Fandom: The Hunger Games
Prompt: LEAH - Dreamland
Word Count: 417
Written for: Undefined
A touch. Just one, and then it's over. I scramble to find the words; scramble to tell him how I feel. How I've always felt. He's staring at me, staring into my soul somehow, like no one else really can, like no one else ever has. Images flash before my eyes; the terror seems to leech my energy and I fall.
When I wake up, he's gone. I panic, searching for him in the darkness of my mind, in the darkness of the room beyond, but he's gone. The terror returns and I black out again. This time when I come too, I stand up; he's still not here. I call for him through the darkness, but I'm met with nothing but stillness.
Pausing to find myself, I move beyond the room and into the passageway. It's dark just like the bedroom was. Holding onto the wall for support, I shuffle forward, each step harder than the last.
A pinprick section of light shoots into my eyes and I close them. The time without light causes it to blind me for a moment. I open them slowly, adjusting to the light as quickly as I can. I follow it. The floor seems to sift beneath my feet and I scramble to stay upright, but it's not enough. I smack my head on the wall, and feel the blood trickling down my face. I black out, again.
When I wake something is different, it's warmer, and I can make out the shapes that hold together the room I'm in. As more and more of the room comes into focus I see a face. He's here; his blue eyes are piercing, I hope they never change. I try to speak, but nothing comes out, my throat - I realise - is dry as a bone. I cough, looking around for water, and he reaches out to give me a glass.
"You're okay," he says with a smile, but behind his eyes and words I sense a shifting fear. I furrow my brows, wondering why he's concerned, why I'm here at all. "What happened?" Then I look down, he's not alone. A little tuft of dark brown hair sticks out from a blanket in his arms. I gasp as memories flood back into my mind so fast I have to control my breathing. The baby. "Is she okay?" I ask, desperate. "She's perfect." He says, and slips the child into my arms. I sigh; content, wishing my nightmares behind me.