Multi-fandom imagines

Roses- The Hunger Games

A/N: Austin here! So, before we jump in, I have an explanation. First: I know I said I would update Saturday on what was voted on more, but I just finished the Hunger Games series, and I am irrevocably broken. Most likely beyond repair. It hurt so much, guys. Anywho, because of this, I have to put an imagine out.

Disclaimer!!!: Side effects may include spoilers, and probable depression. You have been warned.

Secondly, don't forget to vote on the next imagine you want!! Voting's open until Saturday! 

Alright! Let's jump in! 

           The smell of warm bread wafted through the kitchen. Peeta had spent hours adding ingredients and kneading it to perfection, never settling for anything less. 

          I was washing the dishes in the sink by the kitchen window and watching the sunlight bounce off the tree leaves. It was spring, and everything was glowing with new life. 

          My son played in the dirt by our front step, waiting for his father and sister to come home from the market. They had set out about and hour ago, leaving me with a kiss on the cheek. Finnick's son played with him. They ran about on their chubby little legs, laughing and pushing each other. 

          So much had changed since the end of the games, oh-so-many years ago. Monuments had been erected in honor of all the tributes that had lost their lives in our fight for freedom.

           Front and center in my mind were still Rue and Finnick. It hurt beyond words, seeing his little boy running around my house almost every day, and seeing the hollow look in Annie's eyes that she tried so hard to hide. 

            As for Rue, there was nothing left to remember her by, except for the four note whistle that I had worked to erase from my memory. 

            So many years had passed that all of their deaths were just pieces in the back of my mind. They didn't hurt so terribly anymore, although there would always be an empty hole whenever I thought about them for any reason. 

             It had been years since either Peeta or I had woken from nightmares, or since he had one of his fits. Neither of the children had had to witness that so far, and I planned on keeping it that way. 

             I glanced out the window again and saw my little girl running up the front path. She had a huge grin on her face, and was hiding something behind her back. 

            I smiled and rinsed my hand under the cool water of the faucet.

             I was still drying them when she came flying through the door, giddy with excitement. 

           Every day, I still saw Prim in her.

         "Mommy! Mommy! Look what I got you!" 

          Before I had a chance to look, Peeta came bursting into the kitchen, his face frantic. "I'm sorry, I couldn't stop her."

           Confused, I looked down at her outstretched hand. 

            And it was too late. For there, grasped in her little palm, was a pure white rose. The sickly, sweet smell washed over me, and I was paralyzed.

           Memories came flooding back. Rue's flower clad body lying in the meadow. Cato, mangled and torn, begging for death. Cinna being drug away and beaten. Glimmer. Thresh. Mags.

           I gasped for air, not aware of falling.

           Boggs' dying wish. Jackson's sacrifice. Finnick, mutilated, and out of my reach. Every innocent soul lost, because of me.

            Sweet, little Primrose. 

          I was only faintly aware of Peeta ushering our daughter out of the house before coming back for me. 

           Everything went black.

           For the first time in years, I woke up with sweat pouring down my face and tears streaming out of my eyes. Peeta held me in his arms and whispered sweet nothings in my ear, rocking me like he did in the arena the first time.

           But I couldn't escape it. Their faces haunted me, disappointment clouding their features. Disappointment that I couldn't save them. Disappointment that I killed them.

           All I could hear was the frantic beating of my heart and somewhere, far away, the four note whistle from a distant mockingjay.

         

Okay, so it was short. But I didn't want to prolong any of our suffering. 

Don't forget to vote and comment! And make sure to let me know which imagine you want!

I'm going to go cry in a corner now.

Goodbye.

~Austin