This is one of my shorter works (I seem to have some habit to write one-shots out of boredom at nine or ten o'clock at night). It's in Katniss' daughter's POV. Enjoy and review! I don't own the Hunger Games.
Daydreams
Drifting, drifting, drifting away. Drifting...
I flick a strand of black hair out of my face and watch the clouds drift, drift, drift away through the pale blue sky. One was shaped like a sheep. And another was shaped like a bird- like a mockingjay. Mommy and Daddy aren't here right now. In fact, they don't know I'm here. I snuck out early today to play. I really like the Meadow. The grass is soft and green, Mommy's favorite color, dotted with wildflowers.
"Look!"
I feel a small flicker of annoyance. I want it to be quiet. But I turn to my little brother. His gray eyes are wide. They look like storm clouds. Once, I saw this huge rainstorm, with a lot of lightning. I glance up at the sky. Right now, the clouds are white and fluffy. They look like mashed potatoes. I only like mashed potatoes when they're warm. Then I focus and turn back to my brother. "What?"
He smiles and has a beautiful blue butterfly on his palm. He gazes at it with admiration. It's a really pretty butterfly, and the color of its wings make the sky look paler than it really is. I slide closer, through the grass. The butterfly pauses, then flies away. The corners of my brother's mouth drop into a frown. "Why did it go away?"
"It didn't want to stay forever," I tell him, and just like the clouds, I drift into daydreams. I like to daydream a lot because it means I can imagine anything I want. But I begin to feel sleepy, very, very sleepy. I don't like waking up early, and it's so warm for morning it makes me drowsy.
My eyes flutter shut, but my little brother doesn't say anything. I can hear him shifting around in the grass, crawling on his hands and knees toward something else- an insect, probably. He likes those. He almost ate one a while ago, but I'm not worried. Besides, if he almost ate one, they must not taste very bad, and usually poisonous things taste bad, don't they?
My daydreams are hazy, sleepy. I dream of a willow tree. A girl a few years older than me is sitting under the tree. I recognize her from one of Daddy's paintings. I heard Mommy scream her name in her sleep once. Her name is Rue, and she has curly-ish black hair, dark skin, and brown eyes. She starts singing a song I've heard many times. Mommy sings me or my brother to sleep with it a lot.
"Deep in the meadow, under the willow,
A bed of grass, a soft green pillow..."
Mommy and Daddy talk about Rue sometimes. She was in the Games, and she was one of Katniss' very best friends. She died when she was only twelve years old. It makes me sad to think of her. I know I wouldn't like it if I died when I'm twelve.
Soon, my daydream dissolves into nothing but colors, and I'm asleep. A handful of colors flicker and dart off in every direction, like a gathering of butterflies. The voice of Rue is still there. I don't know if it's how she really sounds. She just sounds the way I imagine she'd sound. She talks about a pretty meadow, but the only meadow I really like is the Meadow I'm in right now. I wonder if the person who wrote the song was writing it about the Meadow. I hope they did. I imagine a beam of moonlight falling upon me in my dream, that I'm sleeping under a willow. I know I'm not. But I feel so comfortable and peaceful.
I'm woken up when someone nudges me, and I stare into the gray eyes of my brother. He stomps his feet. "Come on, it's time for lunch!" he says impatiently. "You slept too long." Mommy and Daddy are looming over me, casting shadows on the grass. I scramble up. "Okay," I say, trying not to feel annoyed. "Let's go."
The same beautiful blue butterfly lands on my shoulder as I leave the Meadow. I try to pet it, but it flies away, and I feel a tinge of disappointment. Then I look at the fluffy white clouds and the rich color of the sky. I tread lightly on the grass, and I pick a small pink flower from the Meadow. I inhale, taking in the scent of the flower. I smile.
I look back, and I daydream.