Four Leaf Clover

Chapter Twenty

Ellie's POV

I slowly opened my eyes, blinking, squinting my eyes. Where am I?

I sat up, looking around, I was...in my house. I felt confusion surge in me, what was I doing here? Why am I not in the games?

I looked around more, realizing that it doesn't look like it did when I left. It looked like when I was young, extremely young. There was a worn stuffed animal on the bed I woke up on, though when I tried to pick it up, my hand phased right through it.

What is this? A dream?

I took notice of my hand, it is small, like that of a child, specifically me as a young child. I looked down at myself, I wasn't wearing the games I was wearing in the games. I was wearing a worn pink pajama dress; I remember loving this thing as a child.

But how can this be? Did I die from the tracker-jackers? I remember...passing out, trying to run, lead the tracker-jackers away from Clove somehow. But then, I fell, the only feeling I felt before passing out being intense, searing, pain in my whole body.

Did I die?

Before I could figure it out, I heard a knock, it was on our front door. I looked, reaching for my hip instinctively, before realizing that my knife wasn't there.

I groaned, before slowly forcing myself up, quietly and quickly heading to a wall, which I could peak around to see our front door.

I stalked there, seeing my mother, who was significantly younger, albeit also looking more cheerful. I smiled fondly, I remember that smile...but, she only smiled like that, before my father died. What is this day? I don't remember it.

I saw her open the door, seeing two people there, my mother inviting them in. I remember them, faintly, they're my father's parents, I'd met them a few times when I was older.

My grandmother had tear streaks on her face, which my mother immediately asked her what was wrong, only for her to break down crying again. My grandfather looked pretty torn up himself, though was keeping it in, barely.

"Honey..." My grandfather sat down on our torn up, old, sofa, my grandmother sitting down next to him, clinging to his arm, crying, "...you might want to sit down for this." My mother doing just that, sitting across from them, my grandfather placing his hand on hers (which was resting on her leg).

My grandparents didn't look too old, despite being grandparents. My parents got married extremely young, after my mother got pregnant with me at 16, before having me at 16 too. I must've been two at this point. That meant my dad was 18, the final year he could've, and was, reaped into the games...

I couldn't hear what he said after that, the only sound being my grandmother weeping. I watched as my mother's worried look turn into one of devastation. I'd never seen the light be wiped out of someone's eyes faster than that, not even when I saw someone die.

...the same age when he was murdered.

My mother then looked at me, tears brimming in her eyes, her eyes reflecting what I could only describe to be agony. She got up, walking to me, me looking up at her.

She fell to her knees in front of me, pulling me into a tight hug, my eyes widening. Why do I not remember this happening? I suppose I was extremely young.

I hesitated for a moment, feeling wetness on her shoulder...she was crying. But why wasn't I? I knew my father had died, and my grandparents had just delivered the news, so why wasn't I crying? I pushed it down, bringing my arms, hugging her, shutting my eyes.

I'm not sure how long I was there, but when I felt her pull back, me opening my eyes and looking into hers. Her eyes red with pain, trying to hold back more tears from falling, a storm of pain in her eyes, reflecting how she felt inside.

I then felt a warmth on my cheek, my mom resting her hand on my cheek, giving me a melancholy smile.

I blinked, and when I opened it, she was significantly older, looking how she did before I left. She probably would've looked more her age if stress, depression, and other things hadn't taken their heavy toll on her, over the years. The house had changed, more worn, not as cheerful, or warm, my grandparents no longer sitting on the couch.

She pursed her lips, before talking, her voice breaking, looking me up and down, before looking back into my eyes, "Look how big you've gotten."

I looked down at myself, on my knees, I was grown once more, wearing my clothes from the games, blood, dirt, and all. I then felt her hand gently lifting my head back up, me looking at her.

"I'm..." She hesitated, "...so proud of you."

She put her hands around me, hugging me tight, placing a quick kiss on my forehead.

Never had I been so surprised by her. Melanie York, a very stoic, serious, woman, who had completely changed after her husband died in the hunger games when she was young.

She then pulled back, before I had the chance to hug her, looking into my eyes.

"Don't forget, I love you..." She muttered, "...but it isn't your time."

I tilted my head, confused what she meant, watching her stand up, me looking up at her. I quickly got to my feet, her walking away from me, heading for our door, her opening it, it revealing a bright, blinding, light.

She gave me one more glance over her shoulder, me being frozen in my spot, her stepping into the light, it somehow getting brighter, causing me to cover my eyes...

...before I woke up.