I look my mom in the eyes. Her brown hair and gray seam eyes are serious and turning a darker gray by the moment.

“No.” Her voice is tough and strong and gets a slight growl with the emotions running through her. Her hands grip my arms and I can feel the blood stop where her long fingers rest on my thin arms. Her grip tightens momentarily.

“Mom.” My voice is firm. “I’m Sixteen. I can handle it.” My mom’s eyes sag and her shoulders droop with a weight I can only imagine. Suddenly she looks so much older than I have ever seen her.

“Besides you were my age when you went out hunting.” She at least told me this much about her past.
“Those… were desperate times.”
She looks at me and I can see my reflection back in them. My hair is a deep brown like my mom’s but my eyes- they re a bright blue like my Dad’s.

When I was younger my mom would take me into her arms and tell me, “Oh honey.” She would rock me in her arms. “Your so much like your father.”
And she would sing a song called, the hanging tree.

I hold up the book I found in her closet and say, “I want to know more about the Games. And My Aunt, Prim. Rue. And Even Finnick.” The book flops open in my palm and a flower the color of a bright orange sunset appears. I show it to her and my moms eyes open wider than they normally would.
My mom.

Katniss Mallark.
Her surname?
Katniss Everdeen.
The towns talks about her in hushed whispers and fear. But they respect her for reasons that I had yet to fully understand.
The door opens to the bedroom and my Dad enters. His gold hair shines in the florescent light and his blue eyes immediately train in on the book and flower on the page.
My dad.
Peeta Mallark.

A small sad smile spreads across his face. He walks over to us huddled on the bed and grips my mom’s hands pulling her in closer until they both stand. They wrap their arms around each other and I hear Dad say,
“We knew it would be time, Sooner or later.”
When they both pull apart they bring in my brother, Thom. He has blond hair like Dad and gray eyes like Mom.
We all sit on the bed as Mom explains the smallest details and moves on to the bigger ones.
We learn about the Games in school. Where they used to sacrifice children who used to kill and fight each other.

Mom was in that.

Dad was in that.

They have both suffered dearly and have paid a great price. Dad leads us to his painting room- a room we have yet to see.
Dad stretched on his toes and pulls down a key to unlock the room.
The door swings silently open and we enter.

When we step into the room there are great pictures and terrible deathly ones also. Blood curdling ones and light soft ones. Colors of every shade stare me in the face.
Thom picks one up and its mom. She has soft features and she’s beautiful and younger. Her eyes are reflecting the mocking jay bird that she played, and her lips are lush and full.

“I’m so sorry.” The words escape my lips before I can stop them. “I’m so very sorry.”
But I don’t really know what I’m sorry for whether it be the pain that they have suffered or from taking for granted how safe I am.
Mom and Dad both move forward and embrace me into their arms. Dad smells of bread dough and sugar, while mom smells like the outdoors and grass.
Thom joins us and we sink to the floor in the painting room in each others arms and comfort.

As if by some unspoken command we all turn towered the book and open its pages.
Mom tells me of Prim my aunt whom I’m named after, The handsome Finnick Odar, and Rue.
“But why is there a random flower that’s orange?” Thom points to the flower and we both look to Dad who is the artist in this family.
“The sunset orange is my favorite color. The flower is an Evening primrose, and the green stem you see is your mom’s favorite color.”
“My namesake.” I breathe and touch the flower in the book. The texture of the flower is slightly rough under my fingertips.

I close my eyes and put all the stories of Prim I can together in my head. My Aunt, A flower, My namesake.

Evening Primrose Mallark.
That’s me.
And my story,
Well… it’s just begun.
If you’re looking for a fairy tale you won’t find one.
If you’re looking for some kind of happy stories, look elsewhere.
Fairytales, and happy endings? They don’t exist in district twelve.