Running Wild

Told from the view of Katniss and Peeta's daughter: Rue Primrose Mellark about life in District 12, the people we left behind at the end of Mockingjay and the new improved government of Panem.

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1. Chapter 1

I am the girl with brown hair and blue eyes. My eyes aren't blue like father's, they're grey blue, a mix between mother and father. My brother has blonde hair, and grey eyes. Proper grey eyes. I'm a lot like mother, short patience, I make rash decisions and find it hard to look at injured people. I do, however, posess father's amzing skill of being able to move people with my words, I write my words down. I really want to be a writer someday. I write in a navy notebook imprinted with a bronze Mockingjay on the front. That seems to be the most popular design at the moment. Being able to use my words has gotten me out of trouble numerous times.

If I'm not writing down my thoughts in my notebook, then I'm out hunting with mother. That's why I think i might be mother's favourite. I have a lot of fathers qualities but I have that Old District 12 feel about me, or so I'm told. We hunt in the forest. As we do it so much mother gave me her bow she used as a teenager. It has the perfect tension and I'm almost as good as mother now.

We don't need the meat we catch, so we give it to Greasey Sae, folks say she's been around forever. She cooks it up into a stew for the people who don't always have time to cook something nice. Every half moon Greasey Sae and everyone else all cook lots of food for our monthly banquet held in honour of all the dead in the town square. We eat loads and then father makes a speech. It's always very appropiate to the reason we're gathered. Father says that when I'm 18 I'll be able to make a speech too.

At school, we prepare for the feast by making decorations and cooking small sweet appetisers. I'm not very good at cooking. You'd think I would be, since father's a baker. But I seem to lack in the ability to create bread. I can make a burnt  bread out of natural findings in the wood over the open fire, and I can cook the meat we hunt. Mother and father say that's all we need to know to survive when it comes to food.

Sometimes I'm allowed to do my schoolwork in the meadow. My favourite place in the whole world. The teacher lets me because I concentrate better and I am one of her star pupils. Not to mention I'm the daughter of two surviving victors. Victors were the survivors of the slaughter game: The Hunger Games. It saw one girl and one boy from each district fight until there was only one winner. It doesn't happen anymore but children are still told tales about it. To warn them, to keep them safe. Who knows.

Mother showed me on rainy nights the book of people. I particulary like to look at Auntie Primrose. She was so slight and small. So brave when it came to injuries. I think she's wonderful. And then I look at Little Rue. She was like a bird, and knew plants better then mother. I'm named after both of them. Rue Primrose. My brother isn't allowed to look at it yet. Father thinks it'll give him nightmares. So I look at Cinna and Finnick instead. And I tell him about them. I met Finnick's widow once. Annie. She told me to never forget those who you love most. I'm not sure entirely what she meant by that. But I know I trust her. I've got her phone number, but we rarely call each other. Her and Finnick's child, Maggie Odair is beautiful. Apparently she was named after the victor who sacrificed herself so father could survive the Quarter Quell. It seems all of us children are named after dead loved ones.

I also look at the book of plants, I've added the few I learnt at school. Father taught me how to paint the petals carefully so it wouldn't bleed onto another page. Father seems to know everything about drawing. he bought a set of different grades of pencils so he could produce drawings and paintings he gives to people. Sometimes I don't like what he paints. Of the dead people dancing in the flames or a sinister man with white hair giving a speech. He says they're memories. If they are, I'm glad they aren't mine.

For my 12th birthday, mother gave me her Mockingjay pin. It seems to be her lucky charm in a strange sort of way. It used to be her best friends, who gave it to mother in the first Hunger Games she competed in. Mother told me I could influence thousands of people with that pin. Let's hope I do it for the right reasons....

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