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You’ve been told all the victors have had the same dream. You have a hard time believing that anything as terrifying as this can exist in more than one mind, your own. But then, a lot of unbelievable things can happen here. You entertain an idea that the Gamemakers have some way of controlling your dreams just to keep you on your toes.
You’re running. The locale differs each time, but it’s always one of the arenas from the past – usually a particularly brutal one, but never the one you fought in, that would be too easy. It’s always a new battle for you to fight. The Games are down to two competitors, you and one other tribute. You did it before, but this time is different. The other tribute is never who you expect. Someone from back home, someone you love, once it was even your stylist, but the result is the same. You can’t kill them, but they’re intent on killing you. So you run, because it’s all you can do. You always wake up in a cold sweat, but you can’t move, you’re paralyzed. Your eyes flit back and forth. You can’t see anyone, but you can hear laughing. Suddenly, whoever you were fighting in your dream is there, holding a knife over you with the most intense look of hatred you’ve ever seen, madness in their eyes. You beg and plead with them to have mercy, but they aren’t listening. The knife comes down again and again, but you don’t die yet, they’re purposefully avoiding your vital organs. They want you to suffer. They want to put on a show. Finally, you bleed to death; your last breath is a strangled sob.
And then you wake up, find you can move, but you’re still sweating. You check everywhere around the room that someone could be hiding – under the bed, in the closet, just behind the door. You’re safe, but you can’t shake the feeling of being watched all day, nor can you forget the laughter you heard before you died.