The girl I see before me is absolutely beautiful. Grey seam eyes, glistening blonde hair. Her dress is a baby pink, flowing slightly in the wind and the meadow behind her is alive with colour. I stand back from our daughter, admiring her beauty. I part my lips, only to have a sigh escape them. Oh how badly I wish my daughter was alive. I take the canvas from the easel, walk over to the plain wall and hang it, right in the centre.
"One day," I promise, "you'll be in my arms."

I look to the clock which reads 2 am. "That can't be right," I utter under my breath. Time always did fly when I was painting I guess. I turn out the lights and flop back onto out bed, rolling on my side so I can look at my daughter. I don't know how long I was lying there, must have been a couple of hours because by the time I actually fall asleep, the sun is rising. My sleep is filled with tiring dreams. Dreams where I must follow Katniss, where she wants to show me something but we never arrive. Dreams where our beautiful daughter is reaped in the games. Death is a common occurrence in these nightmares.

I snap up right, a noise waking me from my slumber. Not wanting to miss the call, I dart downstairs grabbing the phone before it rings out,
"Hello?" I breathe, my voice husky from sleep. Silence greets me on the other line, "Hello? Dr. Jones?" I hear hushed whispers on the other side and then she speaks up.
"Hi, Peeta. It's Katniss." She says, her voice strong and familiar. Why was she calling me?
"Hi.." I breathe.
"I just wanted to ask you a quick question," she states.
"Go ahead,"
"Well, I had a dream last night,"
"Mhmm?"
"And I don't know if it was real or not real," she says, voice a little shaky. I wait for her to continue,
"In my dream, I'm pregnant. I'm home alone, singing in the kitchen, making dinner, waiting for you to come home from the…. The bakery? I feel happy, really happy. Then all of a sudden im in the bathroom. And… All I can see is red.. Blood." My eyes are squeezed shut, trapping any tears trying to escape. Katniss described a nightmare, not a dream. And what makes it worse is that, it's real.
"Peeta?" she asks, not even slightly phased by her vision. I open my mouth to talk, but nothing comes out. "Peeta, are you there? Peeta?" She sounds so stable, she sounds like my Katniss. If she remembers that, I wonder what else she will recall over time. Will I be able to take her bringing up all the things I try to forget. "P-Peeta, please." She quivers. She sounds scared now, vulnerable. "It really happened didn't it? It's real!" She starts to sob, like she used to at night, when she woke from her nightmares. I used to hold her for hours on end, telling her I'd never leave, never let go. And here I am, not able to speak, leaving her in the dark and without a shoulder to cry on. Some strangled wailing escapes me, like im in pain. But she doesn't hang up and nor do i. We stay on the line and cry together, both hurt and agonised from the traumatising event.
"I'm sorry!" she blurts out, sniffing loudly, still crying.

Then she hangs up.
I spend the rest of the afternoon laying on the cold, hard floor, crying until I have no tears left. I feel like my heart has literally been ripped in two. I ache for Katniss, needing her with me. We would normally hold eachother in times like this. But im alone, no one to hold me, to tell me everything's going to be okay.

All I have is the echo of my own cries.