Pure Torture: a Hunger Games Fanfiction

Chapter 108

Katniss

"Sirens are screaming, But I can't hear a single sound, And I'm feeling uneasy, And I wait, and I wait for a change to come around." -Kodaline

I am not surprised to find myself again, in a hospital. I'm here all the time. Seriously, all the time. I've begun to think of it as my second home over the years. Some of the nurses know me by my first name, and even though the whole country does, it's still impressive. A few of them have my whole case memorized from having to look at it so often.

But this hospital trip is a little different than the usual ones. A simple concoction of agony and adrenaline course through my veins, and I find myself playing out the story of how I got here over and over in my head, my eyes glaring through the darkness.

In the story, it's morning. I wake up next to Peeta. He's sound asleep still, the birds just beginning to sing their morning song outside my windows. I immediately get up to check on Willow, a habit I've gotten into since she was taken. The floorboards creak a bit as my bare feet step quietly on top of them. While this house is beautiful, it's starting to age a little. But then again, so are Peeta and I.

I peek my head into Willow's room, looking first at the bed with the sleeping girl in it, then around at the pale green walls, covered in little drawings she's made and paintings by her father. Feeling relieved that everything is in its place, I head back to my own room.

I sit back down on the side of the bed before easing myself into a reclined position under the covers. Because I'm so pregnant, it's the only way I can lie down.

My brain wanders back to Willow's 6th birthday, and then my own 29th. Peeta and I are young parents, but it's only because what happened to us wasn't planned. We would have waited a bit, maybe another 5 years, to have a baby. However, we know that if we had waited, we wouldn't have such a beautiful daughter. Even though we're young, we're grown up. We were grown up at 17, faced with terrible odds and inevitable tragedy, over and over again.

Since Willow's birthday and mine are so close, only a day apart, our celebrations create a happy couple of days. Both days were beautiful, sunny but not too hot. My birthday, which came first, was quiet. We didn't do much, but we spent lots of time together, just the 3 of us. It was just what I wanted, especially since I was 8 months along and too big to do anything fun. Peeta surprised me with a special cake that he'd been working on for weeks at the bakery.

Willow's birthday was more celebratory. She wanted a party, so that's what we did. We invited some of her friends from her class and had, well, a party. The kids enjoyed it, I think, and Willow was over the moon.

I smile at the memories. Peeta's birthday, which is in October, is coming up in a couple of months. That means I need to start planning something, because it takes me forever to come up with something as special as Peeta deserves. I've always loved the way Peeta was born in October. The way the leaves on the trees turn golden and orange and red is so beautiful. And the orange ones? They're Peeta's favorite color, just like the sunset.

Peeta is the fall. He is the cool, crisp, refreshing air after a hot summer. He is the coziness that people crave after a chilly day. He is the warm cup of tea in cold hands. He is the color that the leaves turn to as the days shorten and temperatures fall. He is the fall.

And me? I guess I'm the spring. Peeta would say that. He would say that I am the spring. I am the rebirth after the dead of winter. I am the warmth that thaws the frozen earth beneath our feet. I am the reemergence of life, the return of nature. I am the melting away of the snow, both literally and metaphorically. I am the spring.