Author's Note: I love this series. This idea popped into my head after re-reading the first book for the millionth time. Also, I wanted to make something clear. I don't normally write in first person, so sorry if it's bad. I just thought it would be weird to write 'Foxface', because I know that's not her real name. Enjoy.
Disclaimer: I don't own The Hunger Games or any of its characters.
I'm close. So close. There are only four of us left, and I am so close to winning. To going home. Seeing my family again. But I know this is as far as I go. Cato is too strong. Katniss and Peeta too safe, united as they are. Yes, of course I've bothered to learn their names. I know all of their names. Thresh, Rue, Clove, Glimmer... they are all dead, and I am still alive.
The only way I would win would be if I outlasted them all, but I know this is not an option. Katniss and Peeta have too many people willing to sponsor them, while I have none. Cato will hunt me down. Eventually, he will find me, and he will kill me. I have no real weapons. Only a few knives, that have none of the reach of Cato's sword or the range of Katniss' arrows. But I am afraid to die.
I am afraid of the pain, afraid of how long it will take.
How can I ensure a quick death? Painless? How?
I am following Peeta as he forages when I see the berries left on the mat. Waiting until he's gone, I approach cautiously for a better look, but my mind has already confirmed it.
I know these berries. They are called different things different places. Nightlock, Mors Berries... the list goes on. Maybe they will think I slipped up. Made a mistake. That in my hunger, I'd forgotten the teachings in the Capitol. But I choose this.
This is preferable. Preferable to bleeding out, to dying with an arrow in my throat or heart. At least my body will remain unflawed. I will look pretty, coming home in a box.
I take a few nibbles of the cheese, because why would I take the berries and not any of that. Five should do it. I trek away from the mat, and lower myself to the ground, settling in some soft grass. This is a nice place to die, I think.
With shaking hands, I raise the berries to my mouth. They pass my lips. I chew, swallow, and then I know no more.
Please review! I love them so. In case anyone wanted to know, "Mors" is Latin for "Death."