Peeta Mellark's POV (Catching Fire & Mockingjay)

Part 11

The horrors of the next few days are the worst I've ever endured in the Cage. Portia and Effie, the rebellion and the ashes of my home are a candle flicker in the darkness of my reality. With every venom induced coma, I wake from the nightmares in a cold sweat, kicking and screaming, trembling and bleeding.

Annie struggles desperately to comfort me. But my memories are blurred, infused with puddles of frightening color, the smell of burning flesh and creatures that ferment in the recesses of my tortured mind. How many times must I watch my family die, swallowed in the flames of the bombing? Relive my father's last words? Feel my own body ripped apart? Soon, even Annie loses hope of ever again seeing the boy with the bread.

Johanna doesn't dare look at what I've become, as if in a fit of rage she might kill me herself. Night after night, I lie awake dying to drift off long enough for her to smother me in my sleep. Especially when I ascend into the Cage muttering treacherous things as the nightmares rage on.

Strapped to the metal chair, the familiar sting unleashes a burning, like my skin is on fire as the venom courses through my veins. In a shiny haze, the Chamber begins to morph. Thick green grass and insects sprout through cracks of the blood stained tiles. From the dirt, twisted and tangled roots grow rapidly into towering trees. Foliage blooms from every crevice, beautifully frightening in a glossy glaze, swallowing all traces of white. And once again, I'm in the jungle.

The sun is bright and hot, beating down on my bare skin. The air warm and heavy with moister. The thin white cotton clings to me with sweat and I suddenly realize the spiked chains have too morphed and thick green vines now entwine around myself out of the chair, the thorns bite my fingers, drawing droplets of blood. Finally free, I dash behind a tree and listen. There's only the sound of birds and the sway of the trees through the breeze.

Sighing, I wipe my sweaty forehead and bloody fingers with a patch of moss. Then I painstakingly remove the stingers and foul-smelling green liquid oozes a thought dawns on me. I'm in the middle of the jungle with no weapons. Gritting my teeth, Haymitch's voice whispers Stay Alive. Rolling my eyes, I scan the jungle for any signs of life. There's no dirt trail or footprints so it's safe to assume I'm alone. For now. My eyes dart frantically as I cut through the dense moss-coated vegetation. Trudging deeper and deeper, I search for something, anything I can fashion into a spear.

            Suddenly I hear a sharp zap. I freeze, my foot hovering over a patch of dazzling pink flowers. Gazing into the distance, I spot a butterfly on the ground, its orange wings sizzling. Grabbing a branch of hard nuts hanging like grapes, I chuck them. And one by one, they pop against the force field. I'm hallucinating, if my heart stops beating, what are the odds I'll awake in the Cage? It'll be quick, I won't even feel it. Shaking my head, I force the thought from my mind. Because despite imminent death lurking around every tree, I cherish a slither of hope that I'll hold Katniss in my arms again.

Weary of the tangled roots, I toss the nuts as I go. And every so often, when a nut hits the force field there's a puff of smoke and the nut lands blackened with a cracked shell. Pangs of hunger rumble in my stomach as I peel off the shells of a few cracked nuts and pop them into my mouth. My tongue recoils at the mildly sweet taste, like hazelnuts. Katniss' cry shocks me and I flinch, mid-swallow. "Mags! Spit that out. It could be poisonous." And Finnick's heart-warming laugh, "I guess we'll find out."     

A pang of sorrow hits me square in the chest as I recall the memory. I was lingering so closely to death during the Quell yet somehow my brain traps this moment of pure uncorrupted tranquillity and let it emerge in my hallucination to taunt me now. And my eyes water knowing sweet little Mags sacrificed herself so Finnick could save me. Only for Snow to hijack me into a monster. A strange anger arouses inside me, how easy it would be for Katniss and the rebellion if I was dead.