The Hunger Games: The Violent Hour

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Chapter Six

*Katniss’s Point OfView*

I watch in horror as Iris makes her way down the hill in the arena, completely clueless that Hammett is behind her.

Her predator.

I want to scream, I want to yell, I want to tell her to be aware of her surroundings. I can’t. She doesn’t pick up on any of my clues. I sent her raw meat to attract large game. And she let it spoil. I sent her burnt bread in attempt to remind her of Peeta and me. She tossed it.

What am I supposed to do? Peeta and I are in a daze, watching what could be our daughter’s last moments. We already lost Rye. Losing Iris . . . Peeta and I would be back at block one. Crazy. Feral. Imprisoned in our own minds by the capitol. I register the feel of Peeta’s warm hand on mine. He gives me an optimistic squeeze and I do nothing. All I can do is stare at the screen.

Hammett jumps down from his position and lands in front of Iris. He quickly grabs her throat and a mournful cry escapes my throat. “Well if it isn’t the girl on fire’s daughter! I see why they named you Silver Iris. Your eyes,” he traces his knife around them, “they’re very enchanting.” He presses the blade down on the corner and she squirms. She doesn’t scream. “I wonder how they will look like outside of your sockets.

Iris closes her eyes and her jaw shakes. “Please,” she begs.

“Fine, I will slit your throat first,” he says bitterly and positions his knife on her neck. Iris doesn’t say anything. All she does is gulp and wait for her death.

Hammett draws his knife back and across her neck.

And there, before him, lay the lifeless body of my daughter.

“IRIS!” I exclaim and sit up.

I am on a bed. I seem to be stationary, yet moving. Am I on a train? Yes, it seems so. The quarters I am in resemble the ones I slept in on my ride to the Capitol during my trips to the Games.

The Games…

“Katniss?” a voice besides me asks quietly. Blue eyes capture my gaze now. The body they belong to is next to me, warm in contrast to my frigid skin. Warm arms hold me in an embrace. I shiver at their pleasant feel.

My hands go to my cheeks and I find them wet. “Peeta…” I moan and I burrow my head into his shoulder. The tears begin to flow freely now.

“It’s going to be ok,” he whispers.

“I had a nightmare,” I say.

“What was it about?” he asks, stroking my head softly.

“Iris and Rye. She – they. . . the Games. . .” I stutter.

“What about them, Katniss? Tell me, you know it always helps you to tell me about them,” he says.

“We lostboth of them, Peeta!” I begin to sob now.

“Shh,” he whispers, wrapping his arms around me tighter.

“What if- what if it happens?” I ask, chocking on my words.

He pulls away from me and grasps my face firmly, bringing it close to his. “As long as I still have you, I will be ok.”

All I can do is stare into the depth of his eyes. They seem to be a sad ocean in the night. They are expectant. Pain is embedded deep into the blueness of them, marking every streak of light and dark blue in his irises.