The sun is scorching hot. Both the heat and recent loss of Mags weighs down on the three of us. Peeta, Finnick and I are desperate for water. I look over at my two companions who look off in separate directions, and I get the feeling Peeta is trying to give Finnick space to mourn. My thirst is beginning to make my head spin.
"I'm going to head farther into the jungle to see if I can find some water," I say.
"I'll come with you," Peeta states, taking my hand in both of his.
"No, stay with Finnick, I'm going to try to hunt, if I can," I reply. He says nothing, knowing well that his tread would scare away any game in a ten-foot radius. I lean up on my toes and kiss his cheek. I don't want to let him out of my sight, but the need for water outweighs my worries of leaving him.
"I won't be long I promise." I vow, and his hands fall back to his sides. He turns to Finnick, who has already started to weave mats of thick grass into a shelter. I take off into the thicket of the jungle, my bow and arrow poised, ready for attack. I skim the ground with the tip of my shoe. I count my footsteps as a way to keep track of time. About 126 steps later, I'm exhausted. Everywhere I lift dirt up, it's bone dry. I let out a huff. I know Peeta will be worries so I decide to turn back. Defeated, I start my trek back to back to our makeshift campsite.
The chain of events the occur next happen so fast, that I am not sure exactly what order they happen. I hear tolls of a bell and a girlish giggle.
I turn so fast I almost fall over. I'm about to let my arrow fly at the source when I see a sight that could only fit into one of my most horrifying nightmares. But it's not a nightmare. There is a child in this arena.
It's as if the arena has been transformed around me, what was once a gloomy jungle is now a bright, beautiful meadow, filled with Calla lilies, yellow daffodils, purple irises, white lilacs, and multiple colored lilies among a number of other flowers I've never seen before. Among the orchids, sits a little girl in a pink sundress. She picks at the small flowers still giggling. The sun hits her chestnut hair and gives off a glow that only an angel could emit. In my examination of her, I decide she must be a Capitol child. She looks well fed, so unlike the starving children I grew up with. But it does not make sense, who on earth would offer their child up to play a part of the games? Suddenly she notices me. Her bright blue eyes brighten when she sees me, and my stomach drops.
"Mommy look at the flowers!" she exclaims, holding one out to me. My breath is coming out in heaves. I look around me, for the mother the girl is talking to, but I see no one. Then it hits me. Me, she's talking about me! Its only now that I can finally see her. She's the spitting image of me when I was 12. Her height, her hair, the shape of her face. She has fair skin and a light tread. When she walks. But her eyes are not mine…where have I seen those eyes? Peeta. I fall to my knees, as I realize who she is supposed to resemble. She is not a Capitol child. She is a Victor's child…the child of a pair of Victors.
I can barely hear the words she says next, my ears are ringing. This little girl is the perfect combination of Peeta and I. She advances on me, so she can show me the flowers she's picked. I begin to hear awful choking noises, that I realize are coming from me. She now stands in front of me, and strokes my face. She has been put here to deliberately unhinge me. Snow has played into my worst nightmare, losing my own child to the games.
But she is so beyond compare, untouched by hunger or pain, that in this moment it's hard to believe I could ever not want her. So innocent and untainted this small child, she is perfection.
"Katniss! Katniss!" I can hear my name being shouted far in the distance, but I pay no attention, I am in a different world, one where my beautiful daughter has never lived in a world where she has been starved. This beloved girl has become the center my world in the short few minutes I've spent with her.
"What's wrong mommy?" she asks wiping the tears from my face, but it's no use because they continue to fall freely. She's looking at me, the exact way Peeta looks at me after I've screamed myself awake from a particularly bad nightmare. Concern is etched in her tiny, angelic face. I open my mouth, willing the words to come out, but I say nothing. I just stare into those dazzling blue eyes that I know all to well.
A loud female voice booms over us. A voice that I had feared would call my name every reaping since my twelfth birthday. Effie Trinket.
No.
"PRIMROSE MELLARK!"
No.
Her head snaps to the other side of us in fear. I've been so focused on her that I hadn't realized the scene has changed around us again. I am no longer in a sun lit meadow. Instead I am back in my home District. Before me stands the stage in front of what could only be the desolate justice building of District 12. I kneel on the cold, hard ground, clutching my daughter as though she is my only lifeline. I look around franticly, willing the scene to shift again. On stage stands an older Effie Trinket, beside the large glass ball of small slips with all the names of the girls from District 12. She stands there motionless; clutching the slip of paper I know reads "Primrose Mellark". Her eyes trained on me, are full of sorrow.
The girl gives me a look of sheer panic, before attempting to take her hand out of my iron grip.
"Let go mommy," she says with a shaky voice. I won't release her though, and I grab her, pulling her against my chest, trying to shield her from the peacekeepers who are now advancing on us.
No, no ,no ,no, no!
"NO! YOU CAN'T HAVE HER!" I screech at them. A hand lands on my shoulder. I whip my head back in fear. I am now staring into a 20 something year old Peeta Mellark's blue eyes.
"You have to let her go Katniss," he says calmly. My stomach flips. No. He's holding a blond haired toddler in his arms. The baby is crying and squirming, clearly upset at my outburst. The toddler reaches for me.
"Mamamama," he cries.
I hold the girl closer to me, now transfixed on the 2 year olds grey eyes. Peeta kneels beside me, shifting the small boy in his arms, so he can take both of us in his arms. The crowd screams, and cries. District 12 has erupted into chaos.
"Forgive me Katniss, I love you," He whispers against my ear, pulling me closer to his chest and away from our little girl. My vision blurs as the entirety of my home District encloses on our small family. Primrose is ripped from my arms and I lurch for her, screaming, choking, sobbing and clawing at anything in my path that keeps me from her. That's when I hear it in the distance. The tolls of the bell again. I fall to the ground, no longer supported by Peeta's strong arms. The world goes silent. Then the lighting changes. I keep my eyes squeezed shut, in fear of seeing my phantom children again. I hear my name being called again much closer now, but I stay still. If another tribute were to run into me here, I would make no move to stop the imminent death that would follow. Footsteps run toward me. Then I feel a pair of familiar arms enclose me, and lift me off the ground.
"Katniss, what happened?" Peeta whispers, rocking me back and forth. I don't respond, I just continue to wail.
"Katniss, its over…whatever it was, it's over," he repeats, still rocking me against his chest. Just his voice makes me sob even harder, as I hear him again in the back of my mind "Forgive me Katniss, I love you," I continue soaking his suit with my tears. He turns his head away from me toward another male voice that I know belongs to Finnick. I hear him respond,
"I don't know, but we should get out of here, before whoever has heard her comes after us," Peeta replies. He gathers me up in his arms and stands.
Finnick suggests we head to the shore instead of our campsite. I assume they decided to change location due to my loud sobbing. Peeta tries multiple times to coax me out of my stupor as we walk, but I just keep my arms tightly wrapped around his neck. When we reach our destination, he sits down with me on his lap. I can hear the ocean waves lapping the shore. He strokes my hair, and whispers soothing words into my hair. He forces me to drink water in between my persistent sniveling, that I assume they found while I was away. I am unsure of how many minutes or hours have passed before my breath evens out and I pull my head away. I look into his face. Immediately I realize this was a bad. His face so resembles our children. I feel a wave of nausea hit me and I double over into the sand and empty the contents of my stomach. He holds my hair back as I switch from sobbing, to vomiting. I feel cold and lonely without his arms around me, so the moment I finish, I crawl back into his lap, refusing to look at him again, and instead focusing my attention on the waves crashing into the shore.
Finnick states he will take the first watch, that Peeta and I should get some sleep. Peeta shifts us so that I'm laying on top of him, with my head just above his heart.
My eyes burn from crying, so I close them. Peeta resumes brushing the hair from my face. He doesn't try to talk to me anymore, or ask what horrors the arena has left burned in my mind for the rest of my very short life. I begin to fade out of consciousness, listening to the strong and steady beat of his heart.
When my eyes open again, the moon is shining brightly in the sky. My head rests in Peeta lap. He is sitting up, alert, with one arm lying protectively over my waist. I glance over at Finnick who is sleeping soundly beside us. Peeta senses my shift from slumber, and places his strong hand against my cheek. I peek up at him through my eyelashes. Seeing his face is equivalent to being punched in the gut.
"Katniss," he speaks to me as one would a wounded animal, which I guess makes sense after the show I put on for him today. He must think I'm crazy.
I rest the back of my head on his knees, taking the hand that was around my waist and bringing it up to the side of my face where I hold it in both of mine, inhaling his sent that chases away all my nightmares. I continue to look at him, breathing steadily, still too afraid if I try to speak, nothing will come out. I can see the pain I'm causing him, and I feel even worse. In this way Peeta and I are alike, his pain causes my own and vice versa. I reach one of my hands up to touch his face, outlining the contours; comparing him to the two precious beings who turned my world upside down this afternoon. Memorizing this boy who in a few days will have to let me go. He takes my hand and entwines our fingers.
"Do you want to talk about it?" he whispers.
"No." I say, and my voice is much stronger than I expected it to be. No, this nightmare I will harbor for myself. I am glad Peeta did not have to witness what I saw. Our imaginary daughter, ripped from us by the iron claws of the Capitol. Her hair that cascaded down her back, those bright blue eyes when she called me, "Mommy". Her brother,screaming for us both. No, I won't let him be subjected to those images, of the two children who would never exist. Never exist. I feel hysteria rising up in me again. The thought of them not existing is almost as painful as the ladder. Those two beloved children will never get a chance to live. I suddenly feel selfish for wanting them so badly. And then comes another image so fast, I barely have time to register it when a white-hot jealousy rips through me. It's Peeta, standing hand in hand with a faceless women, watching their children playing in a meadow that looks uncannily like the meadow by the fence in our District.
I try to shake the images out of my head. Peeta runs his fingers alongside my jaw.
"Go back to sleep Katniss," he says softly brushing his lips against my cheek. Before I have a chance to consider my actions, the jealousy I felt for that non-existent women hits me again and I crush my lips against his. I loose track of time in his kiss. I entangle my fingers in his hair to keep him rooted to me. This kiss, so unlike the others we've shared, makes my blood run wild and my heart beat increase double time. After what feels like an eternity, Peeta pulls away from me, breathing heavily. He gives me a sad smile and brushes his lips against mine one last time, whispering, "You need sleep," I don't argue, the kiss has left me exhausted, but also feeling full for the first time in ages. I lie back down on his lap and let my imagination take me away. Just before I fall into unconciousness, I try to imagine a world, with no Capitol, a place where Peeta and I never had to compelte in the Hunger Games, and where our children could run free, without worries of hunger or death.