A one shot about Hunger Games victor, Peeta Mellark's dreadful time in the Capitol.
Four black, damp brick walls conceal me inside of the den. The floor is black and spongy. My wrists are bloody and raw, trapped in two identical coils of rusted iron; one for each wrist. I glance sorrowfully at the ground as I try to assess my feelings.
This dungeon feels like my safest haven here. Better than all those chambers. Snow had them built for the sake of my torture. He spend truckloads to ensure I felt the most torturous there is. I used to believe there is a climax to pain. A point where it hurts so bad that you can't feel it. From the few days I've spent here, I've proven that theory false.
The searing pain circulating my wrists instead of blood adds fuel to my burning hatred of President Snow. As much as I despise him, I would never want to have the satisfaction of taking his life. I don't want to turn into a monster. Not like Cato and Marvel and Clove. From the days in the arena I'd spent with them, I realised how grateful I was to live in District 12. Despite the soaring levels of poverty, it's where I belong. We don't kill for the sport of it.
The door flies open, cutting off my train of thought.
A young woman with pink choppy bangs and bright green eyes appears.
"Mr. Mellark, the President needs you."
The musky, sickly sweet scent of President Snow's rose reeks into what little air there is in this cramped dungeon. The electrical chair cuffs me into place, not allowing any movement what so ever. Not even a flinch. Snow paces back and forth, stroking his beard profoundly.
"Mr Mellark, are you aware of why you are here in this rendezvous." He asks formally, no hint of cruelty registering in his tone Rendezvous. I scoff inside. More like a torture chamber.
"Don't touch her." I hiss threateningly, knowing it won't touch the weak spots in his callous mind. It may be futile, but I'd do anything at all to preserve Katniss' life. He scoffs. I would even if it would result in my heart being torn out. The pain would be excruciating, but not less than my heart aches now. She is my heart. My fiancée. My air. My oxygen. My life.
"Ah." He gestures with his hand "Her safety is not mine to offer. I am the President of the richest town in Panem. I have my duties and responsibilities, and I need to do what's necessary. Any of these actions could easily trigger off her unfortunate death." He emphasizes on unfortunate falsely.
A spark of rage lights up inside me and courses through my wrecked body. Fearlessly, I clench my jaw and threaten between my teeth, "I swear if you touch her you will-." He cuts me off, tutting out of disappointment.
"Lortius." Snow orders as a pale man with bleached curls who's dressed in scrubs appears promptly at his side. "Now's the time. Make sure this one's on full blast." An unpleasant feeling blows out the raging fire inside me into glowing embers.
The electricity, so alive, stings through my brain. My flesh sears angrily, singing every hair off my arms. The hairs on the back of my neck prickle up, alert. My eyes twitch frantically, every twitch bringing on a different type of torturous fire, excruciating pain. My artificial leg conducts the electricity, making it feel light as if floating in mid-air.
As the electric dies down, Snow whispers coldly, "Better get used to it, Mellark. You'll visit this rendezvous every morning. Four thirty A.M. sharp."
So guys, what do you think? I feel so bad for Peeta :(
Thanks for everyone who's reading this xox
- TheParamoreGames28