Always | EVERLARK Hunger Games | 2023

2 - Turnovers and Crashthroughs.

Grey dots erupt into my line of vision, tears fall hot and fast into my mouth—the taste of salt wetting my tongue. I try to spit it out but I'm choking, gasping. The pressure around my neck grows harder and harder, squeezing my tender skin. I swear I can hear my windpipe start to implode.

Staring back into my bloodshot eyes are the crystal blues that I trust most. Instead of their usual inviting, warm appearance, they are dark and cold like the eyes of a shark. The veins in Peeta's forehead have never been so prominent. He is straining so hard that he begins to foam at the mouth, spraying spit into my face each time he breathes.

His face morphs into that of a mutt—it isn't him at all anymore. Jagged teeth thrash and snap at my face—my hands are free but I can't see through the tears and lessening vision as my oxygen depletes quickly. I want to claw at my throat and let the oxygen in but if I take my hands off of this mutt, it will surely tear me apart. I push and strain and scratch but it does nothing but make it angrier. It's lizard-tongue flickers in my face like a snake searching for prey. I want to scream and cry but the pressure on my throat never ceases.

The mutt disappears. I can breathe again.

I sit up, gasping for air and rubbing at my eyes to clear my vision. The dryness in my throat feels like sandpaper brushing together each time I breathe yet I can't stop myself from gasping through the pain. Finally, my vision comes back to me.

Prim.

She's alive. She was right there in front of me the whole time.

I want to scream her name but my throat has been crushed—I can't speak out to her. She sees me—her blue eyes piercing me in the same way Peeta's did. She's angry with me.

"Prim?" I say, which comes out more like a shaky gargle.

"You let me die, Katniss." Her eyes aren't hostile like Peeta's—they look dead, like I'm looking at a shell of Prim.

I shake my head no, whimpering. "Little duck..."

She raises a finger, shushing me. "It's your fault!" She begins to cry, a single tear drips down her cheek. Her face contorts as she holds back her crying, a combination of betrayal and grief. "If it wasn't for you and your fight against the Capitol, I'd still be here."

Slowly, her hand raises high above her head with only three fingers raised. The same salute that was given to me during my speeches on the Victor's Tour that got so many killed, that started a rebellion. She is looking past me: I turn and follow her eyes. Behind me is the stadium where I was set to kill Snow, where I killed Coin instead. Screaming and chanting crowds point at me and shout death threats. There are people from the Capitol in fancy outfits, all the way down to people in rags from the poorest district, all together in unity against me. I turn back to Prim—she has dozens of mutts behind her like an army. Her arm falls to her side and the mutts take off towards me.

"Rip her apart!" Someone shrieks from the crowd.

I scream and kick but it's no use—my legs are too weak to defend myself and my throat is too raw to scream. The choking returns. My mouth foams as I tried to suck in air but at this point, oxygen can't save me. The mutts and their stinking drool are just above me—I can feel the hot breath and smell the death lurking beyond rows and rows of the cutlasses they call teeth. In an instant, the sensation of puncture wounds burn into my body as they plunge into a first taste. As they rip and chew, I throw my head back and shriek. It is all I can do to save myself. I can hardly hear myself scream over the laughs of the crowd, thrilled to see my death.

All goes black.

I throw myself forward into a sitting position, desperately grasping at anything I can find to reassure my safety—all my hands come in contact with are the wrinkles in the bedsheets that haven't been changed for as long as I've been sleeping here. I gasp, realizing that my lungs were completely empty. Regaining full consciousness, I not only can see again, but feel the cold sweat dripping down my back. My face is burning hot with tears and I whimper at how pathetic I feel.