Tick. Tock.
I'm not sure how long it's been since I've come through, but something tells me by the stench it's been a little too long. The sounds around me are faint, kind of unfamiliar as I gaze around at the décor of the walls. Something says home but it's not home to me. There's a clatter in the kitchen but I know who it is – Greasy Sae. Up on the wall above the doorway is a clock – the second hand moves so slow I'm sure it's not even working, but the mere thought of that thing sickens me to the core. District 12 was one of the poorest – the poorest in fact, we never had clocks; at least not us. We only received it after we came back from the 74th hunger games – the very games that defiled and ruined lives. But it was us who saved Panem somehow.
A voice that I remember rings through as the front door swings open, even though the stench of alcohol alone would be enough cue. Haymitch. "Well well well," exclaims Haymitch, staggering as he leaned against the doorway to what appears to be the living room. "Look who finally came through." I do nothing but scowl, in which he seems to think is absolutely hilarious because he's near rolling. "And definitely herself. Who would've thought." A small seep of hopefulness shines in his eyes for a second, and I hear Sae suggest him to go to the kitchen.
How long had I been out? The last I remember the air smelt of death and the harsh winter held no remorse. My hands ran along my stomach, flat to the point that my rips were protruding though it didn't look as bad as when I was younger. When have I ate? How did I eat? Faintly I make out some of what Haymitch and Greasy Sae are saying, but it doesn't interest me. Nothing does.
I stand, slowly and have to hold myself on the back of the couch before I fall over. My muscles are weak and aching but I need to clean up – this is ridiculous. The stairs seem to drag on forever as I finally make my way to the hallway. I know where to go which is weird; this place still seems foreign and empty. In the Master bedroom I find it to be perfectly kept up and made, which means either I was never in here or Greasy Sae did a good job at keeping it together. Up on the wall are pictures of the old times, when distric 12 wasn't rubble but still dead – but it was complete then. My gray eyes fall onto the center picture, and the heart I thought I had lost sank into the pits of my stomach. Trembling fingers fell onto the metallic frame as I fought back a reign of emotion. Prim.
How many times have I seen her death flash into my mind? How many times had I seen Gale , the person who was supposed to be my best friend, end her precious life? The life I fought two hunger games to protect. How long had it been? I shake my mind of the living nightmares and make my way to bathroom. Fancy, a little too much, but nothing compared to the Capitol. I turned the faucet on to warm the chilled water and could hear the quietness from downstairs.
I undressed, peering into my reflection. In did not look like the girl I was two years ago. I was determined to protect my family and die if it meant my sister had another chance. My fingers traced the scars visible on my olive skin and my hair stood on ends. It was a wonder I was alive, and the mere echo of Effie's disturbed words flash into my mind from the day my world began to fall apart.
May the odds be ever in your favor.
The odds were never. How could someone call this life – without my family for the matter, my sister. Ragged breaths, before I climbed into the hot shower and instantly shuddered. I washed myself clean, paying extra attention since it was un-telling how long it had been since I had. My hands lathered my hair and it wasn't to my surprise that the water was a dark color from the dirt.
Once done I stepped out and wrapped myself in a robe. I never owned one until now, due to Effie's insisted manner of how my life would be hell-bent if I hadn't. I had to admit, though, the soft plush teased my delicate flesh and kept me warm from the still chilled air. That's when my eyes trailed to the window, peering outside. To my surprise the ground was clear with a hint of dew on the still dead grass. By the position of the sun it was nearing the afternoon, when the lasting effects of winter's night turned into a hope – like spring. Like a dandelion.
I felt the pits of my stomach knot up, having to force myself to hold back tears. My association of the people I cared about and flowers was something from my father – after all, Prim and I were named after plants ourselves. Pushing back the dandelion thought, because if I began to question even more it was un-telling if I would relapse back to a state of comatose.
I got myself dressed, pants and a long sleeved shirt to fight the chill. My fingers played with the strains of hair until I formed a braid and let it hang over my right shoulder. In the mirror clothed I looked normal, the me before the war when things were a simple kind of bad. But it didn't hide the scars on my heart or soul, the ever-ending nightmare that haunted me in wake or sleep. Taking a deep breath, my feet carried me down the stairs. The mummers in the kitchen were only among a whisper, but there seemed to be someone else. I turned the hall towards the kitchen, eyes squinting to the brightness of the kitchen due to the large windows.
A ghost. That's what I must have been. Three pairs of eyes stared at me, as if trying to register my reaction. The first one I saw was Greasy Sae. Long, slender fingers trembled and she gave a faint, worried smile. Haymitch, who looked 10 years sober looked distraught, before moving to a position as if he had to move he could. The next eyes haunted my dreams and gave me life yet took it away. Breath-taking blue, as deep as the sky and as soft as the day he confessed to a nation of his love.
Peeta. Peeta. The boy with the bread. The boy I fought to keep alive. The boy who wrapped his hands around my neck and tried to kill me. My Dandelion. A wave of confusion and nausea hit me hard as I tried to regain control. My instinct was to scream, cry, fight.
"Katniss…" Hearing my name roll off his tongue stabbed me right through the chest. He was trying to gather himself, looking to Haymitch who just shook his head in respond. My only response was to run. Turning my heels I made my way for the door, barely stopping to pull on my boots. The scampering in the kitchen was mad, but when the chilled after morning air hit my cheeks it inspired me even more to run.
"Katniss!" There was no mistaking, that voice was Peeta and it only made me think of the Arena – him calling out to me thinking I was dead. I didn't stop – I wouldn't stop. I made my way to the woods, the only safe haven I had before the revolution. Fight or flight – they were chasing me. But that made me run even harder. My arms moved the thickened brush before I finally collapsed, falling at the trunk of a tree, losing my emotions. Tears streamed my face as I slipped all consciousness.
"Over here!" Haymitch's voice echoed in my head, sounding as if I was in a room. My hands held the sides of my head as I rocked back and forth, unable to control the distraught I felt. Two more sets of feet trailed, stopping at a distance, but only for a minute – it wasn't long until I heard one step closer. "Peeta.." Haymitch whispered softly, and I can feel their eyes burning holes in me.
That's when it went black. I felt my body sub come to the darkness and I fell back. Strong, sturdy arms caught me in the all too familiar embrace. The smell of flour and vanilla churned the pits of my stomach as delicate but deadly fingers ran the length of my face.
"She's still here…" His voice. It gave light to the darkness and for a second I wanted to open my eyes but I felt scared – of what, him trying to kill me? "Let's go back." The uneven walking lit fire to the flame and I knew I would stay this time.