
She felt Peetaâs hands on her waist, pulling her upright, and into his embrace. She stood frozen, his arms against his chest, as he squeezed her comfortingly, his thumb sweeping the stretch of skin between her neck and shoulder.
They swayed softly, back and forth, and Katniss felt the fight leave her body. As if Peeta could sense it, he uncurled one arm from around her waist, and guided her to his own car. He climbed into the backseat, then reached an arm out to her. She crawled in, closing the door behind her, and curled up with her head in his lap.
âThanks,â she said, as his fingers stroked her hair. Then, impulsively, âYouâve always been my best friend.â She pulled his shirt up a little to kiss his stomach, and sighed.
Next one in charge of writing will be @peetabreadgirl :) Stay tuned !
Once more, Love in Panem is inviting authors to join in the fun of our September challenge.
We called the challenge âCadavres Exquisâ, which is a French-born literary genre (you had to be French to create such madness.) You can find everything about it here : https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Exquisite_corpse
We at Love in Panem thought ⊠why not? Why not create a collective work, based on Everlark, with the input of every writer who would like to join in the fun? That could make the hell of a (very crazy) story.
So weâre going for it.
The principle is very simple. Each author will be given a very tiny amount of world building, and the last two sentences the previous writer created.
From then on, each author will have two days (2, 1+1), and a maximum of 500 words to come up with the next part of the story, and email it - email ONLY - to [email protected].
Why by email? Cause only one person will have the access to the whole story.
No worries, though. Weâll keep the fun going by posting each entry one week after it has been submitted, so the readers can enjoy the madness that will surely come out of it. Imagine starting a fic that talks about fluffy white rabbits, then turns out to be a shark in a tornadoâŠ
Do you feel crazy enough to join us? if so, message [email protected] or @loveinpanem.
If there are dates you absolutely canât write tell us, so we can schedule you accordingly.
Weâve all been there. Reached the end of a story to realize it's marked incomplete. Waited for updates of a favourite story that never came.
Until the realization hits that the fic has been long abandoned.
Some of us even have one of these fics. One that isnât done, but we canât find it in us to actually finish it.
If youâre one of them, this challenge is for you.
Yes, you. You, who have ideas about how to finish that story youâve been waiting ages for updates, because you know how you would like to see it done.
Yes, You. You, who would like to see how your fic ends - because you canât finish it, or don't want to finish it, or just don't know where you were going to take it in the first place.
How does this work ?
First of all, pic the fic you want to finish - and contact the author to ask for permission to finish her/his fic. Weâll need proof that youâve tried to reach said author, and the reply if there is one. (Proof to be sent by message to @loveinpanem.) Â Then go for it! Write your ending in a single fic, or in a multi chapter one!
Maybe some of you are writers who have given up on a fic because youâve moved on to something else, or donât want to go back to something you have no more ideas for. If you want to give your fic up for adoption, we will take it and hopefully, someone will finish it !
You can even finish a fic for @mores2slâ - we will post snippets of it on the Third Weekend of July.
Welcome to the July challenge, Tributes. Submissions will be posted as they arrive.