Hijacked

Chapter 6

The next day Rita never came with any food. This morning nobody has come. It’s nearly twelve and I’m so hungry. Then another message sounds.

“A peacekeeper will be here in a few moments.”

That’s all I get.

“Why aren’t I allowed any food?” I ask, but I receive no answer.

A minute later a peacekeeper enters, taking me by the wrists, holding my arms back. He pushes me out of the door and down many flights of stairs to the basement. So much for being a guest! He opens a door and I see an operating table and two doctors, a woman and a man.

“Peeta Mellark.” The woman says.

The peacekeeper lets me go and slips quickly from the room. I try to open the door after its shut behind him, but it’s no use. It’s been locked.

“Come here.” The female doctor says, beckoning me with her finger.

I hesitantly go over, because I have no other choice. She tells me to lie on the table. I do and she smiles.

“Good, now relax.”

The male doctor injects me with something light green in a syringe. I flinch.

“Ow!” I protest. “That…”

But suddenly I forget what I want to say, and I’m so exhausted.

“That…” I repeat in a mumble.

Then I slide into unconsciousness.

“Hello, Peeta. How are you feeling?”

The first thing I hear as I wake up. In response I retch and cough. I am so so tired and I want to sleep forever, but I can’t seem to drift off.

“How are you feeling?” The male doctor repeats.

“Awful.” I mumble “How long was I under?”

“A couple of days.” The doctor says, handing me some folded clothes. “Get ready and come back in here.”

He drags me to my feet and pushes me behind a screen to change. I slowly unto the paper hospital gown I’m in. It’s backless and thin, and provides no warmth. I shiver violently. I’m not sure if it’s from cold or the effects of the injection. I don’t remember putting any paper robe on. This is all so confusing. I redress with fumbling hands and come out from behind the screen.

“Good, now come with me.”

The doctor unlocks the door to my old room. I go inside and see Snow sat on a chair by the desk. But that’s not what’s caught my attention. Did I paint those? Those canvases? Covered in Katniss’s face?

“Ah, your paintings. Wish to make any corrections?” Snow asks smoothly

I grab my paintbrush and pick up one of the smaller pictures of Katniss. Then I stick the wooden end of the brush through the middle of Katniss’s forehead, where, hopefully, it would kill her if this painting was really her.

Snow laughs.

I pick up another, larger brush and pour out a large puddle of white paint onto my palette. Then I brush white straight over the largest picture of her, layering more and more paint on until you can hardly see the face underneath. Then I squeeze some black paint out and start writing out my message.

Snow comes over as I slam my paintbrush down on my bedside table, splattering the wood with black paint. He grins when he sees what I’ve written:

KATNISS EVERDEEN MUST DIE.