A/N: The idea for this piece goes to an anonymous reviewer, who requested an alternate ending for My Dreams Smell of Roses. I finally wrote it, but just because I know you'll ask - I'm not continuing! Sorry, but no.

This doesn't quite align with My Dreams Smell of Roses. For one, Prim didn't ally with Peeta and Rue. She ran as far as she could into the forest and hid, just like Foxface (Vulpe). Being a healer, she was able to identify edible plants. Rue and Peeta did attack the Careers, for the same reason that Katniss did: to eliminate them and their food source. Except they stole the food and killed the tributes.

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I have to concentrate on containing my fear. I know if I don't, I'll start screaming and then he – or she – will know where I am. I'm not sure which I'd prefer: Peeta or Rue? A probably painful, slow death by my district partner, or a sick, demented demise by a twelve-year-old just like me?

I'm not sure if Rue could ever kill me, but I'm absolutely positive that I can't kill her, what with my inability to hurt anyone. Peeta, at sixteen, will kill me for sure if he finds me.

That's your plan, though, isn't it? A small voice whispers. Yes, that's what I'm trying to do. Ever since the gong rang out – well, actually since my name was called – I've had no hope of living. If I've got no chance, why hold out and just make my death more painful by not expecting it?

Except now, with only two other tributes left, I wonder if I might survive after all.

My head snaps around at a distant crunch. Someone's coming. I jump towards a branch and fall short, missing by less than an inch. I try again, and this time I'm able to cling to the bough. There's really no point of course, seeing as I'm hanging here in an even more defenseless position than before.

Huffing and puffing, I try climbing up the actual trunk. I've chosen a willow – lots of places for my hands and feet. Eventually I pull myself into the green drapery, breathing heavily.

I'm just in time. Peeta and Rue emerge from the trees opposite my small clearing, together. They're not fighting. They're cautious, true, but not hostile towards each other. What's going on? Are they looking for me together and hoping I'll be able to finish the other off before I die myself? Because surely they're the only two left, other than me.

Looks like I'm wrong. As the duo pass directly underneath my tree, as I'm certain they're about to look up and spot me, a streak of red and green darts out towards them. I've miscounted. There are three tributes left to hunt me. That girl from District 5, Vulpe. But now there are only two again, because she draws her blade across Rue's throat so quickly that Peeta has only time for a startled yelp. A cannon fires and then they're executing a deadly dance.

They dart around each other with quick feet, not speaking, just looking for an opening. A place to put their knives to use and ensure a winner. Whoever is victorious could kill me with ease.

And then it happens – Vulpe slashes Peeta's leg open and he falls, crying out in pain. I want to look away, just like at the bloodbath, but I'm unable to do so. I have to watch as the fox-faced girl stabs him in the stomach and he buries his own knife in her ribs.

She yanks it out, slumping to the ground with the blood pumping from her wound at what must be a gallon per second. Peeta lies gasping in their mingling red life, growing paler and paler.

I can't move. They're both dying, I know it. I've healed enough wounds to know that these can never be repaired. Peeta's leg, maybe, but not his stomach or her heart. Vulpe's cannon fires, signaling her death, and my muscles finally thaw enough to slide down the trunk.

Peeta eyes me as I approach. What am I doing? Why am I coming closer to him, why, why, why? This is utter madness.

"L—" Peeta coughs, spraying blood. "Looks like… you win."

I can only stare at him. I'm going to win? It must be true, but at the moment all I can think about is the blood soaking through my boots. I shake my head mutely, not knowing what I'm protesting. His death? My victory? I think both. I'll be driven deeper into insanity if I have to see him every time I close my eyes.

"Prim…" he rasps. I fall to my knees, shuddering at the warm, wet feel of the ground. His hand finds mine. I bend closer so that I can hear him, because he's almost incoherent now. The cameras won't be able to pick this up, for which I'm glad. His grip on my hand is loosening. "Tell Katniss… tell her…" I wait for him to continue, but he doesn't. There's a deafening thunder all around me as the last cannon fires, and then I hear the trumpets. Claudius Templesmith's voice, magnified so that the birds take flight from the trees above. I hear it even as I sit next to the dead body of a boy I barely knew:

"Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you the victor of the seventy-fourth Hunger Games, Primrose Everdeen, tribute of District 12!"