Hey guys! So this is my first fanfic, so feedback would be awesome! I'll try and update as soon as I get some feedback! :)
Right now this is in Peeta's POV but that may change, I haven't decided.

I do not own The Hunger Games, unfortunately.

Are you, are you
Coming to the tree?

She's screaming.
Every day. Every hour, a new wave of screams reverberate off the cold, damp concrete walls that encase me.
Every second. My bones, my muscles, my head. My entire body throbs with pain. I scream, but only a strained whisper whistles from my aching throat. I screamed myself hoarse the first week and never seemed to regain the ability to really scream. But that doesn't stop me from trying. Those controlling my current schedule don't exactly give me a respite period very often, or ever for that matter, for my voice to heal.

I close my eyes and remember the dead.

I almost can't stand to close my eyes when she is screaming, because when I do, my imagination runs away with me. I can't help but visualize what they could possibly be doing to her to make her scream like that. Some of it must be a recording. There is no way she would still have the physical ability to scream like this.

But now, when I close my eyes I am thinking of Wiress. During the Quell, when her throat was slashed, I felt sadness. Fear. Anger. Pity. Now when I think of that moment, I feel envy. Oh, to die quickly. How I wish that was an option for me- for us- now. Or at least before they began this torture regimen.

I can almost hear Wiress's nervous mumbling.

Tick tock, Peeta. Tick Tock.
I smile and slowly open my waterlogged eyes.
This is not just any clock.

This clock was designed especially for us, Katniss and I.
Or maybe it's meant for only her. She is the mockingjay after all. And what am I? Who exactly are they trying to break? What else do we have left that they could possibly use against us? Oh, that's right. We have each other. That is why I wish death would come soon, to one or both of us. Then they would not be able to use us anymore and we can live or die, no, die- I wouldn't want to live- in peace.

I've had copious amounts of time to myself to compile a list of the many hardships the capitol has caused me.

They've put me in the Hunger Games.
They've crippled me.
They've massacred our friends and family, just as they've massacred 23 children every year for the past 75 years: Mercilessly and without remote hesitation.
They've cracked open my head, stolen my memories, delicately weaving and re-shaping them into intricate nightmares that consume my entire being.
They've turned me into a weapon.
A hazard.
A pawn.

I am no longer my own. I am theirs. And therefore I am nothing. They have her. Therefore I have nothing.

Are you, are you
Coming to the tree?
Where the dead man called out for his love to flee.

Katniss Everdeen is the sole human being I have left in the entire world, and I suppose I must be for her as well, now that she is gone.
Prim.
Primrose. A single flower, ripped from the earth, engulfed in fire, disintegrating to ash.
I didn't actually see Prim die. After about a week or so of being confined to a cell, Snow came and told me himself. He told me that many capitol children also died in the explosions. He claims that the bombs were not capitol created, but engineered by rebel forces. He assures me that he would never waste a drop of innocent capitol citizen blood on purpose. He made me watch extremely graphic videos of unnamed children being blown to bits, some reduced to a thick pink mist. He had peacekeepers inject me with caffeine and attach a contraption to my head that fit between my eyelids, prying them open, not allowing them to close.

"This, Peeta Mellark, is the result of rebellion. This," He gestured to a little girl in a pink polka dot dress with a ribbon in her already dyed purple hair, no older than 5, being blasted into at least 8 different pieces, "Is what Katniss Everdeen had you fighting for"
Shiny memories eat at the back of my skull.

I shake this memory, Katniss's screams pulling me back to this cold, dark hell. I choke out a raspy sob.
"Katniss"
I whisper, cradling my head in my shaking hands. Memories of how she and I came to be in this situation engulf me. My entire body trembles with rage. Rage directed at the one person who is responsible for our capture: Alma Coin.

So there you have it. Read and review! Give me suggestions! Anything! :) Thanks for reading!