- The Hungry Games -
Author: ❦вlε

Chapter 3
Real

Katniss

Real or not real. I was flying. A bird of the air, carried by nothing more than the wind. I was shot by these people dressed in black. Ravens, evil and destructive. They murdered everything in their path. They killed for pleasure. I was just another one of their prey.

 

Real or not real. Peeta was here, laying beside me. A sweet picture of beauty while I lay here screaming. My cries were not heard. I could not sing; a bird without her voice. My throat ached, my wings couldn't carry me as I flew.

 

Real or not real. Prim. She was there, a light pink bird laying beside me. She was shot also, dying in the catchers net. No, she was fine. Unharmed. Only sleeping as if she wasn't touched. So peaceful. Beautiful in her slumber. I called to her. Screamed so hard my chest hurt. I wasn't heard. I couldn't hear myself scream.

 

Real or not real. Rue. Cinna. Finnick. They lay here beside me. I tried to find them; the river of black surrounded me keeping my wings from lifting and letting me fly.

 

Real or not real. He's watching me. Snakey eyes. A rose sitting in his pure white pocket. Poison tipping his lethal tongue. Snow clouding my vision. Stopping me from lifting off to find the ones I love. I hiss at him. Scream words of fury and despise. My hands lift and claw across his face leaving bloody tracks in his pure skin.

 

Real or not real. I don't know where I am. Where they are taking me. I only know pain. I am a slave of this pain. It rushes through my body. Electricity. I am no longer a human. I am a bird of thunder. The sun has died and I am the light now. I glow with radiance that no one else could.

 

Real or not real. I am outdone. My fire has burn out. This bird is the most beautiful I have ever seen. He and his mate glow with a radiance that out does mine. Birds of the sun, living and breathing heat. Beauty. Yet, like me, they are chained.


Real or not real. Where am I. My heart soars, but my body lays chained on the ground. My wings cannot lift when I am grasped by this so evil of chains. I have seen him, eyes that watch me constantly. This electricity that soars through me springs me to heights that one such as I cannot understand. My wings reach out only to find spears in the place of air. Knives and daggers replace the refreshing song of the rain.


Real or not real. I can no longer see the sky. My impervious shield has been soaked through to the bone.  I lay, hands reaching out. My fingers, no, my feathers, clasp against his. I cannot see him. I cannot see any more. The ground beneath my boyant feathers is no longer cold. It reeks of a material that smells like home. It is not like home. It is soft, and how it illudes me. Am I in the sky, riding on a cloud. My breath catches in my throat.


Real or not real. I don't know where I am.


Real or not real. This isn't home.


Real or not real. What's going on!


My head bangs against a table and no longer can I tell what is real, and what is not.

 

Real or not real.

You always have to wake up.

 

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