Hi!
This is a story that has been on my mind for quite some time! I hope you enjoy it as much as i do!
Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games.
Blood.
All I can see is blood. Worried and picturing the worst, I rapidly search my body for any sign of damage, but my skin shows no puncture wounds.
For a second, a wave of relief runs through me, until I see it, resting in my closed hand – a bloodied knife.
No, I'm not the victim, but chances are, I'm the aggressor.
Frantic, I look around, thinking maybe there's still time, maybe I can still help whomever I harmed.
A 360º inspection shows me nothing but trees, bushes and the dead of night. Yet, looking closely, my eyes detect something that doesn't belong – a red trail drawn on the floor – a red bloodied trail.
I follow it as quickly and silently as possible, searching for the source.
Pushing past the last two bushes in my way, a female silhouette becomes visible. I fall on my knees, not more than 3 meters away from my victim. My face contorts in recognition – "No, not her" I scream. "NO"
I wake up screaming and drenched in sweat. Trying to calm my racing heart, I attempt to familiarize myself with the room I'm in.
I lay in a bed – not my bed, this one is far comfortable and nicer than mine. At home, I share a bedroom with my middle brother since my older brother has gotten married. Back then, the three of us would share the same bedroom and I would sleep on the floor, since he moved out I was allowed to take Rhys' bed. No right away though, Naan, my middle brother had the first pick as he is older than me. If he had preferred Rhys' bed to his, I would have gotten his instead. It would be fine anyway, a bed is better than no bed at all.
I rub my eyes and try to adjust my vision to the room surrounding me. The clothes I wore yesterday lye neatly folded on the bench at the end of the bed. A robe lye's on my feet, ready to be used. In front of me is a door that leads to the bathroom and on my right the exit.
I'm on a train, although almost imperceptible, I can feel it moving underneath me. This train won't stop until it reaches its destination, and until then I can't get out, I'm stuck inside. I start to panic thinking I'm boxed in, with nowhere to go. I need air, I need to get out.
Trying to calm down, I get out of bed take the robe, put on a pair of sleepers and roam the train's corridor. I'm hoping to find somewhere to hide, somewhere I can feel less a prisoner, somewhere I can trick myself into not thinking.
I find myself in the last carriage, not really sure how I got here. This is my favorite part of the train as it has only a large moon shaped sofa on the very rear of the train and the celling was replaced by a giant window that allows me to see the sky. This is the closer I will be to the outside until we stop, so I look up at the starry skies and try the exercise Haymitch – my mentor, has taught me.
"I am Peeta Mellark, I'm 15 years old, I'm from district 12, I'm a baker, I work in my parent's bakery. I was reaped as the male tribute of district 12 for the Hunger Games; my district partner is dead – It wasn't my fault. I tried my best to save her but there was nothing I could do for her. Somehow, I won the games, I am the victor of the 73rd annual Hunger Games, I'm going home"