So this is a short bit of schizophrenic!Katniss. It might not go anywhere. Ever. Ever. Ever.
When she came to Panem, where it was likely she’d spend the rest of her life given her worsening condition, she was a mess of bald spots, gauze, and exposed skin grafts that would likely never blend. She was aggressive, refused medication, and tried to escape regularly.
At one point the head nurse, Effie Trinket wanted to prop open her mouth and throw her medication at her, having her take what ever stuck.
It was at that point, Peeta Mellark was reintroduced into the general population and into her group for therapy.
Katniss was describing Red in vivid detail, then Thirty-four, and finally Prim. Peeta scribbled with crayons, the only writing instrument he was allowed after putting a pencil through a young girl’s eye three months ago, “What are you doing!” she snapped at him from her seat. Peeta looked up as Katniss crossed the room. I let her, it was the first time she acknowledged other people, the first conversation she had with another patient since being released from intensive care.
“I’m just… I’m drawing, what you’re saying. Your friends. I’m drawing your friends.”
Katniss seemed to relax, her eyes seemed to clear of their constant haze, “Thirty-four doesn’t like straight lines. You’re insulting him.”
Peeta set down the blue crayon and started scratching the wax. Katniss snatches his other drawings from him as he fixes his mistake.
“Red isn’t-“ she goes to another drawing, not finishing her statement, “Her nose,” and another, “Who is this?”
Peeta looks up from his work, “You?” he hands her the other sheet, Katniss seems satisfied with his work and sits at his feet cross legged.
“See?” she asks over her shoulder holding up one of the pictures, “I told you, you aren’t fat.”