1.
In my mind, I'm flying.
I can imagine the clouds, all around me- sometimes clear, wisps of nothing that linger on my wings and barely blind my view. Small, whisper thin clouds.
Other times, they hang black in the sky, accompanied by flashes of lightning and claps of roaring thunder that render me defenseless.
This is when the nightmares come. But I dont wake up. I refuse.
I refuse because the reality is still worse. Tied in a place where I know nothing, nobody, nothing of truth- the idea of flying is a close comfort. I feel like I can almost erase the past- I can't, of course, but for a small moment, a milisecond in time, I can feel hope again. Breathe again.
I am the mocking jay.
Tonight, a whirlwind of colors surround me as I cruise high above the trees- I'm not sure where I'm headed. The Ruins of District 12 appear below me, still smoking; somewhere in the distance, a tall smoke stack emits purple clouds of smog. Then the colors change again- they seem to bleed together, forming a sort of fatal collage.
Faces. So many faces.
I see them, coming into focus for a brief series of seconds before decimating into oblivion.
I see Rue first- looking at me behind those dark eyes. Her expression is what I fear- not joy, not sorrow, but something in between. She closes her eyes and I reach for her, secretly begging.
Please, I think to myself. Say something. Help me. Help me understand.
She's wrapped in flowers now, laying down, just as I left her, helpless, alone. Then the scene changes again. This time, the mutts are chasing me, followed by Caro and Gale. Gale? I don't have time to look back before the colors fade again and bring me back to a dark room and I'm forced to look at President Snow, although he's long dead.
His snakelike eyes narrow at me. I take a step back, but find I"m pressed against glass- a sort of tube like encasement. Again, it changes, shifting colors until I can barely see.
Even in my dreams, I'm dizzy.
Now I'm being pressed up, onto a flat field. I can recognize it only as the arena from the first round of the Hunger Games. The first time this all began. Prim appears in front of me, now, with an apron on and her flaxen colored hair runing down adjacent braids. She is walking towards me and my heart leaps with a joy I have declined for so long.
My sister.
I can feel a smile spreading across my face as I take a step towards her. Finally. No we can talk. Now we can sort all of these things out. What is real, what isn't.
What isn't.
Only an instant passes. Then, I can see it, casting a shadow over both of us. Falling quietly as a feather, silvery and omnicent.
Prim catches my gaze and looks up too- catching the small thing in her hand, hodling it tight against her chest, pressing it to her heart.
The parachute.
A flash of light makes me relive her death. Then, again. Then, again. I break from the grief. All the scars break open, torn again, a hundred fold. A thousand fold. And I am screaming. But I hear merely silence. The terror encases me in its grip. An Avox.
Now I am an Avox. Not just that- something much worse, something much more dreadful.
I don't give up the attempt to scream until I finally hear my own voice again. I shouldn't call it my own voice- it sounds more like that of a lunatic now. I'm wet with sweat in the darkness- it cakes my hair over my face and shields my eyes. Then, someone is holding me, holding me very close and rocking me back and forth. After a few moments of this, I'm able to calm down enough to open my eyes. I strain to look up in the moonlight to see Peeta. He is holding me with somewhat of a death grip, as if no one, nothing can ever reach me again. His usually bright blue eyes look troubled and faded, and I soften my grip on the sheets, seeing blood on my hands.
"Nightmare." I seem to stumble out.
Peeta nods."We've got to figure something out. This isn't helping you."A few minutes pass and I shiver. How did it get so cold? Peeta senses my cold and, very carefully, crosses over to my dresser and retrieves a thick blanket. He wraps it around me gingerly and takes something out of his pocket.
"Here," he says. It's a small vile of sleeping syrup. I refuse, once, twice, before he talks me into a small dose."Please, it'll help."
I snatch it from his fingers in a last-ditch effort to avoid the stuff. I shouldn't be angry, but the last thing I want right now is more pressure to return to the hell that occupies my dreams.
Peeta brushes a dark lock out of my eyes, seeming to read my mind. Then, impulsively, he takes my face in his hands and kisses me- scared, as if I -or he, for that matter, could slip at any moment.
By the time we finally break, tears glisten up my eyes and threaten to spill over. I know how hard he's fighting- for the memories, for what was true. Not some fabrication the Capitol presented to him.
"We're at home now, safe- real or not real?" He says quickly for support.
I squeeze his hand shakily. "Real." He's still lost too- drifting somewhere between lies and reality, trying to understand, trying to remember, despite the pain. Pain is commonplace now. it is comfort, hope that is the real rarity. Which is maybe why I'm scared to open up those feelings again- to revisit the past, our past- and take it apart. It's what strikes fear in me once he rises, plants a kiss on my forehead and dissapears behind the door of my room.
As I down the sweet syrup, I let myself think only of Peeta Mellark as I softly sing myself to sleep.
I wake, two days later, starving but pleased that the medicine kicked in so potently. Greasy Sae's downstairs, cooking something, I'm not sure what. I creep down the stairs in just a white bathrobe and steal a look at her and Peeta, who sit opposite the breakfast table, talking in hushed tones. Behind Sae, something sizzles in a pan and I see cheese buns rising in the oven.
"This is all a mistake." Greasy Sae picks up. "it's too early for you to be trying to change everything, not now."What is she talking about? I lean dangerously close to the wall, within earshot, while holding onto the stairwell.
"I don't feel I have a choice." Peeta offers, looking at his hands. "There's too many bad memories here."
Greasy Sae stares him down. "You shouldn't even trust yourself." She offers coldly.
I've been through everything with him, I think to myself. And I trust him. So why don't you? I do trust him, don't I?
"I'm fine." Peeta retaliates, although we know he's not. They sit in silence for a few minutes before Sae's realized she's scorched whatever's in teh pan. I realize I'm not going to get any more from the conversation, so I return upstairs despite my hunger.
I run a hot bath and dip my feet in. Inside, steam is accumulating fast on the window panes. I am immersed, just wanting to float away.
What was she talking about, with Peeta changing everything? I try to jog my memory back, to anything he might have said, but he's kept somewhat of a low profile since my return- bringing me bread, closing the windows at night- sometimes exchanging a brief conversation over breakfast.
"What's the news?" I would ask, a little too brightly to edge him along.
He would just smile. "Later, Katniss." He squeezed my hand on the way out. I know he's trying to protect me. But from what? I dip my head under water, then return again to the surface. And then it hits me.
He's protecting me from himself.