My face smacks the soft material of my bed. After a while of tossing and turning, I drift off into a touch sleep,a very rough sleep...

...I'm running. Running as fast as I can. I can't stop running. Tributes follow close behind me, their knives ready to attack. I watching myself in terror, darting through the trees to get away from the menacing, blood-thirsty people. Through hiding, I figure I've made it to the top four, it's down to me and the careers. Horror fills me as I relies that I had been stupid enough to look back. And by the time a face forward, I see myself run straight into a trap. Desperately, I thrash around with my small dagger, attempting to either hit a career or cut the rope in which I dangle helplessly from. The careers edge gleefully towards me. Smiling like the sun, they cut me down. They merrily wrap me in the rope, take my knife and carry me back. They begin chatting as they go, "Finally! We found the last non-career tribute! I guess she's just very unlucky. But remember, this kill has to be fun. Oh boy, am I gonna enjoy this!" The first one gives a high-five to her friend and leaps toward the front of the crowd. I can't help but squirm and wriggle around in the careers grasp, but he holds me tightly. "Shut up!" He complains, "or I'll kill you right here, right now." I continue to squirm. Finally I turn just in time to see his fist fly up hit me in the temple. Darkness quickly consumes me.

My eyes flutter open and I see three people laughing joyfully in front of me. "Ah, she's awake. Now let the fun begin!" One of them exclaims, the other two agree. "Well," the girl begins, "how about we watch her dance?" Using the rope, they tie my leg to the tree so I don't run away. Merrily, the second boy sends his throwing knife at the tree. The three of them take a step back when they hear the terrible sound of cracking. I hear a branch snap and on the very tip of that branch, was the largest tracker jacker nest I have ever seen. It lands on my head and I feel wasp bites all over my upper half. Pain. Pain is all I feel. I scream for help but it never comes. All I hear is the buzzing of the tracker Jackers, and they laughing of the careers. I spin around in circle, not knowing where I am, and attempt to run away. But the rope catches me. More Tracker Jackers consume my face and I screech in pain. I feel pussy lumps beginning to grow on my face. Next comes the hallucinations, I see my death in so many different ways. Terrible things fill my vision. I see Katniss and Peeta, eating poison berries. I see poisonous mist that burns madly. I hear the tic-toc of a clock. I see large explosions destroying piles of career supplies. Lastly I visualise a garden, with injured children on the grass. I rush into to help them along with many other nurses, but suddenly, out out of nowhere, I see fire and dust. And the shock of a large explosion blows me to pieces...

"Prim! Prim! Wake up, Prim!"

I groan as I hear my mothers voice, she shakes me until I sit up. Painful tears in my eyes. "Prim? What happened?" Mother asks softly. I attempt to explain, "I-I don't know. I was in the hunger games and the careers caught me. They dropped tracker jacker nest on my head and I saw-I saw, something. But it was so real. Like I was seeing the future-or something. There was poison berries and mist that kills you and clocks and-explosions. And I-I think it going to die."

"What do you mean, Honey?" Mum asks, curiosity overwhelming her.

"Well, in the dream. I was at the garden in the presidents house, and there all these children who were asking for help. But then there was an explosion and most of them died but some were just injured. And I was with some sort of medication team. Anyway, we had gone in to help the survivors but then-then there was another explosion right under my feet. And I-I didn't make it." Mothers face turns to a devastated worry, but she tries to reassure me. "Honey, I'm sure it will all be fine. It's just a dream, ok. Here I'll make you some tea." She stands up, wipes some dust from here her dress, and exits the room.

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