#havvthorneonfire

[ty-fisher-blog]

havvthorneonfire

“You don’t have any idea of what you are doing, do you?”

[capitolweaponarchive]

“Gale. Wake up.” Peeta nudged at his arm, his chest heaving.  :Gale, please. I had a nightmare.” He pleaded with a frown as  he continued to gently shake his shoulder. 

[capitolweaponarchive]

    Everything around him blurred and smeared as his name was called. He stood, rooted in place as his jaw fell open in horror. His blue eyes stared straight forward, having gone glossy. His eldest brother nudged his shoulder, forcing him out of his shocked reverie. He stared forward, moving slowly and hesitantly toward the stage. On it stood Gale Hawthorne, a boy whom he had loved since they were children. They were going to be pitted against eachother. In that moment his expression went blank, hiding the storm that brewed beneath. They were to shake hands before departing for the train. Peeta hesitantly offered his hand to the hunter, staring up into his gray with his reddened blue. If the circumstances were different he would have loved to have held his hand.

[capitolweaponarchive]

ᴛᴏᴍᴏʀʀᴏᴡ ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ᴋɪɴᴅᴇʀ

      ⋨ ❁ ⋩                        There are two pills to take, one bright red capsule full of white powder                         and the other a white pill that has an odor that is chemical and bitter.                        They lay in the warm cup of his palm like lost buttons. For a moment                        he considers tossing them at his wall. He had been given them as a                         means to regulate his violent mood swings and repair all of the damage                        done while he was imprisoned in the capitol. He needed these pills, as                         much as he hated to admit it. Pinwheels of pain whirled behind his eyes                        before rising to his forehead before slithering to the base of his skull. If                         it weren't for these odd capsules he would have remained sheltered and                         broken. They eased his pain and made him feel normal. He forced them                        down before wrinkling his face. God, did they taste awful.                         Peeta stands and enters his bathroom, resting his hands on the metal sink.                        In here the soaps are wrapped in powder-orange paper, and the color makes                        something within him stir. There are no sharp edges, razor or anything blunt                         he could inure himself with. 'They're protecting you from yourself.' He thinks                        with a caustic chuckle. Above the sink, the mirror in its heavy silver frame                        greets Peeta with his own face, gently distorted in the rippled glass, as if                         he has come to visit some other version of himself. The boy looking back                         at him was gaunt, pale and littered in bruises that decorated his body in                         brilliant splotches of color. Months before he had been healthy and full of                         life. For a moment he closes his eyes and drifts into a daydream.                         He imagines a new version of himself that is new, improved and slightly                         taller. This Peeta Mellark doesn't need to be restrained while escorted                         down sterile halls and over lit hospital corridors to be examined by doctors.                         His body had once been sealed and private but now there isn't a passing                        day when someone new isn't probing at it, sticking a needle in it, taking                        x-rays. He understood their interest. Hijacking was an interesting process                         and they were able to observe the effects of it as he recovered. Peeta opens                        his pale blue eyes, once again greeting his reflection. He raises a hand to                         brush over a bruise beneath his right. All of this had been her fault. Peeta                        had been lucky to have been saved when he had been. There was no telling                        what else that mutt would have done to him if he remained her prisoner.                         Gale had saved him. For that Peeta was forever thankful. In his warped mind                         he perceived the huntsman as his savior and idolized him. Before everything                        they hadn't even spoken. Yet, he felt connected to the man. Peeta wasn't sure                         what to think of the sudden absorption but didn't think it strange. Hardly ever                        did anything make sense as of late. Slowly he returned to his room and sat at                        at the edge of his bed. Near the door he had been permitted a canvas so that                         he could paint. It helped him relax and it kept his hands busy, which prevented                        his mind from wandering. That afternoon he had painted a starlit field. Across                         the dark purple sky the moon stuck out like a beacon, illuminated by a halo of                         constellations. He intended it as a gift for Gale, as thanks for everything.                        He hoped he saw him again soon. Peeta laid himself down on the stiff bed,                         gathering the blankets around his body. Sleep never came easily. He'd lay                         in bed, tormented by silence and loneliness. If he was lucky he'd have a                         dreamless sleep. Too often he was plagued by nightmares, causing him                        to toss and turn in his sleep. He was haunted by awful visions of her. For                         Peeta there was no escaping her frightening visage. She was there when he                        blinked and creeping in every shadow. He didn't understand why they kept                         her around. She was nothing but a monster. Peeta knew that first hand.