Hello there. I have just gotten around to read Game of Blame and I just wanted to tell you what a great job you did. My husband and I lost our son this past January and it truly felt like I was reading my biography at certain parts of the stories. I even had my own Delly that I needed to try and find a way to deal with. I’m not sure why you decided to tackle this topic but I just wanted to thank you for doing so and for doing such a great job.
Dear mrssherrange, thank you for this message, and I can only say how sorry I am for your loss. I really hope that time, faith or the love between you two and that of your friends and family can bring you the solace that you need. I cannot offer you much except for my inbox should you ever need to talk about it … I wish you all the happiness that the world can give you and the comfort of the little angel that is always looking down on you. There are not many things I’m sure about - but the fact that he is happy is a certainty in my heart!
A little drabble about Alba Mellark’s first day of pre-k. I hope you enjoy it :). Any mistakes are my own - the educational system works a bit differently here, so if anything sounds funny, blame it on the fact that I live far far away :) xxx
A little drabble about Alba Mellark's first day of pre-k. I hope you enjoy it :). Any mistakes are my own - the educational system works a bit differently here, so if anything sounds funny, blame it on the fact that I live far far away :) xxx
Mommy and Daddy said school would be fun. They said that I would play and make many friends and learn everything because I am very smart. But Mommy and Daddy never told me that I would have to play and make many friends and learn everything without them being there. So when they woke me up with kisses and helped me put on my go-to-school clothes and put Teddy Gabey in my go-to-school bag I was happy because I thought they were coming to school with me. But now Mommy and Daddy are saying goodbye and and they never say goodbye to me except when I go to Auntie Delly. But this is school and they’re going to leave me and I don’t want this so I hug Daddy’s leg and cry and cry and cry.
“Don’t leave me here! I’ll be good forever!” I howl as I cling to Daddy.
Mommy and Daddy look very sad and he bends down to hug me and Mommy tries to bend down as well but there is Baby-in-the-Tummy and he is always in the way. Daddy holds my face and gives me a lot of kisses. I like Daddy’s kisses but he still wants me to stay at school so I still cry. And cry and cry.
“Baby, sweetie calm down, school is fun, I promise. The room is full of toys and other children and you will spend all day playing with friends,” Daddy tells me as he dries my eyes with a tissue. But I’m still crying and my face will never ever be dry. And neither will the tissue I think.
“You and Moh-mee are my friends, Dah-dee,” I sob. “And Benny,” I add and look around but Benny is not here. He goes to Big Boy school but I’m a Little Girl I think because I’m only three and all I want to do is stay home and play and not go to school.
“But you’ll make other friends, Little One,” Mommy explains as she pulls me to her and kisses me also. “Do you think Mommy and Daddy would ever leave you in a place that is not fun?”
I don’t know the answer to the question so I cry some more and try to hug her. I wish Baby-in-the-Tummy didn’t make her tummy so big. I can’t reach anywhere.
A lady who is older than Mommy and Daddy and who seems round and fluffy comes to greet us and smiles at me and tells me that everything is going to be fine and that school will be fun. I’m tired of people telling me that school will be fun. I am telling them that I don’t want to go and no one cares so I stamp my foot and howl. This usually makes Mommy and Daddy angry and they give me Time Out and I want Time Out at home so I stamp and stamp.
Daddy turns to Mommy. “Maybe she’s too young … maybe I should get all the evening shifts so that I can spend the mornings with her …”
“We talked about this! But maybe you’re right … what if -”
“No Mr and Mrs Mellark, your daughter will be fine. She will come round in no time” says the fluffy, round woman and I sob that it’s not true. Nothing will ever be fine if I go to school!
Daddy nods and blinks a lot and then squats to give me one last hug and many many kisses. Then he turns me round and points to a clock on the wall. “These kisses will ast you through the day, and I will come back for you when the little hand of that clock hits the number three with the pink birds painted on it, I promise!”
“The little hand?”
“Yes.”
“When it touches the pink birdies?”
“That’s right.”
“Then you’ll come for me?”
“Yes.”
“Promise-promise?”
“Promise-promise.”
“How long does it take for the little hand to touch the birdies?”
Daddy smiles at me and I like Daddy’s smile. “Well Alba, clocks are magic. The more fun you have, and the more you play, the faster the hands go. So if you have all the fun in the world, the little hand will touch the birds in no time, and I will be back to pick you up!”
After one last kiss on the nose by Daddy, Round Fluffy Lady grabs my hand and leads me to a room and Mommy and Daddy wave goodbye and I think they’re crying and blowing me kisses and this makes me very sad so I go sit down on the carpet and hug Teddy Gabey and cry more while I wait for the little hand to touch the pink birdies. There are other children in my class but I don’t know their names because they’re not Benny. Some of them are crying like me and others are singing songs with Round Fluffy Lady and playing. There are many toys and many colours but my Mommy and Daddy are not here so I don’t care. The little hand doesn’t seem to move much and everything is very bad.
Then Round Fluffy Lady brings out a box and the children in my class all stick their hands in it and it is Play Doh! Play Doh is the bestestest thing in the world.
So I get up from the carpet and move to a little girl who is rolling Play Doh on the table and I ask her what are you doing and she answers I’m building a snow man.
“Do you wanna build a snow man?” she asks me.
And I think like Frozen and I tell her “Like Frozen!”. And she says yes and then I say yes! And then she asks do you want to be my best friend and I say yes and then we hop and we build a snow man with Play Doh. I show her Teddy Gabey and tell her that he’s my bestest friend and she shows me Gerry Giraffe because he’s her bestest friend. Then we hold hands and sing some more songs and dance a bit. I don’t know her name but maybe one day I’ll ask her because I think we’re going to be Friends Forever.
Then I cry a bit because when I open my lunch box I see that Daddy baked me cheesebuns and they are in the shape of Teddy Gabey and that Mommy gave me a box of grapes and she pulled out all the seeds so that I don’t cough and I cry because I miss them. Then Round Fluff Lady reads us stories and they’re nice stories. Then I yawn and we all yawn and then we drink milkie. After I finish the milkie I see that the little hand touches the pink birdies and Daddy is here!
I’m so tired that all I do is open my arms wide and he picks me up and I stuff my face under in his neck because there everything is safe and is not school and smells of bread and cake. Daddy carries me to the car and hugs me tight-tight and asks me about school but all I do is shake my head because I don’t want to talk. I just want cuddles and hugs and sleep. So when he tells me “Will you tell me about your day Little One?”, I just answer “Can I sleep in the big big beddie?” and fall asleep in the car before he buckles me with the seat belt.
When I wake up I’m all snuggled in the big big beddie and I’m very hungry so I walk to the kitchen and there I find Mommy who’s cooking spaghettis for me! Spaghettis are my favourite because even if I make a mess while eating them Mommy and Daddy don’t think I’m naughty. Because eating spaghettis is very hard.
Mommy hugs me and calls Daddy and they ask me about school. I tell them about Play Doh and my best friend. They think that I should ask her her name too. Then I remember something.
“Moh-mee, Dah-dee, the kisses you gave me did not last a whole day,” I tell them with a frown. Because it’s true. I used them all up while crying.
“Oh no!” Mommy says, “how many would you need you think?”
I open both hands wide. “As many as this,” I explain.
Daddy counts my fingers and nods. “So ten kisses then? But I think you need more, what do you think Mommy?” She nods her head thoughtfully.
“There is more than 10?!” I ask. Is this magic?
“Yes there is much more, but you need to go to school so that you will learn all about it ,” Mommy explains.
I think this through. “So I need to go to school to learn numbers?”
“Yes.”
“And to learn the name of my best friend?”
“Yes, Little One.”
I think both things are very important so when Daddy helps me up my chair and they sit down next to me so that we can eat the spaghettis I nod my head and tell them that I will go to school for a little bit until I learn everything.
Because after all, I think that being able to count kisses is very important.
Game of Blame Drabble following Belgium's loss against Argentina :(
And for those who are wondering, the song that Alba and Aidan are dancing to is this: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lvy3hKEsNd0
It took ten minutes for the flag to be folded, the streamers to be removed, and for the waffle maker to be moved from the counter-top, to the back of one of the least used kitchen cupboards. All signs of Belgium have been obliterated from our household, but as I look my husband’s hunched shoulders while he dejectedly washes the plates, I actually find myself missing it.
It had all started with so much hope though. Peeta had left early in the morning, to do the prep work in the coffee-shop kitchen and to open, in order to have the evening off with us. He texted me at half past eleven, telling me that he was leaving soon since Leevy, who handles the cash register, was running late. Knowing how excited he was about this game, I decided to surprise him. Upon arriving he found the living room decorated, and both Alba and Aidan squealing on the couch and tugging on the Belgian flag.
Let’s face it, if you can’t beat them, you might as well join them.
But Belgium are out of the World Cup now, and my husband is silent and miserable. I move silently behind him and wrap my arms around his broad chest while breathing in the clean scent of his t shirt. Finally that damn Stella Artois shirt is in the hamper and can be washed. Or destroyed. The jury is still out on that one.
“My husband is sad,” I coo, “what can I do to make him feel all better?”
All I get out of him is a sigh and a shrug.
“They made it very far,” I continue encouragingly as I coax him to turn around and face me, “they were very very brave!”
Jesus Christ. It’s like talking to a child.
“I know,” he replies sadly, “and Argentina are very very good, you know.”
“Hmmhmm,” I agree with a murmur.
“Like, they’re the best.”
I swear I see his chin wobbling, but I say nothing and instead give him a gentle kiss. What is it about sports tournaments that turns men into babies?
“I think I would feel better if we had sex,” he continues, even though he doesn’t seem totally convinced.
“Love, I cannot have sex with a human being whose chin is wobbling.” HIs only response is another sigh. I then decide to take on another approach and take his hand to lead him to the living room. Alba and Aidan are dancing in front of the TV to an annoyingly addictive song which Gale and Madge’s son, Jack, had danced in the end of year school concert with his class.
“Look at them, shaking their tushies, how can you be sad seeing them being so sweet?”
Peeta actually grins. They’re uncoordinated at best, and Aidan, still quite wobbly on his feet, keeps falling down and laughing at himself in glee. “They’re so cute it’s ridiculous,” he says, squeezing my hand.
“I’m a yummy, tummy, funny, lucky gummy bear!” sings Alba and Peeta walks towards them both and grabs them in a big hug.
“A yummy gummy bear? Is that what you are, babies?” he asks sweetly.
Alba nods happily and once more tries to follow the routine that is showing on the TV. “Three times you can bite me!” she sings and my husband’s head snaps up to catch my eye. He takes three steps to join me and looks at me in alarm.
“Why is my daughter allowing people to bite her three times?” he whispers worriedly.
I roll my eyes. “Babe, it’s a song. She’s been singing it non stop for the past three weeks, where have you been?”
“Well, there was the World Cup.”
“Does that mean that you don’t pay attention to anything else in the meantime?”
Peeta looks honestly perplexed. “Yeah, pretty much. That’s how it works, love.” He is grinning, but I’m not actually sure if he’s joking or not.
“Are my our children going to be fatherless for a month every four years?!”
“Or every two, I really need to find a good streaming site for the Eurocup!”.
“You’re a dork. Why are you a dork? Why do I love you?”
Peeta gathers me in his arms and kisses me in a way that still manages to make me flush and giggle. Oh for fuck’s sake. “Thanks for making me feel better,” he mumbles in my neck before blowing a raspberry that makes me squirm. “And you love me because I am a dork, don’t you?”
“And an idiot.”
“And an idiot, yes.”
“So does this mean that there will be no more World Cup now that Belgium is out?” I ask, allowing some hope to seep into my voice. We seem to have reached the end of the tunnel finally.
“We-eelll -”
“Are you serious?!”
“But see it this way … now I don’t really care who wins, so whatever the score, we can celebrate,” he explains, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.
I roll my eyes in mock anger and push him away. “We’ll see about that,” I tease and walk towards the TV to replay the Gummy Bear song. “In the meantime, you can just drool as I shake my booty!”
A Game of Blame drabble in honour of Belgium v USA :)
Just a little drabble because ... there is bound to be some drama at the Mellarks because of this game :)
Written very quickly so don't expect too much ;).
Aidan grins at me happily as he recognises the signs that are starting to show what his afternoon will look like. The television is on, the yellow, red and black streamers are hanging from the wall unit, and most importantly, the flag - which has almost replaced his blankie as a source of comfort and friendship - is draped on the back of the couch and ready to be wrapped around him for at least 90 minutes.
“Dadada!” he shrieks while he claps his hand in excitement when he sees me unfolding his “lucky” t-shirt. Alba is finishing her afternoon snack and her expression is more akin to tolerance than enthusiasm, but she gives me a wide smile anyway while she asks if we’re having chocolate waffles again for dinner tonight. I explain that it all depends on the outcome of the game, which is something that she doesn’t really understand, but doesn’t question anyway. She’s still at that very happy and fulfilling stage where she still believes that her Daddy knows best.
With Belgium advancing this far in the World Cup, Naan and Barley have agreed to allow me to watch the games at home with my children before taking on the evening shift at the coffee shop, and it’s an arrangement that I’m making the most of until the inevitable happens. I have no real hope that Belgium can win the World Cup, and with the game against USA starting in less than an hour, this might be my very last afternoon at home for a very long time. Today’s game feels strange - unlike my grandparents, I am born and bred American, so technically it should all be about Team USA, but there is something about Belgium that makes it feel like home to me. It is the homeland of my Bomma Lena and Bonpa Dries, the country where Katniss and I spent many happy weeks following our reconciliation, and also the place where she felt safe and secure enough to want to try for Alba. My family in Belgium, and the inheritance I received, is also the reason why Katniss and I could now move into a bigger house with a yard for our children to play around all summer. And let’s face it, all the US will be supporting Team USA today while Belgium has only … the Belgians cheering for it. ‘Murrica will just have to forgive me for this slight.
Or maybe it won’t have to, since my wife unexpectedly breezes in the house, carrying a bag full of caps, t-shirts, streamers and scarves with Team USA! printed on them. And a flag. Oh for heaven’s sake.
“Ba-abe?”
“Surprise, my love!”
“What is all this?” I sputter. Aidan is gaping at his mother while Alba hops excitedly around the bag which Katniss has tossed carelessly on the living room floor.
“What does it look like? It’s Belgium v USA in Brazil, and it will be Belgium v USA at the Mellarks as well,” she explains while pushing my streamers to one side in order to affix hers. Before I know it, and before I manage to protest, our living room is turned into a makeshift stadium with an invisible line that divides the side where I stand, with my Belgian colours, from where she stands with a lot of stars and stripes.
“Alba, sweetie, let’s get you all set for the game now shall we?” she sing songs while our daughter dives into the bag and starts digging for a cap that can fit her and her Teddy. Aidan toddles to his Mommy before taking a look at me, and my devastation must be quite visible because he turns back and hugs my legs before pointing to the Belgian flag that has been tossed to the right side of the couch. Wordlessly I wrap him up in it and carry him to the far right side of the couch. I make a big show of snuggling next to him before moving around a few cushions to strategically build a wall on the couch between our side and that created by my wife. Katniss and Alba are by now wearing matching T-shirts and caps, and their flag is covering one half of the coffee table. Teddy Gabey is also wearing a cap. I've been officially outnumbered.
Katniss grins when she sees my scowl and presses her lips to mine as the players start entering the stadium.
“Shouldn’t you be at work?” I growl.
“What can I say, I finally got into this whole soccer business,” she replies teasingly. She pokes at my chin and mimics my scowl in the way she does when either Alba or Aidan are pouting for something or other. I can’t stop myself from giving her tiny smile. “That’s better,” she whispers before meeting my lips for another kiss.
In the background, I can hear the Belgian anthem being sung enthusiastically by the players. “I will speak to you during half-time,” I inform her in mock seriousness, “until then, you watch your team, and I’ll watch mine.”
She shrugs and gives me a playful wink. “Sounds good to me love,” she quips, “oh! and one last thing!” She leans over the cushions and whispers seductively in my ear. “The best thing about today’s game is that whatever the score, one of us will have reasons to celebrate tonight when you’re back from your shift.” She emphasises that point by biting her lower lip and arching one eyebrow meaningfully. Alba and Aidan shout enthusiastically as the referee blows the starting whistle, but I can hardly hear them over the sound of the blood rushing right down … there. I discretely grab one the cushions from the “wall” and place it on my lap in order not to make my enthusiasm embarrassingly visible.
I was just informed that Perspectives has been nominated for a Nightlock's Reader's Choice Award and I just want to say that I'm very grateful :). And very shocked to be honest ... I never got nominated for anything before :). Thank you so much xxx. *hugs*
A Game of Blame drabble about Belgian Peeta and World Cup? I ´m really enjoying all the football -soccer banter on my dash. :-) Pretty please?
Your wish is my command :). This is unbeta'd and written while watching the actual game between Belgium and Algeria so it's actually a bit messy :). Enjoy xxxxxx.
As soon as I enter the living room I realise that I have been completely conned. When Peeta begged me oh so very sweetly to take the afternoon off so that we could turn the World Cup game between Belgium and Algeria into a “Mellark Family Party” I actually thought it was a great idea. Now all I see in our living is a mess made up of three Mellarks and black, yellow and red everything. Alba, my sweet girl whose only concept of colour is different shades of pink, is wearing a miniature version of the Belgian football gear, Aidan, my baby!, is actually wrapped up in a Belgian flag. The cheeks of both my children have been painted to match the living room, and unless my eyes fail me, they are snacking - concurrently - on fries dipped in mayonnaise and waffles covered in chocolate. Alba is sipping a drink from a bottle shaped like the Belgian most recognisable landmark, the statue of the pissing boy that inexplicably attracts millions of tourists per year.
“Peeta? What the hell?” I ask pointedly.
“What?” he murmurs as his eyes are stuck to the screen. The top left corner shows that Belgium are down by one goal. Uh-oh.
“Why is my girl dressed like a soccer player? Why is my son draped in a Belgian flag? Why are they eating waffles and fries for lunch and why is my daughter drinking from a Manniken Pis?”
“Because we are Belgian Moh-mee,” replies Alba earnestly. My husband flashes her a brief smile before he scowls at a Algerian player who seemingly had the gall to cross to the Belgian side of the field.
“Sweetie, we are not Belgian, we are American,” I start to explain patiently, before I’m cut off abruptly by her father.
“We’re part Belgian, love,” he interjects sweetly as Aidan toddles around and trips on the flag that I realise is now acting as a cape.
“I’m part nothing,” I reply tightly, “and our children are at most, one sixteenth Belgian, and only if you dive in the abyss of their gene pool!”
Alba stares at me blankly, and slurps loudly. That bottle needs to go.
“Moh-mee, Belgium are losing. Dah-dee says that Algeria is a bad bad place.”
“No it’s not -”
“Yes it is Alba, and you will never ever go there because they cheat at football.
“Benny says that this is soccer not football and that soccer is boring!” she pipes helpfully.
“Benny is a silly, bad boy and you are never to play with him again do you hear me?”
Alba gasps and her eyes fill with tears. She runs to me for help with the scrunched up face of a toddler who’s just about to have the mother of all tantrums.
“No baby, DAddy is joking and he’s just being silly. Don’t mind him sweetie pie,” I coo as I try to comfort her. “And Benny is right,” I add, glaring at Peeta, “we call it soccer here!”
“We call it wrongly then,” he growls. He then threatens the referee with things that four year old children should not be hearing and I decide that I’ve had enough already.
“Peeta I took the afternoon off because this was supposed to be fun!”
“It was supposed to be fun, until Algeria discovered that they could play football!”
“Soccer.”
“Whatever. You Americans don’t understand.”
“Since when are you not American?”
“Since I turned European, since Belgium are about TO - GOAAAAAAAAL!!!!!!!”
Peeta grabs Aidan who takes the opportunity to shout at the top of his lungs with his father. Alba and I stare at the boys in our life in slight disdain.
“Moh-mee, can we go to the swings? Can I wear pink?”
“We are leaving right now baby … run to your room, I’ll be there in a minute.” I walk to Peeta, who’s still celebrating with our baby, and grab him roughly by his t-shirt, which incidentally happens to be a Stella Artois advert and growl in his ear.
“I hope Belgium win, and you make celebratory sex worth it for me, because otherwise you will spend a very lonely night with just a waffle for company, do you hear me?”
Peeta stares at me in such shock that he misses the second goal scored by the Belgian side.
Oh thank YOU for reading! :) When I saw your post I was worried that you didn't like it :) I'm glad that you stuck it out until the end and that you enjoyed it! *big big big hugsssss*
