Hey guys, this is my first fan-fic, so go easy on me. This is set after the end of Mockingjay, so expect major spoilers. Please read and review!
The sky streaked with gold and pink. Gritty sand between my fingers and clinging to the soles of my feet. My messy, tangled hair in my eyes and the bitter taste of sea spray in my mouth. All these I barely register when I hear his laugh, fade into the background when I feel his warm fingers entwined in mine. The steady sound of his heartbeat drowns out the crashing waves, and the biting wind is hardly noticeable as I curl up against him.
I smile blissfully. For the first time in what feels like an eternity, I am happy. Yearning to see him again, I turn my head to look at him, opening my mouth to speak. But when our eyes meet, his are not the deep sea-green of my memories, but a cold, soulless black. And when he smiles and whispers my name, his warm grin seems fake, artificial. His lips are cracked and blackened, and his teeth lengthened to gleaming fangs. I begin to scream, but no sound escapes my throat and his curved claws dig into my back, drawing blood. His breath washes over me, putrid, stinking of rot and decay. His voice is distorted and harsh, and sends shivers down my spine. He licks his lips with a slimy, forked snake tongue, and that is when the nightmares begin for real.
Flashes of memories, each cutting into me like shards of jagged glass. The first nearly ten years ago now, but the fear as fresh as when it first happened. I see the blade flash. I see him take a step, his body not yet realising that it is dead, and his head coming to rest inches from my feet, tongue lolling and eyes bulging. My scream echoes in my ears and the image shatters, fractured, to be replaced by a much fresher horror.
Leather straps around my wrists and ankles and a harsh voice bellowing words that do not connect in my mind. The crack of the whip following by searing, blinding pain. I beg them to stop, but the words will not come out, and still they shout. Some words I recognise, such as his name, and others are familiar but make no sense. I try to tell them I don't know what they're talking about, but my voice fails and the whip comes down again. With the final stroke, before I sink mercifully into unconsciousness, I see another image.
I wasn't there when it happened, but my imagination is more than capable of supplying the images for me. Again and again I see his death, each time more horrible than the last. I cannot shut my eyes, cannot turn away. Instead I am forced to watch as the only man I have ever loved dies, over and over again.
A hand on my shoulder jerks me awake, my throat raw from screaming and my lungs bursting. I stare into his eyes, the exact colour of the ocean around my home, and for a fraction of a second I allow myself to hope.
"Finnick?" I whisper.
"Mom…" he begins, but hot tears course over my face and I cling to him. He is so like his father, my heart aches to look at him. Somehow, I manage to convey what I could never say with words through the iron grip I have him locked in, as if I would never let him go, and the way I kiss the top of his bronze curls. Wordlessly, he climbs into bed next to me and falls asleep within moments. I sit silently, watching him. There were some days, especially just after his death, when I didn't want to carry on, didn't want to live while he didn't. But when I held my child in my arms, his child, our child, I was filled with hope. While I have him, his father is always with me too. I caress his face gently, and am asleep before my head hits the pillow.
The nightmares still come, but this time I know that I am not alone.
