The Hunger Games One Shots

2. Plagued

SONG OF THE IMAGINE - AFRAID BY THE NEIGHBOURHOOD

This imagine was originally posted as just one short story. However, it isn't getting the amount of reads I think it deserves, so I decided to put it in here as well since more people will read this. This is set 20 years after the rebellion.

{Katniss POV}

There are nights where I wake up and not even Peeta can calm my screams. Those nights are the worst of all. But, it takes more of an emotional toll on him, though, the thought that even he can't cure my misery. The problem is, I can't tell him what I dream about. Or I'll risk breaking his heart.

Last night was one of those nights.

My throat is hoarse as I step out of bed, careful not to wake Peeta. I chug a glass of water I leave on my bedside table every night, but my throat still aches.

My covered feet patter down the stars, and I tiptoe quietly into the small kitchen. I pop a toaster waffle into the toaster and prepare myself another glass of water. The chilly air of the refrigerator makes my hairs stand on end as I grab the maple syrup, but I warm up as soon as I close it. Beeping sounds come from the black microwave as I set the time for the syrup to heat up.

I move to open the white-trimmed window, and hear the songs the birds sing in the morning. Warm air filters in through the screen with a light breeze.

My waffle pops out of the toaster and I grab it while it's still hot, and cut it into six individual pieces. I then drown it in syrup, chewing slowly to savor the taste.

When I finish eating, I put my plate into the white sink and tighten my olive green robe. I turn around and gasp as I see Peeta standing at the archway, and he is fully dressed already. I try to ignore the redness under his eyes

"Good Morning," I say cheerfully, smiling at him. I walk towards him and he just stares at me with this blank look. Funny.

I snake my arms around his waist and look at his blue orbs. They gleam like a child's who's played too many video games in a day. And that seems very off.

"Are you okay?" I ask, resting my head in the spot where his heart beats. I feel as his chest rises then sinks as he takes deep breaths. Suddenly, the motion reminds me of the time he almost died in the arena, where Finnick saved his life. The thought of Finnick reminds me of his death. I grip Peeta's shirt, forcing the memories away.

I look up, and see his eyes turning dark. Like they always do when he has a flashback.

I let go of his shirt and take a step back cautiously. He looks up at me, half hijacked, half him, but the real him is falling before my eyes, no longer fighting the mutt inside him.

"I'm a..." he mutters quietly, looking down at his hands, then up at me again. A face of confusion stares back at me, and I have nothing to do.

"I'm a mutt," he says, a look of anger growing in his eyes. I take a few more steps back, but my back hits the corner. If he goes full-out, I'm screwed. The door is all the way to the left, and if I bolt he will run out and we can't have civilians at risk.

"I'm a mutt," he cries again, louder, "I'm a mutt, I'm a mutt! I'm a mutt! I'm a mutt!" He yells, walking towards me at an increasingly fast pace. His hand shakes as he picks up the glass of water I took downstairs, and it shatters into a million pieces next to me as it launches across the room.

"You're not a mutt!" I yell, as he starts walking even faster towards me. The fear grows in me when he's only three feet away and I can see the absolute blackness of his eyes.