I switch PoV’s sometimes, but I am pretty much focusing on the main characters (Katniss, Peeta, Percy, Hyacinth, Ruen, etc).
Sooo, here’s the first chapter! After this, tell me what you think, and if I should continue :D.
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Chapter One, Katniss
It starts again.
Another nightmare.
I am running. Snow is lunging for me, rasping out my name. He sounds like those lizard green mutts. Katniss. Blood trickles down his lips, down his cheek toward his rose lapel. The rose is white, white as snow, half wilted. The blood drips down on it and at the first touch, it turns the white rose dark red. I can smell him. His familiar menacing smell. It suffocates me and I gasp for breath. A burning District Twelve lies right beneath my feet, making me want to cry out. Prim and Finnick’s deaths seem fresh, and I want to lie down. I want to give up…
Snow is over me. He has something in his hands. The berries. He has the berries in his hand. But his face doesn’t look like Snow’s anymore. It looks like Gale, who looks concerned. Bewildered, he drops the berries, but as soon as he does, his face begins to melt away. But it doesn’t melt away into wax; when the top of his head is gone, all I see are tracker jackers, devouring his face bit by bit, tearing it carnivorously into shreds. I scream and scramble to my feet. The ground opens up beneath me and I fall. I fall, my mouth strangely mute. My brain is blank. And I fall.
With a final scream, I bolt upright, my eyes closed and my hands groping.
It’s cold.
I know Peeta has left the windows open again. A cool night breeze swirls in, slipping under my blankets and crawling up my clothes onto my skin. I shiver, holding out my hands and grasping for Peeta’s warmth. I search blindly, yet intently, for his touch, the touch that will calm me down. Another breeze makes me shudder and my name hisses in my mind. Katniss.
“Shut up,” I tell it, still blind. My voice is a hoarse whisper, and a lump lodges in my throat. I hear crickets chirping, leave rustling, the wind whistling. And finally, Peeta’s steady breathing. Involuntarily, I let out a sigh of relief, and flop back on the bed, feeling ridiculous that I’m relieved. I’ll always be safe, I remind myself. Peeta will always be here. The boy with the bread is still here.
Having reassured myself, I find Peeta’s hand and press it against my cheek. Blissful warmth flows through and I give a sigh.
I feel Peeta’s body shift. His breathing takes on a faster pace. “Katniss?”
I don’t respond, praying he’ll go back to sleep. But some part of me wants him to wake up. I want to talk to him. I want his comfort.
He knows I’m awake and I feel him turn over. My eyes open; I find myself staring into blue eyes once again, etched with worry, but ones that know they’re safe.
“Katniss,” he repeats.
I sigh. “What?”
“Don’t play that game with me.”
“I don’t play games.”
“You are.”
“Am not.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Then why are you playing the arguing game?”
I give him another sigh, more exasperated. “Go back to sleep.” I let go of his hand, barely realizing I’ve been holding it, and turn my back to him, indicating he should go to sleep.
He knows I can’t do it. “Katniss…”
“What?” I answer, frustration creeping up in my tone. I scowl at myself. “What now, Peeta?”
“Go back to sleep.”
Retching at his attempted ironic humor, I toss over again, glaring at him. His eyes are still open, and I can see he’s trying hard to suppress a smile.
“Not funny,” I snap. I want to slap that hint of a grin off his face but my hands stay at my side.
“Who said it was?” he asks.
Another scowl is my answer, and I curl up next to his chest, feeling it go up and down. Up and down. Up and down. “You forgot to close the windows.”
“I was hot.”
“You were,” I say. “And I’m cold.”
“Well, what do you have blankets for?”
“Go close the windows.”
“You’re the one who’s cold. You go do it.”
I give him a glare but he doesn’t back down. “I’m not the one who opened them.”
“I opened them because it was getting hot in here,” he replies.
“But now it’s cold.”
“If you think so, go close the windows.”
I hear a creak. “You left the door open, too, didn’t you?”
His shoulders lift up and roll back down. “Maybe.”
“Peeta,” I whine.
“Katniss,” he imitates.
“You sound like Haymitch.”
“You complain like Effie,” he shoots back.
“Go close the door and the windows.”
“You think it’s cold. You go do it.”
“Be a gentleman.”
“You’re supposed to be a lady.”
I feel my face flush. I’m tired of this conversation. “Fine. I’ll go close them.” I grab a thin shawl that I left on the floor and wrap it around my shoulders. As I exit the room, I hear Peeta chuckling softly. I hear the bed creak as he turns to go back to sleep.
I make it to the door, where it’s swinging with an eerie creak. The hinges are rusted. I hear Haymitch snore in the living room. I stare at the door. Images of tracker jackers, mutts, fire, and guns fill my mind. I see Prim’s death. I see Rue with the spear in her stomach. I see Peeta hitting the force field, Finnick reviving him. Screams echo in my mind.
I blink, and it all disappears. With trembling hands, I close the door, then make a round trip through the house to shut the windows. The wind stops and the crickets are silent.
Tears blur my eyes.
And I run to the room before my children can hear my choked sobs.
_______________________________________________________________________________
Like it? PJO comes later in the story. They’re not here yet. No, I don’t write like Suzanne Collins but sometimes I wish I did. Keep in mind this: I don’t own the books. I borrowed them and read them, and then I gave them back. So all the information about the Hunger Games trilogy I have in this story have been stored in my memory. If I get something wrong, please tell me so I can fix it :D.
Thanks! Tell me what you think and if I should keep going or not!!!:D:D:D
Peace out.
icuSTALKER
Sooo, here’s the first chapter! After this, tell me what you think, and if I should continue :D.
*****************************************
Chapter One, Katniss
It starts again.
Another nightmare.
I am running. Snow is lunging for me, rasping out my name. He sounds like those lizard green mutts. Katniss. Blood trickles down his lips, down his cheek toward his rose lapel. The rose is white, white as snow, half wilted. The blood drips down on it and at the first touch, it turns the white rose dark red. I can smell him. His familiar menacing smell. It suffocates me and I gasp for breath. A burning District Twelve lies right beneath my feet, making me want to cry out. Prim and Finnick’s deaths seem fresh, and I want to lie down. I want to give up…
Snow is over me. He has something in his hands. The berries. He has the berries in his hand. But his face doesn’t look like Snow’s anymore. It looks like Gale, who looks concerned. Bewildered, he drops the berries, but as soon as he does, his face begins to melt away. But it doesn’t melt away into wax; when the top of his head is gone, all I see are tracker jackers, devouring his face bit by bit, tearing it carnivorously into shreds. I scream and scramble to my feet. The ground opens up beneath me and I fall. I fall, my mouth strangely mute. My brain is blank. And I fall.
With a final scream, I bolt upright, my eyes closed and my hands groping.
It’s cold.
I know Peeta has left the windows open again. A cool night breeze swirls in, slipping under my blankets and crawling up my clothes onto my skin. I shiver, holding out my hands and grasping for Peeta’s warmth. I search blindly, yet intently, for his touch, the touch that will calm me down. Another breeze makes me shudder and my name hisses in my mind. Katniss.
“Shut up,” I tell it, still blind. My voice is a hoarse whisper, and a lump lodges in my throat. I hear crickets chirping, leave rustling, the wind whistling. And finally, Peeta’s steady breathing. Involuntarily, I let out a sigh of relief, and flop back on the bed, feeling ridiculous that I’m relieved. I’ll always be safe, I remind myself. Peeta will always be here. The boy with the bread is still here.
Having reassured myself, I find Peeta’s hand and press it against my cheek. Blissful warmth flows through and I give a sigh.
I feel Peeta’s body shift. His breathing takes on a faster pace. “Katniss?”
I don’t respond, praying he’ll go back to sleep. But some part of me wants him to wake up. I want to talk to him. I want his comfort.
He knows I’m awake and I feel him turn over. My eyes open; I find myself staring into blue eyes once again, etched with worry, but ones that know they’re safe.
“Katniss,” he repeats.
I sigh. “What?”
“Don’t play that game with me.”
“I don’t play games.”
“You are.”
“Am not.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Then why are you playing the arguing game?”
I give him another sigh, more exasperated. “Go back to sleep.” I let go of his hand, barely realizing I’ve been holding it, and turn my back to him, indicating he should go to sleep.
He knows I can’t do it. “Katniss…”
“What?” I answer, frustration creeping up in my tone. I scowl at myself. “What now, Peeta?”
“Go back to sleep.”
Retching at his attempted ironic humor, I toss over again, glaring at him. His eyes are still open, and I can see he’s trying hard to suppress a smile.
“Not funny,” I snap. I want to slap that hint of a grin off his face but my hands stay at my side.
“Who said it was?” he asks.
Another scowl is my answer, and I curl up next to his chest, feeling it go up and down. Up and down. Up and down. “You forgot to close the windows.”
“I was hot.”
“You were,” I say. “And I’m cold.”
“Well, what do you have blankets for?”
“Go close the windows.”
“You’re the one who’s cold. You go do it.”
I give him a glare but he doesn’t back down. “I’m not the one who opened them.”
“I opened them because it was getting hot in here,” he replies.
“But now it’s cold.”
“If you think so, go close the windows.”
I hear a creak. “You left the door open, too, didn’t you?”
His shoulders lift up and roll back down. “Maybe.”
“Peeta,” I whine.
“Katniss,” he imitates.
“You sound like Haymitch.”
“You complain like Effie,” he shoots back.
“Go close the door and the windows.”
“You think it’s cold. You go do it.”
“Be a gentleman.”
“You’re supposed to be a lady.”
I feel my face flush. I’m tired of this conversation. “Fine. I’ll go close them.” I grab a thin shawl that I left on the floor and wrap it around my shoulders. As I exit the room, I hear Peeta chuckling softly. I hear the bed creak as he turns to go back to sleep.
I make it to the door, where it’s swinging with an eerie creak. The hinges are rusted. I hear Haymitch snore in the living room. I stare at the door. Images of tracker jackers, mutts, fire, and guns fill my mind. I see Prim’s death. I see Rue with the spear in her stomach. I see Peeta hitting the force field, Finnick reviving him. Screams echo in my mind.
I blink, and it all disappears. With trembling hands, I close the door, then make a round trip through the house to shut the windows. The wind stops and the crickets are silent.
Tears blur my eyes.
And I run to the room before my children can hear my choked sobs.
_________________________________________
Like it? PJO comes later in the story. They’re not here yet. No, I don’t write like Suzanne Collins but sometimes I wish I did. Keep in mind this: I don’t own the books. I borrowed them and read them, and then I gave them back. So all the information about the Hunger Games trilogy I have in this story have been stored in my memory. If I get something wrong, please tell me so I can fix it :D.
Thanks! Tell me what you think and if I should keep going or not!!!:D:D:D
Peace out.
icuSTALKER
