Flooding Panem: The Hunger Games

Chapter Nineteen: Dreaming

I jump lightly from root to root, avoiding leaving tread marks in the snow and attempting not to make too much sound. My hood, drawn up around my face, protects me from the cold winter moon that lights my face. No. That's wrong. It's not winter, it's summer. It's August. No- July? I count back through the days, but I soon realise that I can't. This place takes you over until all you can count are the deaths. Time doesn't exist here, except for the rising and falling of the sun.

I don't know how much time I've got left. Two days, maybe three max. Parox and Marvel... they're nothing to me, and I'm nothing to them. We're three people who are trying to make it out of here alive. Not crushes. Not friends.

There was a sense of finality about leaving the precipice. I felt safe there- well, as safe as could be expected. Leaving it- I'm on edge. Trying to distract myself just meant formulating nightmares or confusing myself. Then I stopped to sleep.

I dreamt about Parox. We were lying in this field, just the two of us. I couldn't see anything except green for miles, but I could hear a stream trickling past. My hand was cushioned in his, and even though I couldn't see his face, I knew that Parox was smiling.

"I could teach you to swim," I said, peacefully.

"I'd like that."

Above me, a hawk swirled in my mind's eye. "We could go out and-" I was interrupted by Parox's lips on mine.

He pulls back after a minute. "I love you, Lilia," he whispered.

And suddenly I felt the grass melting under my back, becoming more and more unsteady. "I..."

The grass rose over us as I stuttered.

"I.. I lo..." I sighed, panicked. "Me too."

A huge wave crashed over us. Parox was pulled away from me, and suddenly I was in darkness. I kicked upwards instinctively, but there was no sign of light. I could feel my lungs bending in on themselves, twisting in my guts. My body convulsed, and I suddenly felt my lungs inflate with water.

I woke up kicking furiously. I shoved my sleeping bag away, but my legs got caught in the fabric and I ended up slumped on the snow, half-in, half-out of the bag. Calm down. Just breathe. You can keep that to yourself. I leaned fowards, focusing entirely on undoing the zip along the edge of the sleeping bag. I packed up rather hurriedly, but I realised just as quickly that I had no clue where I should go. The moon was still up, the stars still glaring down. Then only one way made sense.

I don't know how to describe this feeling. This lightness and confusion and clarity all at once. I guess I feel like a dream. No, no- dreams are random and difficult to make out. No, I'm not a dream. I'm a ghost, that's it. A ghost. Wandering around not mattering to anything and with no intentions. I've been living in such terror since the Reaping, but that's gone now, and it's freed up so much space in my mind to let me just exist. I like it. It reminds me of the costal shelves way out from the beach where no one disturbs you because no one notices you. You can hear voices yes, but only just. They aren't really voices, because you can't see anyone speaking. They're more like murmurs, sounds that keep to themselves. Even the waves are quiet, lapping up around your waist but not bothering you, just drifting. The blue of the sky has lost its brilliance to the freedom of your mind; it's beautiful, just not quite real. Though I guess the sky has never existed has it? It's just an expanse of nothingness that allows comets and planets and stars to do as they please.

I guess the sun is the only thing that can reach you there. It winks at you, warms the water and then leaves you to the dark surroundings and the stars when it's had its fun. It tries to make you uncomfortable sometimes, I suppose, heating you up to the point were you'd want to pass out- except the water's always there. It never leaves you for a moment. Not one.