(peeta) heavy in your arms

[burnwithus]

As time passes, I go through the motions but nothing I do would ever qualify as living. The cravings for morphling have returned, and it's enough to send tremors and shooting pains running down my body. I don't eat anything except for mangoes. There's nothing else that my stomach can keep down. And sometimes during the midst of all the island's peacefulness I expect the roar of gunfire. I expect all of this to be taken away sooner rather than later. Like District 12. Like Peeta. Like Prim. If I don't expect anything from anyone, then I won't be disappointed. It's a fail-proof plan that gets harder to carry out every day because the people here are friendly without being asked. It's why I avoid them in favor of my own company, seeking refuge in a collection of caves that leads to a small lake and a waterfall outside.

I dip my legs into the pool. The water is cold, but it helps me keep my grip on reality well enough for these next few moments. My legs still remember what it was like to be on fire, and the change in temperature has a numbing effect that I'm grateful for until it's combined with the tremors and ends in small fits. I scramble out as best I can, rising unsteadily from my knees. The old Katniss would have loved this place, but it only serves to remind me of my father's lake - the only untouched piece of land surrounded by ashes.

My wet feet slip unsteadily on the grass until I stop myself at the sight of a prosthetic leg and further up until I see him. This isn't happening. I've lost my mind or my morphling-starved brain is bringing back images from the past. I half expect him to have a shovel in hand, ready to throw the clumps of dirt onto my deserving face. But his eyes have lost that crazed, clouded look and his skin looks smooth and unburnt, which should have been a sign.

Logical or not, I take steps towards him, my hands reaching tentatively out to touch him, because I need to make sure that he's real.

Comments

[ourshinycity]

He was staring.

He couldn't help it. This girl looked like Katniss, but instead of dirt and scabs there was a strange pinkness to her skin. If this was her then something had happened to her that he couldn't place. But he had been told that sometimes people from home never made it here. Others came that wore their face, like terrifying muttations without the evil that the Capitol infused. It was just different.

"Katniss?" he asked, taking a step forward legs moving stiffly. He was better than he had before but it had been a while since he had been forced to recover the natural way. Extending a hand to her, concern etched across his face Peeta wondered what could have happened to her. "You are Katniss, aren't you?"