Masked Enemies

Chapter 23

Katniss

I sit alone in my bed, my head pounding from the day's events. I fight the sleep that washes over me, because I knew that I would just recall the what had happened today.

The sleep wins over, though, and I drowsily close my eyes and drift into nightmares.

The reaping was first. I remember them calling Rory's name and then my name, and I remember the shocked look on Hazelle's face when his name was called, and I remember her visiting me when she was allowed to, clutching my shoulders and begging for me to try my best to keep him alive.

Then my mother came. It pained me to see that Prim wasn't there with her, because I remembered my first games, when she had come to see me off.

"Try to win." She had said, her eyes brimming with tears, her features contorted with pain and misery.

Then I recall the day when the explosion had happened, and then I had lost her and Peeta for good. That shifts into the night we lost Mags, and the look on Finnick's face when she had fallen to the ground, and I remember how much effort it had taken to hold him back from running. The pain that I had felt when I had first touched the fog is revoked again, and that is all it takes to wake me up.

I sit up in bed, my pulse getting faster and faster by the minute, my headache getting more and more painful, and I want to scream for Peeta, but he isn't there.

I want to scream for Gale, but he isn't here either.

I want to scream for Finnick, or Beetee, or really anyone who had experienced the same horrors, the kind of horror that spreads inside of you when you lose someone you love.

These nightmares were not like my usual nightmares about my first games. These dreams were so much more vivid, so much more real than the ones where the tributes turned into dogs or where everyone I loved died.

These weren't just ordinary dreams, though. These dreams weren't dreams at all, really. They were reality, pieces of my life I replayed in my mind over and over again.

I settle back into bed and try to doze off, but instead, I end up lying there, my face pressed against the soft pillow.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Morning comes with a loud bang! I jump out of bed and walk outside to see what the commotion is. One of the chair legs had broken, and Effie was crying, "That is mahogany!"

I laugh, because I remember on the first trip to the Capitol, Effie had cried the same thing when Peeta had stabbed the knife into that table. The same one Haymitch was sitting at now, clearly drunk, even though he had promised to be sober.

I look around the room and see Rory sitting in a chair, his legs to his chest, rocking back and forth like a child. The child that he was. It was cruel to send someone so young into such a dangerous game. Cruel to send anyone, really, into such a dangerous game.

I was at a crossroads now. Who did I want to survive, me or Cascade? Rory or Finnick? The president must have done this on purpose, for sure, because otherwise it would not have been so coincidental, it could never have been. Four was well populated, and twelve didn't have any male victors. The Reaping had been rigged by Offen.

Surely Offen supported Snow, no matter how much he denied it. Surely the public didn't like the idea of the Hunger Games starting again, but they were blind to Offen's dark side.

I leave the hall, and Haymitch, who is now entering sobriety, asked me where I was going, but I ignore him, and keep walking until I reach the end of the train where Peeta and I had had our first serious chat that wasn't about the Hunger Games or the rebellion.

My mind recalls the moment when Peeta had asked me what my favorite color was.

Suddenly I am back to a year or so ago, and I am sitting on the cushions of the seats, looking at Peeta.

"You know, the deep stuff. Like... what's your favorite color?" He asked me, the beginnings of a laugh playing on the corners of his mouth.

"Oh, now you've crossed the line." I had said, smiling as well.

Peeta laughs, and asks again. "Really. What is it?"

"Green." I said. "What's yours?"

"Orange. Not bright orange, like Effie's hair, but soft, like the sunset." Peeta answers.

We sat there in silence for the rest of the day.

I am back to the present. That memory had made me realize, in some strange way, that I was about to lose almost everyone that I loved.