~Chapter 24: The Bearer of Bad News

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                           ~Chapter 24: The Bearer of Bad News~

Hey my peeps! Sorry for the long update. I've been stressed. Hops you like this though! Sorry it's short, it's still dramatic though! More drama? How? Will I could just kill one of them with a snap you know....but I won't. Maybe later because I'm that one person.

Enjoy!!!

***Peeta***

 

I open my eyes to see people around me. I don’t know any of them. I feel stings on my body. I stand up and run while in pain. A girl screams behind me. I look back to see her swatting at the air full of…what are they called? Ah, they’re called tracker jackers.

 

I look up to a tree to see Katniss climbing down. Her leg looks injured, but all I do is run. Why do I feel so scared?

 

Why am I shouting?                       

“Peeta!”

My eyes fly open and Katniss jumps back and falls off the bed.

“Did I frighten you? Sorry.”

“Yeah, maybe a little.” She stands up and sits next to me again, “Were you having a bad dream? You were swatting your arms and shouting.”

“Uhhh….yeah.” I shake my head to get the distant memory out of my mind. All those stings felt so real.

“What was it?” She tries to look concerned but she looks sad. Almost like pity. I hate that look. I feel like she’s acting as if she was my mother and I was a scared five year old boy.

“I was in the woods and I got stung by tracker jackers, that’s all.” You were there too, but I don’t say that.

“Oh, at least it’s something.”

My stomach grumbles before I could say something.

“I’ll get some food!” Katniss runs out of the room. It feels so awkward around her; it feels like we were some old friends who haven’t seen each other in a long time.

It feels like I almost don’t belong here.

Am I really supposed to be here? Is that my fate? To live with my wife who feels like an old friend? I don’t even remember my kids. I don’t remember my parents nor do I remember any friends or family or my job…I don’t remember my life.

I close my eyes to get the thoughts out. But I can’t. I can’t feel this feeling, of pity for myself.

“I don’t want this,” I whisper to the walls of the room.

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