I'm Julia Gale. My middle name is after Aunt Prim, who I was told died... but I never found out why... huh. My mom and dad are Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark. I have a little brother who's name is Jacob. Jacob Rory Mellark. I hunt everyday in the woods. They aren't off limits, which is really good. I live in District 12, the coal mining district. All mines have been shut down from before I was born though, because of some kind of crazy wreckage. I don't know much about the history of Panem, the country that rose from the ashes of a place call North America. That statement is all I know. Other than that? Nothing. But that... that was years ago. Years. But now, I'm 23. Back when the 76th Hunger Games occurred, I was 13. That year, I noticed my mother and father both acting very strangely...
*NOTE. THE WHOLE STORY IS NOW A FLASHBACK.*

"Moooooom! Letter! Someplace called the Capitol from someone called Snow or somat like that!" I yelled out from The kitchen. As she ran in, I saw she was a bit dirty. Probably had been hunting again. Her brown hair was plaited to the side, and she was wearing a warm leather jacket, soft leather boots, greenish beige pants, and her bow was over her shoulder, with her brown leather quiver, which I made for her. I'm surprised she still has it, I made it pretty badly when I was 9.

"D-did you just s-say S-snow?" She gasped.

"Um... yep." I said turning the envelope over in my hands a few times. "Hey... Mom? If you know this guy, why would he have a letter that is from 27 years ago? And still smell like roses and- is that- blood?" I sniffed it cautiously and gagged. My mother paled.

"Check the date again. That can't be right." She told the twelve year old sitting at the little table. I checked again, flipped it a couple times, then shoved it in her face saying

"I'm sure."

"Twenty seven. No, no. That's the year that-" she was about to say something I know she was. She can't hide it. I looked at her, confused. She took a breath. Oh lord. "Check the date, exactly." she said with her eyes closed.

"Ehhhhh... May... 29. Wh-Mom? Mom!" I yelped. She was really pale in contrast with her dark hair.

"She fainted." I shrugged as my dad walked into the kitchen quickly. He looked pretty pissed. Oh well.

"No really?" he asked. He filled a glass with water and splashed it on her face. "Better get her up before the nightmares start." he said to himself. Then he noticed the letter in my hands. "Who's that from? Rory?" He asked, meaning my best friend. Rory Hawthorne Jr. After his dad, who I'm named after his brother. Why? I have no idea. I rolled my eyes.

"No. Smell. It smells gross. from 27 years ago!" I said. He stiffened, and took the letter gingerly.

"Roses and blood." he said. "Go to bed." he told me. I looked outside. ten o'clock. I walked upstairs and was about to lay down on my bed, but instead I heard some things that I don't think I was supposed to. First came the ripping of paper, then quick shuffling of more paper, dad was probably scanning the letter. Then came the screams. "Katniss. Katniss! KATNISS! WAKE UP! OUR CHILDREN'S LIVES ARE IN DANGER HERE!" he shouted angrily.

"WHAT?" I hear, then I hear more paper being shuffled. Then silence. "We're going back." She said. "Back to 13." she said again, louder this time.

"Katniss, no. You know we can't. I have something to show you." I could hear him dragging her into his paint studio. I smiled a bit because on of the floorboards was loose and I could see down to them if I pried it far enough. I looked down and just before they entered, saw all of the horrific paintings. They scared me. One was of a handsome young man falling, limbs flailing, bleeding, into a sewer ditch with slimy white creatures grasping him. I gasped.

I saw a beautiful painting, with white around the edges, which faded into green. There, were smudged colors, but I knew that they had to be flowers. I suddenly saw the brown mass of hair, entangled with them, but didn't look any further. I looked down, and saw a splotch of blood and a spear in the girl's stomach. I choked back a sob and a scream.

Another was of my aunt, I could tell. She was my age in the painting, and running around a huge yard with wounded patients, and then for a second I saw the paints move. I saw her mouth Katniss... I saw the paints move. She looked straight at me. She blinked, and mouthed to me- I still live. Far. Come child, and rescue me from the clutches of the evil one. The door opened and I screamed mentally. I knew that was my aunt. I saw her tell me something- from a- painting? and she's alive? Ok. I thought to myself. I slowly looked back down to hear an argument.

"Peeta! I told you, I hate them! Rue and Cato and Clove and Thresh and.. Oh Peeta." I saw her gasp. "Rue! No! No, Peeta, how could you? Rue..." she whispered the girls name quietly, no longer looking at any paintings. "The 74th Hunger Games were the worst days of my life, second and maybe third to our second games and the war." she broke into tears, before she looked around a little more. WHat the heck were the ... Hunger Games? Second games? "No. No! NO!" I watched my poor mother whimper as she saw the picture of her sister. She moved again, mouthing her name, and I think I saw her arm move towards her too. "Peeta. She- she moved." she pointed to the realistic painting with a shaking finger.

"Katniss. That's because, those aren't paints. It's a hologram." Momma was facing him, and I saw the girl in the painting vigorously shaking her head. She sank back into the painting after Papa blinked, sighing.

"No. It isn't true. You're just trying to convince me that she's still alive. My little Prim can't be alive, I watched her blow up you dimwit!" she yelled at him. B...Blow u-up?

"You're right girl on fire, I can't get anything past you." my mom calmed down a bit. She took a deep breath, and exited the room with Dad. The image looked up at me, winked, pointed to a girl on her right, then dissolved into canvas. No more movement. I shrugged a bit, and hopped down into the room below. I felt my feet sink into the soft leather of my shoes, the warm and tight material of my pants I felt stretch, and the leather jacket, quiver, and bow over my shoulder were repositioned. I looked at the girl in the painting next to my aunt. The painting I saw earlier. She had chocolaty skin, and tightly crimped dark brown hair. She was about as old as Aunt Prim. And I knew in an instant who it was.

"Rue?"

↠X↞

How was it? Tell me. Please.