A/N: This is my first ever fanfiction. Sorry it's so short. Please review, it means a lot to me that anyone is reading this.
Disclaimer: I don't own The Hunger Games.
I wake up with tears on my face. Another nightmare. It had been a couple of days since the Reaping and I've woke up with nightmares ever since. Every night they're different, but it always ends with the death of Katniss during the games. A knock on the door had woken me up, this time from a dream of Katniss and I both being in the area, her dying in my arms. I sighed, pulling off my thin sheets, wiping my eyes, and making my way out of the bedroom that I shared with Mom. I make my way to the front door, the dusty floorboards creaking under me. I knew I would have to answer the door given that Mom still hadn't left her bed yet. After the reaping and seeing Katniss before they took her away, Mom and I went home. Mom retreated to our room while I sat in the kitchen. We were in shock. Another knock at the door brings me to my senses. I open the door and see Gale. He looks like he hasn't gotten much sleep either. He has bags under his eyes and his usually tough demeanor has changed to one of exhaustion.
"Hey Prim," he says. I can tell he's been out hunting and his game bag is still slung over one shoulder. Though he's only 18, two years older than Katniss, he looks older. His eyes are hard and determined. He's had to provide for a large family for a long time. When I think about it, he was only a year older than me when his dad died, and Katniss was even younger. He makes his way over to the kitchen table and pulls two squirrels out of his bag.
"Want to help clean them?" he asks.
"Sure" I mumble.
He sets the squirrels on the table and begins to work. It doesn't take long to clean them, though I know I'm slowing him down. He explains each part of the process, even though I'm only half-listening. I try to pay attention, I really do and I know worrying won't help Katniss, but I just can't help it. Before long, it's done and he turns to me.
"How's your mom doing?" he asks. I shake my head, thinking about the past few days.
"She hasn't left her room," I look down at my feet, "Or spoken much for that matter" She doesn't cry, not like I do, she just sits on her bed, staring off onto nothing. I'm worried that if Katniss dies, then Mom will be like she was when Daddy died. After Daddy died she was distant, her movements slow and she withdrew from us, sometimes not speaking for days at a time. I can already see some of this coming back. When she gets like this, it's like she not there, like I'm completely alone. He looks down at me a sad look in his face, sympathy I guess.
"Do you want to learn to hunt?" he asks. With Katniss gone and the possibility of never coming back I probably need to...
"No don't think like that," I tell myself. She will come back. She will win but, I should learn to hunt. Just so I can help out until Katniss gets back. Anyway, I do like to cook.
"Alright," I answer. I don't know what hunting is like. I've only ever been past the fence a few times. Twice when Dad was still alive, to the meadow, where Katniss and I played and picked flowers for Mom. I've also been a couple of times with Katniss, but it was never to hunt, though once she took me fishing in the stream. I think back to that moment, wishing it could happen again. We were laughing at each other's jokes and dipping our toes into the chilly stream. That day had been perfect. We came back home and cooked the fish together. For the first time in a while, the three of us were together, enjoying ourselves and cooking dinner. That evening we had Gale's family over for dinner. They brought what food they could and we all ate until we were actually full.
"Okay, I'll meet you here early tomorrow morning" he replies, "Can you be ready to go?" I nod and he turns to leave.
"Take care of yourself, Prim," he says, standing in the doorway, a concerned look on his face.
"You too," I say. I know this is hurting him more than he lets on. He and Katniss have been friends for years, they're practically inseparable. He walks out and I sit down at the table. Buttercup, my cat, jumps from the window onto the table. I stoke his fur absentmindedly thinking about what would be happening in the next few days. It always happened the same way. They ride in on chariots, they get interviewed in pretty dresses and suits, then they're thrown into the area to kill and be killed. I can't imagine Katniss ever killing someone, but she can't die. I don't know what I'd d without her. I miss her so much. Only a few days ago she would've been coming in, making breakfast and braiding my hair. I close my eyes, blinking back tears, and will it all to go back to how it was, how it's supposed to be.