I watch Peeta painting.
A simple scene, flowers blooming. The same flowers that are all around my house. Flowers that I planted as a hobby. Flowers as a reminder of my lost beloved ones. Violets, buttercups, bromeliads, rues and primroses. These flowers bring tears to my eyes, but they manage to calm me down.
I watch Peeta painting.
A colorful picture, a beautiful mix of colors. Forms develop inside the frame. Simple lines unite and create unimaginable shapes. The paintbrush looks alive, running through the canvas with unknown freedom. Blue, yellow, green, purple, orange and cream take their places in the pretty flowers petals.
I watch Peeta painting.
His body works nonstop and his mind seems stuck in some kind of stupor. His fingers reach for the paintbrush and the pallet as if there was nothing else in the world. His eyes barely register my presence. His arms move in large arcs, letting the paint take room in the white blanks.
I watch Peeta painting.
The sudden red appearing and taking over the picture. It starts to assume a large form. A shape that covers anything underneath it. The flowers, the rues, buttercups and primroses are shadowed by the huge form. The colors, the blue, green, and orange quickly fade away, due to the growing madness contained in the blood red.
I watch Peeta painting.
In horror, I see him lying on the floor. His blood flowing to the image starts assuming a definite shape. Lines and curves of the red insanity slowly take their place, as Peeta's lifeless body lay stood. Now he's as colorless as the canvas looks before he brings it to life. I'm scared to look up, to the scary picture in red. I know I need to, though. The blood has finally stopped flowing and taken its shape. I start screaming as I see the painted red rose.
I wake up to the sound of my own screaming and to Peeta's worried face.