Disclaimer: I don't own The Hunger Games.

Part One: Training

I was sitting alone, head cradled in my palms, feeling very, very sullen.

We were in the Training Center, practicing for when we made it into the arena. The rest of the tributes were either alone or in pairs, like the ones from 12. My District partner was staying far away from me, probably because he knew one way or another he'd have to kill me.

My eyes roamed the room, making sure to note every single person who was sure to be my competitor.

Competitor? I asked myself miserably. You wouldn't even make it the first day.

That was way beyond true. What was I? I was just a simple girl from District 9, the Grain District. I wasn't too poor, but I wasn't well trained either. In fact, I was just a farmer, going out to the plains and planting grain and corn with my siblings.

What weapons could I use? I doubt there'd be a hoe somewhere, maybe even a rake. Farming tools aren't the best weapons, especially for a little girl like me.

I sighed. I was hopeless. I knew I wouldn't survive no matter how hard I tried.

I fiddled with the knife in my hands. Atala had seen me moping, and encouraged me to try a weapon, handing me this very knife.

What on earth would I do with it? I had never hunted before, never killed even a little rabbit for lunch. Like I said before, I was a farmer. I only ever dealt with the occasional water worm, creepy ugly things with huge eyes, when we were tilling the hardened earth.

A knife was useless in my hands. My eyes flickered to the girl from 2, who was throwing knives with extreme precision into the hearts of the training dummies.

If only I could do that, I thought. At least I know I'd stand a chance.

I bet she was imagining those dummies were already us, her fellow tributes, and she didn't seem to care in the very least that she could kill us with just a throw of her hand.

I lingered enough to look at her District partner, a tall, monstrous boy who seemed to handle the sword with ease.

I bit my lip.

He was beautiful.

Utterly amazing in his own right, probably even oblivious to the fact that he was more than just brilliant.

He was well-trained, maybe even an expert at this. It was very believable that he could join every single Hunger Games and get away winning each one.

The way he slashed his sword into the side of the dummy, then running it through the heart was impressive, and I watched his muscles ripple as he pulled his sword back.

I buried my face in my hands, shaking my head to clear it.

How could this happen to me?

Not only did I know I wouldn't stand a chance against him in the arena, I knew for a fact that he would probably be the first to plot to kill me.

And yet...

Goddamnit! I screamed inside.

Why did I have to develop a stupid, stupid crush on this boy?

It was dangerous, extremely dangerous to like another tribute, even your District partner, because everyone knows only one can win.

It was no secret that every girl at least stole a glance at this boy; I knew for a fact it was true.

Every time my eyes scanned the room, taking in the sight of my possible killers, I could tell some of them peek at least once at him.

The girl from District 1, in particular, wasn't shy to flirt.

She was well-rounded, knowing how to deal with weapons, but she pretended as if she wasn't adept at any of them, which was totally pissing.

Of course, being a Career, he definitely helped her out, and I swear she blushed and smirked every time his hand came in contact with hers.

Snippy, conniving witch.

I was of one mind with his District partner, the knife-thrower, because she seemed slightly jealous of that development. Whenever I watched her throw, she seemed to throw harder and sharper whenever he was with that girl from 1.

The tiny wisp of a girl from 11 took his sword while he wasn't looking, probably doing it as a joke, because I saw her laughing.

What was she trying to do? Get his attention?

Hell, even that girl from 12 couldn't help but watch him from afar.

I knew it during the second day of training; she was in the Camouflage station with her District partner, and I saw her stare at him for a few seconds, eyes wide open as he threw a spear into a training dummy.

Everyone saw him, envied him, admired him, or feared him.

Especially me.

I couldn't understand the slightest bit why I had to like him at all. I knew it was futile, and it was a hopeless case.

Why'd he ever have eyes for a simple girl like me? A small girl who had no idea how to survive, a girl who doubted even her own abilities?

And this was the hardest pill to swallow: even if he did like me back, how did I expect to make it out alive with him?

Okay, let's say I was the only tribute left alone with him that would be a miracle.

But we'd still have to end up killing one another, because only one could win.

That thought made me depressed again.

He was different. All the District 2 boys I'd seen on TV were brutes; disgusting, monstrous and huge.

He was the same, in that way, because he was really tall and muscular; I knew I'd be tipping my head backwards just to look him in the eye.

But he had a charm about him that was difficult to ignore. His shiny blond hair, sticking up every which way, and that cocky grin of his...

I let out a sigh of pure fangirliness, then composed myself again.

Finally, Atala called for our attention, sending us out for lunch. I swear her eyes were flickering toward me, probably disappointed I didn't try to wield the stupid knife.

The Careers flaunted their superiority, putting away their weapons in this way: the boy from District 1 sending his spear into a dummy's head and leaving it there, the girl from District 2 throwing her knives consecutively into the bull's-eye, the girl from District 1 smirking as she tossed a small sword into the weapons rack, and the boy from District 2 flexing his muscles before stabbing his sword straight into the heart of a dummy, not bothering to pull it out.

We all filed out, the Careers lingering after the rest, laughing and hooting with complete arrogance.

I stood up from my spot and ran after them, leaving the knife on the bench I was sitting on.

We entered the lunch room right near the gymnasium, and there were tables laden with plenty of food.

One of the perks of being a tribute was the good food you got to eat. I had never even tasted lamb from District 9, because we almost always ate grain.

Grain, grain and more grain.

I even got sick on the train because I literally stuffed myself until I was close to bursting. Somehow I wished I could bring my parents and my siblings food like this, but to do that would mean I had to win, and I knew that was hopeless.

I took a plate of some sort of stew and ate by myself, thinking about possible ways of lasting at least through the first day.

I wasn't competent. I couldn't run fast enough. I was too weak to fight anyone off.

But I knew how to hide.

Hiding was easy when you worked in the plains all year long, the tall stalks hid you well enough from the rest of the world, not to mention my golden, freckly skin and reddish hair was practically the same color as the grains that grew.

If only the arena was a cornfield...

I looked at the Careers, eating and laughing loudly, trying to intimidate the rest of us.

What if I tried joining them?

It was worth a shot, I thought, while poking at the stew. If I tried now, I couldn't get killed, not yet, because it was against the rules to get into a fight with a tribute before the Games.

And if they let me, I could secure my safety, at least for a few days.

Not to mentioned being with him was also a major point in my book.

I could try. I wasn't too shy.

Before I could stop myself and think this plan through, I was on my feet headed straight for the Careers.

One part of me was cursing for my impulsiveness - why didn't I think about it first? I would look like a total idiot in front of them, and he was sure to think I was a weakling.

But I was already walking toward them, and they already noticed me, so what was the point of backing out?

I took a deep breath and approached their table, and suddenly they quieted, seething and apprehensive.

"What do you want?" the girl from District 2 practically barked, her eyes as sharp as the knives she threw. "Hoping we'll spare you the first day?"

"Be nice, Clove," said the boy from District 1, but I could tell he was being sarcastic. "Let her talk."

Clove sat back, her eyebrows raised at him and her lips curling into an awful grin.

What the hell was I getting myself into?

I couldn't help but wonder if I looked totally stupid to them. Not only was I overly small, I knew each of these Careers were at least a foot taller, and probably weighed more than a hundred fifty pounds.

And me, a small girl who didn't even weigh more than a sack of flour, was asking if I could be one of them.

Somehow to me that didn't seem right.

"Well, 9?" the boy from District 1 said. "What do you want?"

"Probably just came out here to make a fool out of herself," said the girl from District 1, smirking.

I lost my voice. My throat was dry, and tried to swallow the lump in it, to no avail.

Clove sighed exasperatedly. "She's hopeless," she said, gesturing for the rest of the Careers to continue their meal. "Let her stand there gawking; at least we know we're getting attention."

The boy from 1 shrugged, and his District partner rolled her eyes.

The boy from 2 was looking at me, and I could already feel my cheeks growing red.

"What a loser," the girl from 1 murmured, and what she said about me made me mad.

I opened my mouth and said my most confident voice, "I'm not a loser."

That took them aback, and Clove sneered. "Amazing," she purred. "District 9 actually has a voice."

"First time I heard a 9 talk," the boy from 1 joked.

I felt like I was being ridiculed, like I was the center of some cruel joke.

I could already tell that I was losing it, and they could too, because the girl from 1 said, "Easy, Marvel. She's starting to get angry," she said, her lips twitching to show she was taunting.

"Can it, guys," the boy from District 2 finally said, and the sound of his voice was like someone sprinkled me with chocolate. "Let her talk." He looked at me, and I bravely met his gaze.

I could feel my legs turn to mush as I noticed his eyes for the first time.

They were blue - blue! Damn, it was the brightest blue I'd ever seen, and even if we were in a shadowy part of the lunch room, his eyes still sparkled.

"Well, 9?" he asked me, his voice gentle yet firm, as if exercising his superiority above the rest of the Careers.

He was obviously the leader of the pack.

"Don't mind her, Cato," the girl from 1 told him. "We're wasting precious eating time over someone like her."

So his name was Cato...my insides furled with giddiness.

What a dreamy name.

"Look, 9," Cato told me, frowning. "Just clear out. I don't know what you want, but you're just making a fool out of yourself."

"If you want to keep your dignity - " began the girl from 1, but Cato snapped at her.

"Shut it, Glimmer," he said, and already I could hear the authority in his voice. It was clear he would outlast the others in the Games.

"Go away, 9," Clove said, pointing her fork at me, "If you don't want to get hurt."

I was at the very point of being so ashamed of my own skin when finally I blurted it out. "I want to join you."

The entire table stared at me in shock.

It was quiet as my words settled, and then Clove burst the silence.

She was laughing, and it wasn't the simple kind of laugh, it was the stupid, milk-running-out-of-your-nose, you-are-an-idiot kind of laugh.

She was so loud the entire room seemed to stare at her.

"You?" she said, her voice shrill as she kept laughing. "You want to become a Career? That's hilarious!"

Marvel's lips twitched, and slowly he joined in on Clove's laughter. Pretty soon the entire table was laughing and pointing at my ridiculousness.

Even Cato was grinning, but I wanted to believe so badly that he only did so because of peer pressure.

The laughter eventually subsided, and it was replaced by wariness.

Finally, Cato said to me, "Are you serious?"

I bit my lip and nodded. "I'm dead serious," I said in a quiet voice.

I heard a snarl escape Clove. "I'd like to make you seriously dead," she muttered.

The Careers exchanged glances, probably considering what I could do. Would I be an asset, or a liability?

"You're just a little girl," Glimmer said contemptuously, her eyes looking up and down my arms, as if scrutinizing how scrawny and frail I looked.

"What can you do?" Cato asked me, leaning closer. My eyes widened a bit, and I could myself blush again.

Dear God, I prayed no one would dare think that I was crushing madly on Cato.

"I...I..." I stuttered, still flustered. "I mean...I can..."

"Oo-ooh," Clove taunted, nudging Cato playfully. "You made her speechless."

"I told you you were spectacular," Glimmer winked, and Marvel rolled his eyes.

I growled rather audibly, and again, that seemed to surprise them.

Cato seemed to look at me with renewed interest. "What's your name, 9?"

I swallowed. "Maize," I told him, hoping he wouldn't think my name was stupid, although it wouldn't be surprising if he did, because even I found my name stupid. Curse my mother for naming me after grain.

"Maize?" Glimmer said, obviously belittling my name. "Like what? The grain?"

"Tch," Clove sighed, rolling her eyes. "Of course. District 9. How original."

"And what can you possibly help us with?" Cato said coolly, leaning back into his seat. "Honestly, 9, you know that unless you're pretty good with something, we can't let you be a part of our pack. You're too weak."

"I'm pretty good at identifying berries," I said, playing up that angle like it was super important. "And what kind of shrubs are edible."

"Why would we need that?" Clove said, her mouth full of food. Rude. "We're the Careers," she said carefully, like she was talking to a five-year-old. "We own the Cornucopia by the time we make it into the arena. We don't need your berry identification skills."

"I know how to set up fires," I said, starting to panic. "And I'm good with identifying trees for firewood."

"Any tree can be firewood, 9," Marvel drawled, and they seemed to be enjoying the way I floundered. "Sure, some may be more flammable than others, but wood is wood."

"I know how to catch fish," I said, my palms starting to sweat. This is getting me nowhere. "And I know how to gut them and clean them so they're free of worms."

"That's what they're for," Glimmer said rudely, pointing at the District 4 tributes, who were also part of the Career pack.

I had run out of options.

There was silence as my mind tried to figure out what else I could do to let the Careers see that they could rely on me, but there was nothing I had left.

"Well," Cato said, looking at me. "Sorry, 9. But it looks like we wouldn't need you."

I bit my lip, my face feeling hot.

"Aww," Clove said teasingly, "She's gonna cry."

"Boo-hoo," Glimmer added, making baby sounds at me.

Cato looked at me, shrugging noncommittally. "Sorry," he said, smirking, and for the first time, I regretted ever liking him. "That's the way life is, 9."

"You can go now," Marvel said, the smirk on his lips not unlike the one on Cato's. "District 9," he added sneeringly.

"See you, District 9," Cato said, his teeth flashing as he grinned at me. "I'd advise to run as fast as you can when we get to the arena...but there's really no point, because we're gonna have to kill you anyway."

My hands clenched into fists, and I could feel tears well in my eyes, but I told myself I wouldn't cry.

"Bye, 9!" Clove called out to me in a high-pitched cackle as I walked away slowly, feeling very defeated. "And may the odds be ever in your favor!"

As I sat back down, feeling very hot in the face, I heard the Careers laugh out again, and I bet they were making a huge joke out of our little chat.

I bury my face in my hands, and feel like I'm going to cry. I can feel the heavy stares of the other tributes, probably some of them disgust, or maybe even ridicule.

My District partner, especially, was looking at me with contempt in his face.

He knew just as much as I did that Careers, in the eyes of District 9, were ruthless, lawless people, and even thinking about joining them proved you to be just as ruthless and lawless as they were.

I should be grateful training isn't shown on TV because if it was, my family was sure to be disappointed, and my District sure to condemn me.

I looked at my District partner again. He was still looking at me, this time his expression straight and undefined.

I groaned.

He was going to tell, and I knew our mentor was going to kill me.

"What a stupid thing to do! What were you thinking?"

Emmy was pacing back and forth, giving me an almost two-hour sermon about what a stupid thing I did.

"You're from District 9," she told me, whipping around and facing me. "I'm sorry to tell you this, but I just know you're not going to make it out of there alive. The Career Tributes know that too, and yet you made such a total fool out of yourself, going and asking if you could join them!"

I sat silently, my hands folded on my lap and my expression stony.

"I mean, what went through your mind? If you could just tell us, tell me, what you were thinking when you marched up to them and demanded to be a Career - "

"I didn't demand anything," I interrupted, crossing my arms. "I asked...nicely, for lack of a better term."

Emmy groaned. "That was even stupider than demanding!" she shot at me. "you just showed them you are weak!"

"I don't need to show them, because they already know that!" I said, my voice rising due to my loss of temper. "They know I'm not going to last; hell, they even told me not to run away from them anymore so they could slit my throat and I could just die already!"

Emmy had reached a point where she was speechless; she just stood there, looking at me in disbelief and fury.

"Why'd you even try?" Emmy finally said, her voice even. I could tell she was trying to calm herself down.

As I looked at Emmy, I wondered how a girl like her even won the Hunger Games.

She was small; I was smaller, of course, but I don't think she even reached 5'4. She was thin, just like most people from District 9, because we're almost always underfed and undernourished due to lack of meat and money, but since she was a victor, she gained some - if not little - weight.

Probably she ran fast. Ran and ran and kept on running far away from the rest of the tributes who wanted to kill her.

I could do that, I think. I could run away from Cato, from the Careers, from everyone. Then I can hide away in a patch of grain or dried weeds or anything that can conceal my red hair.

"Maize," Emmy snapped, and I steered myself to answer her. "Why'd you even try asking those Careers?"

I lowered my eyes, not looking directly at her. "I thought...it was a good idea. I thought that maybe, you know, I could join them and keep myself alive with them for a few days. It was worth a shot. I'm not as hopeless as the other tributes."

Which was a lie. I bet myself I was the most hopeless tribute in this Games.

"It's a good strategy," Emmy said, "But for someone bigger, stronger and more agile than you. It would work for some, but not you."

"I know," I told her dejectedly.

Emmy sighed. I knew the sermon was over, but I'd also given her a huge problem. She knew that my chances of surviving were slim enough, but by introducing myself to the Careers, I'd made myself a recognizable target. They couldn't forget me, not after what I did. They would forget my name, probably, but what I looked like?

Probably not.

Part Two: Interview

I was fidgeting uncomfortably in my dress, and not because it was uncomfortable itself.

It was me.

I could not stop staring at him.

He was there, at the front of the line, leaning lazily against the wall as he waited for his turn.

There, clad in a silver-gray and black suit, his blond hair mussed to look casual despite the formality of the event...

I cursed myself.

Once again I had no control over my emotions, and I just couldn't help but stare at him.

He was making small talk with Clove before she was called onstage, who was wearing a nice, frilly orange dress. It made her look innocent, but I knew she was anything but.

My District partner, Gram, hissed at me. "You're staring at him again," he whispered angrily.

I looked at him in surprise. How did he know about Cato?

"Who is him?" I said, trying to act oblivious and unknowing about what he was talking about, but he saw through me.

"You know who 'him' is," Gram snapped at me. "It's been so obvious I can barely keep myself from gagging. You like that District 2 boy."

I could feel my cheeks burn; it was a dead giveaway, and I knew I couldn't cover it up.

"You know Emmy told you - "

"I know what Emmy told me," I snapped, waving him away. "'Don't go messing with the Careers if you value your life',"I said, mimicking her. Gram looked away, obviously disgusted by my lack of courtesy.

"...and now let's call in District 2's male tribute, Cato!"

Caesar Flickerman was creepy, his face powdery white and his hair shockingly blue, with his lips to match. He gave Cato a firm shake of the hand before they sat for the interview.

"So, Cato," Caesar began, "You're from District 2 - "

"Yup, Caesar, I am," Cato cut in, causing the crowd to chuckle. "Can't've been from anywhere else, since I am the male tribute for District 2."

Caesar laughed, and the audience joined in. "Understood. Well, then, since you are from District 2...what's impressed you most since you got here?"

Cato acted like he was thinking, and it was so comical the audience cheered. "What's impressed me most?" Cato said, tapping his eyebrow with a finger. "Well, I guess it has to be the elevators."

The audience laughed, and Caesar looked at him weirdly. "The elevators?"

"Oh, yes," Cato nodded, leaning forward. "District 2 doesn't have many elevators."

"Impossible," Caesar laughed, "District 2 has the best buildings in the country, aside from the Capitol of course. You make the elevators."

"Do we?" Cato said, chuckling. "Damn, I thought I could get away with it. Oh, well. I guess you caught me, then."

The audience roared with laughter; even I suppressed a chuckle while the rest of the tributes looked at me.

"Okay, okay, settle down," Caesar said, and the audience quieted. "Now, Cato, you seem like a strong young man. What, exactly, have you got in store for the viewers here when you make it into the arena?"

Cato shrugged, and he grinned at the cameras. "Well, I know I can't say much. But what I can tell you, though, is that I'm vicious and ready to go."

Several people from the crowd whooped, and others began applause. Clearly, Cato was already winning them over.

"Oh, seems like someone's very confident about himself. Now that you're here, though, Cato, I have to ask," Caesar said, "How do you feel being a part of this?"

"A part of the Hunger Games?" Cato said, cocking one eyebrow. "Course, I'm thrilled! This is something I've been wanting to do for a long time coming and I can't believe I'm finally here!"

"Well, believe it, Cato," Caesar told him. "One last question. In the event that you might not come home, is there one person you'd like to say something to before this interview's over?"

For a split second, I saw something flash in Cato's eyes, and it seemed as if everyone noticed too. A hush fell on the audience, and I could hear a pin drop.

Suddenly, Cato's cocky demeanor vanished for a moment, and I could tell he was struggling inside: what is he going to say?

"I..." Cato began, but the buzzer sounded, signalling the interview was over. Several people from the audience moaned with dissatisfaction, while others booed the fact that Cato wasn't able to answer.

"Sorry folks, but Cato's time is up - "

"NO!" There were shouts from the crowd, wanting to know what Cato had in mind. Somehow, though, Cato looked torn between relief he didn't say anything, and regret that he didn't say anything.

" - best of luck to you, Cato, tribute from District 2!"

A huge round of applause was given to him, and there were several whoops heard.

I stole a look at Cato again; his torn expression was replaced by arrogance, and he was waving to the crowd, before leaving the stage.

The moment he was out, however, pain shot through his face, and he walked fast away from the line.

"Cato," Clove called, worry in her expression, touching his arm, but he shrugged her off and continued walking, despite the fact that he was causing a scene.

Clove ran after him, both of them disappearing behind the elevator doors.

I sighed, knowing I will never know exactly what that was all about.

Part Three: The Games

This was it. The moment we've all been waiting for.

For some of us, it's accepting death and walking straight into its arms. For others, it's killing the people who get in your way, blocking you from winning. And still for others, it's running as fast as you can and hope no one catches you.

But one thing I could be sure of was that most of us are just a bunch of teenage kids who want more than anything to go home.

I knew I wouldn't be that lucky one. The best I could do is hope I don't die early on, though it's a very futile thought.

Please, let it be Cato.

I didn't know why or how I knew, but I had a hunch about why he reacted how he did during the interviews.

He had someone at home.

Although all the pressure - the Games, the fact that he and I can never even be friends and the possibility that it could even be him to kill me - was enough to make me cry, I wanted him to go home.

It was obvious that whoever she was, he never got the chance to tell her what he wanted to say. Not during the Reaping, or during the interview. He could have said something during the goodbyes in the Justice Building, but I highly doubted that he did.

Besides, his reaction was too much. It was too obvious he didn't tell anyone anything, because he knew, deep down, he would win.

Despite the slight chance that he wouldn't make it, I honestly doubted that.

I was worried about myself. I was going to die. Minutes, hours, days from now - who knows? Maybe the moment I step off my platform I'll be dead in a second.

Emmy wakes me, tells me to get ready, and I slowly drag myself through the morning.

I was too numb to be scared. Worried, yes, but scared?


I did the usual; brushed my teeth, showered, got dressed. I sat on my bed for a few minutes before Emmy came back, calling me out a second time.

I did as I was told. I slowly made my way to the door and stepped out, Emmy's eyes trained on me, wariness reflected in them.

They said what I knew she wouldn't say: You're going to die. Soon.

I accepted that fate, I think. It's my fault I signed up for tesserae to fill my family's bellies, my father, my mother, Grandpa, and my three sisters.

Now my tesserae, along with me, won't benefit any of them, and they'll have to work extra hard for themselves.

At least now they have one less mouth to feed.

I take a deep breath, and Emmy collects me and Gram, sending us out to the roof so we can board a hovercraft that will take us to the arena.

In a few measly minutes, I'll be dead.

We do standard procedure; I'm taken down to the Launch Room alone. Emmy's not allowed to come along, so she bids us goodbye, gives us a few bits of advice for survival, even if she knows we'll die in the bloodbath anyway.

My stylist helps me dress in the arena outfit, but for the rest of the time waiting, he is silent. He refuses to talk to me; I guess he sees himself as too snooty to talk to a tribute from District 9.

Too soon, I'm on the launch pad. Too soon, I'm sent up to the arena, where I'll meet my doom.

As my eyes adjust to the sudden light, I take in the sight before me.

All the tributes circled around a golden horn called the Cornucopia, filled with goodies and essentials that I know only the Careers can get.

The Careers. I envy them, being able to steal a few days of life, being able to keep a lifetime of sustenance.

I see Cato right across from me on his pad, Glimmer next to him. The girl to my right is the one from Eleven, and the one to my left, the boy from Twelve.

Cato's eyebrows are knitted tightly together; he seems tensed, ready to dive in and kill.

I swallow, and the minute we have left to live is almost up.

I'm already thinking about just dying when I see a pack just a few yards in front of me.

It has to contain essentials, probably not to keep me alive for a few days, but just enough to keep me going until I find nourishment.

I think of how long it will take me to get to it, and then run in the opposite direction, escaping.

But then, the boy from Seven is also eyeing it, and he's got more build than I do. He can easily push me, leaving me vulnerable.

Suddenly, the timer sounds, and everyone is put in motion.

Clove's the fastest; she got to the Cornucopia first, grabbed a bunch of knives, and began throwing them at random people.

Glimmer made it next along with the boy from Eight, they wrestled for the bow when Marvel speared him, squirting blood all over his shirt.

I ran as fast as I could for the pack, grabbed it, then began making a run for it.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Gram having a battle with the girl from Twelve, the one who got an eleven in training. They were fighting over a similar pack as mine when Clove's knife buried into his back.

She ran after the Twelve girl, throwing another knife in her direction.

I was dazed for a moment when I caught a glint of silver on the ground a few feet away.

It was a knife.

I could do with one; it might be useful. I rush over to take it, but then I see another knife, then I take that one, too.

I don't realize how closely I'm getting the Cornucopia.

Only when I get my hands on a larger green pack do I realize the biggest mistake I have ever made when I feel hands, masculine in scent and grip, drag me away from the pack.

I feel the wind rush out from my lungs as Cato throws me to the ground.

At first, I'm shocked, staring up at him, when I finally understand what he's about to do.

I try to scramble away, to get on my feet, but he's too strong. I can feel him pulling my head back, and I can hear metal being pulled out of its sheath.

I bet he didn't even remember my name the moment he slit my throat.

A/N: So...this is my second Hunger Games fic so far. I don't really know why I wrote this; just for fun, I guess, and to get it out of my head. If it was boring, tell me. If it was great, tell me that too. Honestly, I just wrote it for fun, and even I couldn't really understand it much. If it's confusing and doesn't make sense, it's fine by me. Just wrote it to get it out.