i. Me and the Moon, Something Corporate

it's a good year for a murder / / seventeen years and all that he gave was a daughter

"I hope she dies."

Prim looks at her mother, taken aback. "Don't say that," she says sharply, and the voice is not her own; it's Katniss's, made of steel and years of resentment.

"I hope she dies," Mrs. Everdeen repeats. "At the bloodbath. I hope she dies fast."

"Don't say that," Prim repeats forcefully. "Don't."

Her mother shakes her head at her, vacant eyes focusing on her youngest daughter. "She doesn't have a chance," she says sadly, blue eyes watery and pale, "so I hope she dies fast."

Prim turns away and prays that her eyes never look that weak.

ii. Why I Have My Grandma's Sad Eyes, Kill Hannah

oh, fuck, if this is the end, then i just want revenge / / universe, wrap your arms around me; make me strong so i can take on anyone

"It's the Capitol's fault," he'd say over dinner, pounding a fist against the table hard enough to make an eight-year-old Gale jump. "If it wasn't for them—just think of what we could do. We could be free," he'd say emphatically.

"Don't talk like that," Hazelle would scold, shooting meaningful looks at the children. "Not—not here."

"You know it's true, Hazelle," he'd retort. "One of these days—you'll see. We'll beat them. No more Games. Imagine how it'd be not to live in fear—for our kids to be safe."

"That's enough," Hazelle would respond, sighing. "Please."

That day did come, Gale thinks, sitting in his District 2 apartment. For you, Dad. I just wish you were here to see it.

iii. Everything in Between, Anberlin

and you are my fading photograph and ripped memory / / constant reminders everywhere in between

When it happens at first, Haymitch isn't sure why he feels this way, a sense of cold dread flooding his body as he sits up in bed. His head pounds from a particularly rough night and he fumbles for the glass of water on his nightstand before he remembers:

It's the first night in a long time that he's dreamt of her.

Annabel doesn't show up in his waking hours anymore; it's been a while, frankly, since he's thought of her. Mentoring the Games has kept him busy.

But tonight he dreamt of her—just her presence, not her being.

That's what scares him.

He can't remember what she looks like. Annabel has no face.

iv. Give Your Heart a Break, Demi Lovato

baby, i'm not like the rest / / the world is ours; if we want it, we can take it if you just take my hand

"Hi."

He turns around to see a girl with wavy brown locks and sea-green eyes standing behind him. She fiddles anxiously with her hair, knotting it on top of her head. He stares at her until she seems to remember that she was the one who called out to him.

"I'm Annie," she says finally, offering him her hand.

"Finnick," he answers, surprised at her formality. He gives her a firm handshake and holds on for a second too long.

"I know," she says. "And I'm not here to chase you."

"Oh." For once, he's at a loss for words. "That's…nice."

"I don't have many friends," she says simply. "I didn't think you did either."

"I don't," he answers honestly.

"Good," she says with a smile. "Friends?"

"Friends."

v. Bring Me to Life, Evanescence

i can't wake up / / frozen inside without your touch, without your love, darling

The day after, you dream of your wedding day: a clear, sunny day; a ceremony in the Meadow; friends; family. The toasting ceremony after. Kisses, lots of them. And laughter.

You wake up in a daze, confused and reaching for the ghost of your dreams. "Mom?" It's Katniss, you think dimly. Katniss, your daughter.

No. There is no Katniss. Katniss does not exist yet; it is the day after your wedding and you are happy but where is he—where is he—?

"Mom?"

You brush the sound off vaguely, blue eyes scanning the room, but it's empty save for two forms much too small (your daughters, you remember dimly, but push the thought out of your head because you don't have daughters you don't you have a husband find him where is he) and you shake your head again.

You are not Mom, not a mother. You are a wife and you have lost your husband.

A/N: Inspired by Kore-of-Myth's Shuffle Challenge at the HPFC from a long time ago, in which you put your iPod on shuffle and write drabbles for the first five songs that come up and you're only allowed to write for as long as each song plays. So. Yup. Beta creds to swinging from mars (who, by the way, is the admin of Caesar's Palace; check us out, 'cause we're awesome~), so if this sucks, you can blame her. :D