So last year, I gave into temptation and read The Hunger Games to see what was so great about it. Now, I'm hooked and waiting for the library to reopen to read Catching Fire and Mockingjay, even if people tell me they're a little harder to follow...
Anywho, Foxface. She seemed too clever to eat the nightlock. No, I don't support the suicide thing, because I think she could've won, and her death was wrong place, wrong time, wrong choice. That being said, here is an alternate ending, starting when Katniss goes hunting, before Foxface's death, from the latter's point of view.
And because I always seem to forget, I don't own the Hunger Games. I don't own anything canon, except for the alternate ending in which Foxface wins (which you are about to read, if you haven't become bored with my intro author note).
My stomach growls at the sight before me. Goat cheese. A crisp red apple. Two round golden rolls.
I feel myself salivate at the food. Hunger has always been my constant companion. The entire time I've been in the arena, I've only been stealing food from the other tributes, simultaneously observing them, avoiding anyone bigger or more deadlier looking than myself, and then repeating the cycle when my pilfered food runs low.
Katniss, the famed "Girl on Fire," is walking away, her bow gripped firmly, an arrow positioned and ready for anything. If she isn't hunting, it would be next to impossible to find me or that thug from District Two. She wouldn't go for her beloved Lover Boy either. They're still going for that sappy romance, or she genuinely cares for him. Katniss, I noticed, has a big sense of loyalty to people she cares about and a fierce desire to protect them at any cost; she had volunteered for her little sister. This made her, in a way, much more dangerous than District Two. At least she has a real goal, which would be getting home with her sanity intact, unlike District Two, who only wants glory and fame.
I hear the dry snap of twigs that signals movement and grabs my attention, as well as flares up my muscles and anxiety. Lover Boy pulls himself to his feet. His eyes dart in the direction Katniss went, making sure she isn't around. He and I both know she's too protective of him. He walks past my hiding place, close enough where I can push him down and kill him, if I were one of those barbaric Careers. Turning my head cautiously, I find their meager supplies unguarded. Slowly, carefully, I creep out of the bushes, muscles tense and ready to flee should trouble arise. My green eyes are constantly moving this way and that; the star-crossed lovers might seem dreamy, but they must be cunning, strong, or very much in favor of the sponsors to have made it to the final four. Sensing no immediate danger, my attention turns to the little pile of food on the ground. The apple and rolls would be too noticeable if I take them, so I settle for a small bit of the cheese.
Suddenly, a loud snap sends me scurrying back into my original hiding spot. Lover Boy stumbles his way back through the bushes, again oblivious to my hidden presence. A little brown pouch swings idly at his side. Inside are dark berries; I'm moving to snatch some; he has no knife, no weapon- here's my chance-
"Peeta! Peeta!" Katniss, my brain instantly registers as a threat. She got that eleven for a reason. Out of the periphery of my vision, a sleek arrow embeds itself in the bark inches from Lover Boy, who starts violently, scattering berries all over. I pull my arm back as quickly as I could while holding my breath; I had almost gotten caught just before the Careers' supplies blew sky-high, before I realized I could actually win this thing. Not by directly destroying someone, thereby indirectly destroying others. By cunning. Making myself invisible.
"What are you doing? You're supposed to be here, not running around in the woods!" Katniss does a passable job of hiding her fear using anger. It would fool those Capitol idiots.
Some of Peeta's berries roll under the bushes, as if they were beckoning me to eat them. I hear someone named Cato mentioned; I assume he is the boy from Two. My eyes still on the two, my ears picking up their continuing argument, I cautiously feel around for the berries, careful not to crush them. Feeling that my hands are holding as many berries as they could, I pop one or two in my mouth, but it's only Katniss' next words that make me quickly open my mouth and spit out the berries.
"No, Peeta! Spit it out!" For he is also popping some berries in his mouth, but his jaw never crunches down. Instead, he spews the berries out. Peeta gives Katniss a confusing look. I examine a stray berry, then carefully pry it open. Blood red juice dribbles down my fingers and onto my hands. It takes almost all of my willpower and the prize of my raid to drop the berry and avoid staring at my hands.
"We call it nightlock. It'll kill you before it hits your stomach."
That is all I hear, as I'm sneaking away quietly. They will probably keep those berries to try to trick me or Cato into eating them.
Armed only with my knife blade I salvaged after someone blew the Careers' supplies sky-high, I hurry through the woods, away from District Twelve. I nibble on the cheese, chewing quickly in the vain hope that it will trick my stomach into thinking I am eating much more that I really am. My bag from the Feast is still tucked away, well hidden from anyone or anything; it has food, something I've never had enough of. The raid on Katniss and Peeta was solely to remind myself of my strategy: don't make ripples, don't come into conflict, do whatever I need to survive and return home. Anywhere that doesn't contain grotesque, horribly mutated people is better than my current situation.
I walk along, appearing to the camera lax and not paying attention, a façade that drives the Capitol nuts with anticipation. Inside, I am tense and alert; I'm currently up against Cato, whose monstrosity never fully sinks in until he's stabbing or strangling you; and Katniss and Peeta. Judging from the way Katniss' arrow embedded itself next to Peeta's face, she probably practiced archery much back at her home, and it was only her identification of Peeta as an ally that saved him an arrow in the face. And Peeta has that muscular frame to help pin me down while an arrow crashes into my skull.
I crawl into my little hiding spot, the inside of a rather large tree. I stumbled upon it after fleeing the Cornucopia, and that tree, identifiable only by two branches just low enough for me to able to climb them, became my sanctuary. It isn't the most comfortable place in the world, but it shields me from my surrounding, both natural and artificial.
For the first time since the Feast, I open my bag. I didn't want to start in on what would possibly be my only help in the Games. My hands pull out two packs of crackers. Some beef jerky. Three small granola bars. Two apples. An empty canteen of water and iodine. Not much to survive on for another week, but with only three other tributes remaining, I sense the end of the Games are near. The Gamemakers will try to drive us together soon, make us confront each other. I will be the weakest, the first one dead between Katniss, Peeta, and Cato.
I bite into one of the apples; the juice explodes into my mouth as I crunch down on it. This is good, as it will give my body moisture, however small it is. My teeth scrape as much of the apple as they can, trying to get as much delicious meat into my stomach as possible. I do a successful job, as the hunger pains fade away, and while it may not be that full satisfying feeling during those days in the Training Center, it still works to keep me satisfied. To keep my stomach full longer, I tear at some beef jerky with my teeth, feeling disgusted at myself, as my actions remind me of the Careers, who would willingly tear their opponents apart.
May the odds be ever in your favor. The official motto of the Hunger Games. The odds may not be in my favor, but that doesn't mean I will just roll over and give up. My determination and parched lips accompany me as I drift off to sleep.
It's only the fact that today was the inevitable end that wakes me up the next morning. Whether I would win or suffer a bloody death was in other hands today. I break open the crackers and eat the entire pack. Two granola bars also disappear. If today truly was the end, I don't want to be weighed down should I find myself facing certain death.
The dryness of my mouth is almost unbearable; my parched lips refuse to moisten no matter how many times I lick them. With that in mind, I head towards the little pond nearby. My green bag is slung over my shoulders, as I might not get a chance to grab it again if trouble arises. My stomach drops, however, when I see the flat, dry ditch. The plants surrounding it, however, are still green and look very much alive. The Gamemakers must've drained the pond overnight, as the bottom was bone dry. I figure the other water sources would also be void of water, well, except for the lake.
Sighing in exasperation, I shake my head and begin walking towards the lake. I shouldn't be so upset; the Gamemakers control just about every single aspect in the Hunger Games. It's a clear, yet sad reality that they can destroy us all before our ears can even register the starting gong. Deep, shallows breaths keep my anxiety at bay, but only heighten the bleakness of my situation: I'm armed with only a knife blade, I can't fight, and won't kill. My refusal to kill is my little way of defying the Capitol; it expects us to kill each other, it uses us as circus animals, with the Gamemakers holding the rings.
Before I had come to terms with myself, I arrive at the lake. I crouch down into the bushes; after my little trick at the Feast, the other tributes and Cato would look there first for me. My death seems to be the only obstacle that stops the final showdown. Those Careers, particularly Cato, had it in for Katniss and her eleven in training; hopefully, he will have eyes only for her and her Lover Boy, and I will be there to try to slay the giant.
Here, things will come to a head: I will be forced into direct combat with three bigger, stronger, and more skilled tributes than myself. Grasping my only weapon, I keep it poised and ready by my side, ready to whip my arm sideways and slash whomever comes my way. In Panem, it's me or them. And many would choose other people, no matter what. It was kill or be killed.
As if the Gamemakers heard me, Katniss and Peeta come into view across from my hiding spot. I grin slightly to myself as my earlier instinct to hide in the bushes proves right; Katniss and Peeta circle the silver Cornucopia and look carefully inside the mouth. No doubt they were making sure I or Cato weren't pulling a fast one. Seeing the area secured, the two sit by the lake's edge, which I notice is still full of pristine, clear water. It taunts me, beckoning me to come get my fill, but those seven sleek arrows on Katniss' back are a detriment.
The sun dips lower in the west, forcing me to shield my eyes from the bright light. I still sit, watching the duo. Out of complete boredom and anxiety, I pull out my last granola bar and chew on it, the crunchy contents crumbling in my mouth. I see Katniss and Peeta discussing something, only to be interrupted by a loud shriek. Cato comes tearing towards Katniss, who lets an arrow fly, the result of razor-sharp instincts. It bounces off his chest and lays there. I hear Peeta announce Cato has body armor on. The sound of growls alerts me to danger in the form of a huge pack of wolf-like creatures bounding after the trio.
One creature, however, stops and sniffs the air, the exact pose humans would do if they smell something delicious. This mutt has dark brown fur, and a tall, muscular build. I hold my breath, knife blade out and ready. It looks somehow familiar, I think as I adjust my position slowly, carefully, so as not to make any sudden movements to alert the thing in front of me. Chancing a quick glance at my competitors, I see the other creatures, varying in size and color, trying to jump on the Cornucopia. One mutt, probably the largest and darkest, was jumping farther than the rest using its prominent muscles; it reminds me of that boy from Eleven. However, the Cornucopia's sleek design makes it impossible for the wolves to find footholds to continue the hunt.
The wolf closest to me continues to sniff the air, and it looks as though it believes there is nothing there when I let out an audible breath I was oblivious to holding. The reaction is immediate: the wolf whips its head around to face me. In shock, I almost drop my knife blade, as I see its eyes for the first time. I know those eyes; they're dark brown, almost black, but I can still see that those eyes belong to my district partner, whom I had seen in the list of bloodbath victims all those days ago. His name escapes me, but it doesn't matter as the wolf pounces towards me using its hind legs to propel itself forward, jaws open wide to expose sharp white teeth, horrid smelling breath flooding my nostrils. It knocks me down, snarling and snorting. While the urgency of my situation is on my mind, I'm primarily concerned with the others hearing me or the wolf, but a quick glance disproves my concern. Cato has Peeta in a headlock, and Katniss is torn between shooting Cato, who will take Peeta with him to the mutts, or letting Cato throw her lover over the edge of the Cornucopia to the mutts.
A growl makes me whip my head back to the immediate threat, just in time to block his jaw from closing around my throat with my forearm. I grit my teeth against the pain, against the painless chill my body gives when I feel bone touch bone. While my arm is blocking my throat, I'm groping my pockets for my last piece of jerky. It wants something to chew on? So be it.
My fingers connect with the rough item; quickly, I seize it with my left hand and shove it tantalizingly close to the mutt. It pauses for a split second, I can almost see its mind register the trick, but that is all I need to whip the knife blade as quickly as I can across its throat. Then I bring the blade back and stab it into the wolf's chest. Blood spurts out of the chest, splattering on my face and seeping on my hands. The wolf's corpse drops to the ground dead, the knife blade buried all the way into its heart. I can still see my district partner's eyes; they haven't had time to close all the way before it died. The bite marks on my arm are still oozing out blood, but slower. The air must've started working on clotting the blood, but I also know that if Katniss and Peeta don't end their love angle, it won't matter how I die.
Screams fill the air. I can just make out the figures of Katniss and Peeta on the Cornucopia. A large pile is in front of the mouth; no doubt Katniss somehow managed to keep Peeta safe and dispose of her deadly rival at the same time. It seems like Cato's body armor will backfire on him; it will stop the wolves from tearing him apart instantly, and keep the crowd fixated on our suffering, but whether in horror or sadistic delight depends on the audience. Cato's screams continue for what seems like an eternity, and it's only by the dawn rising behind me that I realize I have dozed off, probably from exhaustion and shock. The night has passed, but the entertainment is ongoing.
The mutts are long gone. I see Katniss on the edge of the Cornucopia, Peeta holding her legs with what little strength he has. Katniss has her bow positioned and ready. She draws back and releases before I can comprehend her intentions.
A cannon blast bursts into the open air. A mercy killing. Good. No one deserves being tortured that long and that brutally. Katniss and Peeta are waiting, waiting to hear them announce that they are the winners of the 74th annual Hunger Games. Confused, they move away from Cato, who now sports an arrow in his skull. Katniss is bending over to pick up a spare arrow when the three of us hear Claudius Templesmith. The last time he spoke, it was to announce two tributes of the same district can win if they are the last two standing. However, I have a feeling I know what he will announce now.
"Greetings to the final contestants of the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games. The earlier revision has been revoked. Closer examination of the rulebook has disclosed that only one winner may be allowed. Good luck and may the odds be ever in your favor."
Oh, how clever they are! The announcements were a clever ploy to draw out a most dramatic ending; the star-crossed lovers of District Twelve, forced to fight each other to the death! What a way to end this year. Maybe I really will end up staying alive.
Peeta has a knife drawn, Katniss an arrow strung and aimed at his heart. Perfect. They forgot about me, and, with luck, it will stay that way. To my surprise, however, Peeta tosses his knife into the lake, and Katniss drops her weapon, dipping her head in shame.
So their romance wasn't a sham after all...
Peeta appears to be trying to get Katniss to kill him; he wants her alive, but she won't do it. Slightly annoyed, he rips a rugged looking rag off his leg. Katniss is on him faster than she can shoot an arrow, trying to stop the blood wound. She looks up and something between the two of them clicks.
Everyone in Panem, except the colored Capitol loons, knows that the Games must have a winner, as hope is stronger than fear. But, if I have to guess, the Gamemakers would rather have no victors than two, much less two from the same district.
Oh, the irony.
Katniss and Peeta are back-to-back now, grasping each other's hands. Their palms are cupped. I have to squint to figure out their plan, but the unmistakable berries are prominent in their hands. The odd thing is, the Gamemakers must be going crazy; they are going to look like fools by allowing District Twelve to defy them, but they don't say or do anything. Claudius said, "The final contestants," but never mentioned how many of us remained. For all Katniss and Peeta know, I got mauled by the mutts and died while Cato's screams filled the air, and they conveniently missed my cannon shot and my picture flashing in the sky, like I did for the guy from District Eleven, apparently.
They're going to kill themselves out of love. They have forgotten about me. Their suicide is going to prove how well of a job I've done staying invisible and forgettable.
The berries pop into their mouths. The jaws crush the berries, flooding their mouths with the poisonous juice. Peeta's eyes grow wide as he realizes there's another tribute left, but it's too late. He falls to the floor, Katniss following as the nightlock does its job. Even from the bushes, I can see Peeta's face permanently registered in shock; he realized too late that I was still alive.
Two loud cannon blasts sound. I look at District Twelve from my hiding spots. They were formidable opponents. Even from this far away, I can see their hands grasping each other. Perfect amount of rebellion. In death, they look as though they're sleeping peacefully.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to announce the victor of the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games!"
Oops, the star-crossed lovers pulled a Romeo and Juliet, a suicide out of love. Foxface did have a pretty good strategy; it goes to show that there is always a way to surprise people.
By the way, the Tragedy genre is meant for Katniss x Peeta fans who had to read about their favorite tributes dying.
Ciao! ~daydreamer626