V The Mockingjay
Wednesday, August 22, 2012
I wake up in a much different location that I did before. I'm now on a floor that is cold, wet, stinky and really uncomfortable for me. My whole body feels broken and in pain for some reason. I place my hand against my head to smooth down my short hair which seems a bit longer since my meeting with my prep team before my interview.
How long ago was this? I really don't know.
On my head, I feel a dried sticky substance that from looking at its remains on my fingers is blood from wen I believe President Snow hit me after my interview and I was trying to warn Katniss for a reason I don't remember.
I try to stand up upon my feet and I collapse instantly. When I place my weight on my left leg like I usually do, there is no support anymore. I look down at my leg and see that it's gone. No prosthetic, no wooden peg, no metal contraption that doesn't make any sense, and definitely no new actual leg like they had surgically replaced the first day I woke up here.
I'm stranded here.
There's nothing to do anymore. No people to talk to, not a single human interaction. There is no television, no entertainment like the parties I vaguely was invited to; not that I enjoyed them—no, many girls my age tried to hang around me in hopes of me choosing them for whatever they wanted. But I didn't; this strange girl named Katniss was it for me.
I feel a growling sensation at Katniss' name, and I know something is wrong. I feel angry, ashamed, lonely and want all at the same time and it's all towards this hair-braided girl who seems to be important.
I shake my head to rid of her; I don't want to lose control at my most vulnerable point.
I notice some bread in the darkest corner of my cell, and without a second thought, I run to it.
It seems like the normal bread that suddenly pops into my head which I barely remember baking.
I remember a bakery with two other boys that looked like me and an old man that I am a replica of in a younger body. I remember kneading some dough and mixing in some nuts and raisins in. Whatever the reason I did it for, makes no effort to try and make me remember.
I remember hearing my mother start shouting at someone in our backyard and I going to investigate as the young curious boy I was.
A little girl shrinking away from my mother and her weapon-like broom surrounded me.
When mother left I quickly burnt the bread that I tried so hard to bake perfectly and I ran out of the house with a burn quickly erupting on my hands. Before I got outside, my mother reached me and smacked the side of my face as punishment.
At the impact and pain from both the smack and burn, I feel anger and violentness quickly course through my veins, making me feel like a mad man. I feel hatred and venom against this poor stupid girl who sits and waits for bread.
I bring it to her and suddenly catch her off guard, wringing my hands on her neck.
I look around and see that I'm in my cell, lashing out at the brick walls around me. I notice the bread that I've eaten previously thrown against the opposite corner I've found the bread in. I will not eat this bread again.
I now have this urge to do something about this Katniss since I've had this memory.
I remember doing something before I was sent down to this cell. Even before the interview.
I place my hand against the side of my head where there is still blood from my wound and I gather up some of the sticky substance. I bring my hand down and look at the concrete beside me before spreading my fingers around on the floor. They move on their own accordance and I am barely aware of what I am doing.
My fingers stop abruptly and I eye my masterpiece, if that's what I can even call it.
It looks as if a child finger painted this. Not me, who was able to draw that portrait of that Katniss girl—
My brain muscles start clenching and I pinch my arm to try and will myself back to normal—or however I was prior to thinking of that, that creature.
A ding rings out in my cell and I look up, searching for more food. My hunger is getting the best of me, and I am ignoring the rules that I am supposed to be forcing myself to follow.
I charge straight for whatever lies there—this time it's soup and a glass of milk—it looks surprisingly fresh—and grab the first thing that's closest to me for my parched mouth, the soup.
I slurp it down noisily, pouring it into my throat, barely choking on the small pieces of chopped meat. As soon as the bowl is bone dry, I down the cup of milk and fall back against the wall, my stomach happy and fullX
Not long after, my eyes start to fall shut and instead of my mind shutting down as well to rest, it turns on hyper-drive and everything seems like I'm in a fun house with mirrors, something I've seen in a Capitol-made movie during the victory tour with Kat—
That mutt. She tricked me. The only reason why she wanted to sleep in the same bed together was not for nightmares. She wanted to kill me in my sleep! Why she wanted find me and she brought me to the cave when my leg was cut? She wanted to kill me. Why she wanted me alone on the beach with her while everyone slept during the Quarter Quell? She wanted to kill me off without anyone else knowing, luckily Finnick woke up—wait, isn't he apart of Katniss' team?
Someone's entering the cell. She's got a long, brown braid, silver-grey eyes and olive skin. Katniss.
"Peeta, I'm not here to harm you," Katniss says.
I know she's lying. I see the knife behind her back. I see the evil behind her smile. I know the smile is actually a smirk.
In a split second, I lash out at her, attacking her and slamming her to the ground. She screams out, fangs showing.
I no longer hear a female scream, but a male shouting, and many other males shouting as well.
I open my eyes and see many soldiers standing in front of me, one that looks like Katniss is fighting against my weight.
In my crazed mind, which seems not so crazed to me, I feel my grip slack and the soldier is now pinning me down, locking my hands behind as I continue my struggle.
I don't know if they are Rebels or Capitol Supporters, and I can't seem to relent against either.
I suddenly feel a needle jab in my neck and I fall onto the ground, slumping in an uncomfortable position onto the hard concrete.
I turn my head slightly and notice blood on the concrete.
My blood. But it's not in a pool, and it's not wet.
It's dried and in shape of a bird.
I painted the Mockingjay, I think, and dots cover my eyes before everything becomes black.
A/N: So...Sorry for the long wait. I got caught up in my new story, Stronger and I had writer block for this story. So, it's done. After this, starts Mockingjay (the book) after the rescue. Thanks to everyone who followed, reviewed and favourited. You can follow me on twitter: istillwantotbeme or
tumblr: i-still-want-to-be-me for updates and cool stuff.
Thanks so much, please review, and I hope to have a new story maybe next summer, or hopefully earlier
Farewell for now!