And here it is folks... the new and improved edition!
Hopefully you enjoy it as much, if not more, than the first one. And maybe this time, you don't have to wait so long for a kiss? I'm not giving anything away but.. hint hint wink wink... :)
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
I am running down a hall of white, a few sporadic paintings sprawled haphazardly against the walls. I don't know where I am at the start, as most don't where they are dreaming. Then, seeing the bare white door with scratch lines like stretch marks, I realize I'm dashing down the hall of the president's mansion, or at least what I saw it as, through my druggy self. I stop and peek at a calendar that is conveniently there. Isn't it marvelous how whenever you need something in a dream, it just appears? If only things happened that way in reality. In retrospect, how many lives could be saved, how many wishes fulfilled?
The calendar is the day of the bombings. Perfect. I still have time to warn her, I could save her, save me, save everything. It will all be good.
I run faster than I ever have, faster than humanly possible, as fast as my spindly legs will let me fly. This is not the kind of dream where you run so fast only to slow down at a sluggish rate, as if being weighed down by cement blocks tied to your ankles. I think my mind knows I will personally strangle it if I go any slower than way too fast.
I reach the little square where my life ended, and see her.
Primrose. Her bright blue eyes seem even brighter, her face rosy with her youth, her blond plaits falling on either side of her face. Prim. My heart aches, with both love and a terrible, agonizing sadness. I am torn by those two emotions, but I stick that out of my mind for now. Her face. No burn marks, no signs of torture, war, or sadness. Her face is not marred with the ugliness of the past, but graced with beauty and strength and bravery and is just.. Prim. In her essence. Exactly like I want to remember her. Then I recall the bombs and my lips form the sentence, to warn her, to yell, shout, scream say anything, everything, GO! But she holds a hand up, as if shushing me. I can never deny her anything, even in death, especially in death, so I quiet myself.
She smiles and opens her mouth, as I eagerly anticipate her thoughts. I see her breath fan out and I nearly lose it because she's breathing and healthy but I hold my tongue.
She says a single word, clear and resolute. "Follow."
I keep my eyes closed, wallowing in the memory of the dream. What does she mean 'follow'? Out of all the things she chooses to say to me, it's that. I don't know much about the afterlife, but I know it must be a beautiful place, wherever Prim is. Someplace where the grass is always green and the birds always sing and there is no fires, ever. And no helpless kids dying, or war, or anything bad. Life is always good at this place, it has to be. I don't know if it's Prim trying to talk to me or anything, but it's probably just my subconscious manifesting her image for me. If that's the case, it's doing a really spectacular job. But what's important is that it's the Prim I want to remember, not the Prim that haunts me in the not so pleasant kind of dreams.
What does she want me to follow? The only thing I ever follow are the deer trails outside my new favorite spot, which I've nicknamed The Bit. It's ironic because there are more than a 'bit' of animals. I've realized that I need to stop reopening sore wounds by going hunting at Gale and mine's old spot. If it hurt to just travel there before the war even ended, it is downright bonecrushing to hunt after the war, alone and riddled with battle scars. The Bit is nice and very well populated and much closer to home, no need to cross under the fence near my old house anymore and really start losing it.
I like to think of myself as very independent, at least the Old Katniss was. So what exactly would I follow.
Dr. Aurelius recently gave me a brand new idea to add to my recovery pattern. Apparently every time I have a good dream, I should immediately write down it's contents in a journal. So when I have a nightmare, I can look it over and remind myself that it's OK to try to go back to sleep, that I might see something beautiful as I slumber.
The journal's entries are so few that sometimes I think it's worthless to write anything at all. Nonetheless, I attempt to sit up and fulfill this task, because what else will give my meaningless life meaning?
My tries at moving are fruitless because there is- oh my goodness what is on top of me?
There seems to be a gigantic, warm and soft foreign object sprawled on top of me. I begin to panic, thinking it is a mutt, or Coin coming to get revenge. My dead baby sister just talked to me, anything can happen at this point. The gears start slowly turning in my brain, and come to reality. I reach a hand out and feel on the other side of the bed, with my eyes still closed, because if it really is Snow, or Coin or whomever on top of me, I do not want to see their snarling face, or steely eyes, because I see enough in my nightmares. I feel emptiness on the other side of the sheets, confirming my suspicions of the not-so foreign object. Peeta. What is he doing- Oh my gosh he is laying on top of me! My eyes fly open unnecessarily as I take in our position.
There is no space between us, our legs intertwined underneath the cocoon of blankets and sheets. His taut and strong muscles pressed firmly against me, his face firmly nuzzled in my neck. Somehow, my arms wrapped themselves around his back when the rest of my body was unconscious. His arms mirror mine, his fingers dipping into my bottoms , the skin there and the skin across my face burning up. I faintly remember that I am dressed in cotton pajama shorts, and a t-shirt. I concur that he is shirtless, but thankfully the remainder of his body is clothed, or else that would've been awkward. Sometimes he sleeps in boxers, but he usually has a shirt on with it. The first time this happened, I was surprised, but I've gotten used to it. I've come a far way from the girl who was once scared of nudity. War and stress have toughened me up, but I guess old habits die hard.
It feels toasty having Peeta on top of me. I still wonder .. how did we end up like this in the middle of the night.? Did Peeta purposely do this? I quickly banish the thought. It's been six months since Peeta first arrived in district 12. At the time, he was sleeping in his own bed, and he would occasionally come over. I never left the comfort of my own home then, and Peeta politely visited once a week, for personal space likely. Sometimes he would bake, and I would watch, or I would hunt, and vice versa. Those days were spent in companionable silence, but would have me dreading the nights, and the darkness and nightmares that came along with it.
About two months after he became my neighbor again, the nightmares starting getting more and more vivid. After being woken up by a particular horrible reoccurring nightmare, I wandered into his house, partially conscious, shivering, both from the cold and the after effects of the dream. I find him awake as well, and he takes me in. After throwing one of Peeta's old shirts over my nightdress, I snuggled into bed with him, and we have slept together (literally, not figuratively) ever since. Even though we spend nights together, he hasn't made me feel uncomfortable, or pushed into anything. We merely enjoy each others friendly company and presence. For all I know, he has stopped loving me.
Sometimes, when I think that he has stopped loving me, I get this tight feeling in the back of my throat, and it feels like a heavy stone is in my stomach. Sometimes, on mornings like these, I think of how good it feels to wake up with him near, and how his hands feel gentle, yet strong. I try to banish these thoughts as well, but too late. I am suddenly conscious of every place my body meets his, which just happens to be.. well.. everywhere.
I feel him blink, his eyelashes slightly tickling me. He murmurs something, and tightens his arms around my waist even more, his hands firmly cupping my bosom. I squeak at this point, startling him awake. He raises his head from my neck quickly, his eyes meeting mine. He quickly detaches himself from me and flies to his side of the bed, as much as he can without his prosthetic.
"I'm sorry Katniss, I didn't mean...-" He quiets when I reach around him to grab my journal from the nightstand, skin brushing skin. I promptly bend over the bed on my stomach, reaching around upside down for a pen that is surely underneath. My hand alights upon the tip of one, so I stretch a little further, causing my shirt to ride up a little.
"I-I have to g-ggo to the bathroom. To.. Ahhh.. Shower." Peeta announces quietly.
I chuckle. "Ok. But I don't have railings for you in there." There has been an occasion when he fell in my shower, and I was stuck with the unfortunate task of calling Haymitch to come help him up, because he yelled through the door that he wasn't hurt, and I wasn't going to see him naked.
He sighs. "Right."
I sit back upright and reach yet again to grab my glasses. They were also something sent along in my recovery pack, although they're more of a gift if anything.
I don't really need them, except for when I'm reading and writing. I see perfectly fine when I hunt, and have told the doctor this, but he said it was helpful nonetheless. I really can't tell the difference, but before I got them I hadn't read much, so I couldn't really compare the differences.
I write a single word in my bold print, before luring Peeta to lay back down and spreading the blanket around both of us.
"It's ok."
We fall back into a slumber, our hands clamped tightly together and breathing aligned.
Follow.