All characters belong to the genius Suzanne Collins. I wanted to do a small little short on Annie Cresta's hallucinations. Feedback is always appreciated!
I am going to kill you, little girl.
"Finnick!"
No response. If he doesn't come she will see her again. Her eyes snap shut.
No, no, no, no.
The words are repeated into every crevice of her mind to keep the terror out. She sees them, the words. Behind her shut lids they paint themselves before her- at first so beautiful with they're interact slopes and detail that can never be created in any place but somewhere imaginary. But then they turn ugly.
Stop. Stop. Stop it! Stop! Inside she is screaming at the oncoming nightmare. But what she is speaking to never listens, it will consume her just as it always does. It never allows her peace. Go away. Go away.
The little control she holds over herself rapidly begins to diminish. Quick hands instinctively fly to her ears so she won't hear the voice she knows is coming. Air fills her chest, so much so that she can't breathe. Tremors erupt throughout her body and she begins to shake as fiercely as a delicate leaf against the wind of a storm. Her throat is moist and suddenly thick. Tears roll down her face and a sob escapes her mouth, only it feels as if it rolls out slowly like a puff of smoke. Now when she screams it is more urgent.
"FINNICK!"
"Annie!"
A voice. His voice.
The only voice that saves her.
The oncoming terror retreats when she feels large hands gently cover the ones latched onto her ears, easing the shaking.
"Annie…" he says gently. That beautiful, beautiful voice. Her shoulders settle, her body relaxes slightly. But she still feels the tremors.
"Baby," he whispers in her ear. His soft lips warm the skin of her cheek as he grazes his mouth across it. They stop above her eyelid and plant soft reassuring kisses. Whimpers escape between her clenched teeth as she leans into him. She wants to lay her head against his chest to listen to his heartbeat. Where are they? Where is she? She decides whether or not she wants to remember.
As she has many times before, she has the choice to never return. In her mind where she is entirely alone, she once again is staring at a blank door. Behind it lies reality, which is in fact a living nightmare. She could let herself fall away again.
You can't do that though, a small voice reminds her. Because he is on the other side.
And it is right.
"Open your eyes," he beckons.
So she does. In response to that voice, she always will. No matter how awful the terrors behind that door are, she will always enter it again to see him.
Sunlight comes from a window and saturates everything that falls beneath it in golden light, including the beautiful face before her. Her Finnick.
His sculpted jaw is tight and his golden skin- made even more golden by the sunlight, is dewy with water. Droplets fall from bronze hair and drip down his neck. The eyelashes housing her favorite part of him are clumped together in perfect triangles. And then she looks beneath them and loses herself in his eyes; eyes whose orbs are of the deepest color around their edges but fade into a lovely blue-green distinctly reminiscent of their beloved ocean. But even without their beauty, they betray everything to Annie. When she looks at them, she can see into him. See how he's feeling or find the reassurance of his love. Maybe that's why she likes them so much. Or maybe it is simply because they belong to Finnick which for her is reason to adore every detail about him.
Sometimes when she is lucky enough to dream, she has dreams of sea gods that she had heard of only in fairytales but they always look like her Finnick.
Finnick.
His name alone is enough to break through the thick fog clouding her thoughts from the near attack. With strong but gentle fingers he peels her hands away from her ears. In response she entwines her own fingers with his and watches them lower together in her lap. They almost look like fleshy spiders or maybe strange octopi. Human hands have always held a strange but beautiful quality to her. She giggles.
"Silly girl," he mutters with his mouth now buried in her hair. She wants to feel his face, to feel the coat of wetness across his skin. But he starts kissing her cheeks. "You are safe. Nothing will hurt you ever again."
She knows this, when she's with Finnick nothing could hurt her. But where was she? She had forgotten where she was. The thought travels through her lips without supervision. Very quickly his face becomes stiff and his lips part to take in a deep breath. When he speaks the words are careful.
"My house, Annie. We are in District 4. We are home."
Home? How? But –
The terror moves in again, brought on by its companion; confusion. But this time the terror is so powerful not even Finnick who is close enough to feel her strained breathes against his chest, can save her from it. Fear crashes over her as the waves of the ocean crash hungrily into the shore; they're white foam fingers clawing away at the sand. And just as the sand, the fear claws away pieces of Annie as she stays utterly still, suddenly the very small and lone victim to it. She knows this feeling; she knows what's coming next.
I'm going to kill you, little girl. I'm going to kill you, little girl. I'm going to kill you, little girl.
It's too late now. The crisp voice of a girl speaks at first only during the replay of a memory, then gets progressively louder and progressively more real until Annie's white hands have to flutter to her ears again so she won't hear it out loud. But the hands do nothing because she hears it vibrating off the walls of the room. Now she is sixteen again, covered in fresh blood that isn't hers.
I'm going to kill you, little girl. I'm going to kill you, little girl. I'm going to kill you, little girl.
And then she sees her, crouched like a jungle cat behind Finnick with the axe in her hand. Annie rapidly blinks but she is still there, living and real. A single chestnut curl falls into her bloody face as she creeps closer and repeats herself once more.
"I'm going to kill you, little girl."
Only the voice isn't human this time when she says it. It is rumbling growl of a demon.
Then there's one last thing. She knows this is coming too but now that she's in it, she can't get out. It has appeared before her a thousand times and yet a thousand times more of seeing it will never dull the overwhelming sickness it brings. Behind the girl, he is there sitting on the love seat. His long arms are spread across the couch as if he is lounging but his neck spurts out blood which rolls down the rest of his body in clumps. Slowly his head rolls away as easily as tender meat falling off a bone, leaving shiny red sliced muscle and purple tissues in its wake. But it doesn't tear off completely- rather it hangs on by one clump of meaty flesh and his toppled over face stares at her with wide eyes. His mouth shouldn't be moving but it is. And he is saying her name. Again and again he repeats her name.
Annie, Annie, Annie, Annie, Annie.
"Annie!" Finnick's voice is somewhere far away trying to call her back. But for now it is out of her reach.
Voices everywhere are shouting at her. All repeating just one word.
Annie.