HEY:) Told you I'd post something Delly, didn't I. Anywho, here it is. I originally started writing it and just kind of went for it, thinking it would be a short, normal one shot. But it kind of got long and I was like, OH, so I had to cut some of the things I wrote.

Since I wrote Run For Me, and I've been brainstorming for my next venture into Prim's POV, I couldn't get Delly out of my mind. In my head, this is her world and her story, and I felt like she deserved to have one. So yes, I hope you enjoy my version of Delly Cartwright, and look out for the next Prim POV (as yet untitled) coming out soon!

Thanks guys! Let me know how you like it.

My name is Delilah Amelia Cartwright -though everyone calls me Delly- and I am 18 years old.

My parent's names are Jonathan Stuart Cartwright, and Ruth Johanna Mayfair-Cartwright.

They both lay in the charred ruins of District 12.

I was born a miracle child to older parents, the first one to survive and be granted life in this world. They called me their dream-come-true, and doted upon me more than I could ask for. I was taught how to play piano and how to write, how to sew and how to sing. I was brought up to be a woman of class, of society. To be married and live among the few elite of District 12.

Not that any of it matters now.

I now live in District 13, and so does my little brother. We are refugees. We escaped the bombing of District 12, and live in fear of the Capitol. We lost everything we had and everything we knew, but I don't feel sorry for myself.

I spend my nights now in a room with 12 other girls who face similar fates; many of whom who don't have anyone left anymore. I am more blessed than most others here; I still have family left, no matter how small or broken it may be.

When the first bomb dropped, I was lying in bed trying to decide what I would wear the next day for school. It all seems so incredibly childish and foolish now that I think about it but, well, appearance was once my everything.

I was never the prettiest girl at school -hundreds of others shared the same blonde hair and blue eyes as myself- but my parents had the money to buy me pretty dresses and other beautiful clothes, and so I took advantage of that. I was always a little bit larger than everyone else, but of course, no one can call you fat while you're wearing a nicer dress than they are. So that was my protection. It made sense too, as my parents ran the shoe shop in town, so clothing and fashion felt natural to me. It was a passion that no one else in District 12 shared.

It was less greed than survival -it was something that I felt I had to do- although that didn't stop me from reveling in the beautiful soft fabrics and colours of my clothing. I do realize now just how spoiled I was; always more than enough to eat, or at least enough to go to sleep with a full stomach every night. I had tender meat from the butcher, fresh bread from the baker and new clothes from the seamstress. Life was good, and I took it all for granted.

It was not that I'd been ignorant of the poverty; in District 12 it is a way of life for more than half of the citizens. It was just that I'd never really experienced it, or made a point of thinking about it, or looked at it, or tried to do something about it.

I left that to my best friend, Peeta Mellark.

I may have been nice, but his genuine consideration, cares, and worry for the residents of the Seam flew right over my head. Of course, I found out that they were centered around one person in general…

But that's another story.

On the night of the bombing I was lying in bed half-asleep, dreaming of clothing- as I often did- my pretty green skirt; my white shirt with the pearly buttons; my shiny black shoes, made specially by my father for me, that I took care to scrub shiny and clean every night.

And then I heard it.

It was quiet, a low hum at first, but as the hovercrafts grew closer my entire house began to shake and was vibrating from the sound. I was petrified; lying in my bed scared still and alone while the screams and shouts began to sound from outside my window.

I remember slinking out of bed in my pajamas, soft white things thin and light as air, and creeping up to my window to get a look. And just as I had pulled the curtain back, the first bomb fell.

It was somewhere over the Seam, near the edge of the District somewhere I'd never been, but I could still feel the shock running through me.

I watched, terrified as the fire sprouted from amongst the shacks and broken down houses, and spread faster than anything I'd ever seen.

A bright red blaze that seemed to consume all it touched, and as it spread the cries grew louder and louder, until they were almost deafening, even through the window.

I'd just reached up and was rubbing at my eyes in disbelief as the second bomb dropped.

Right in the Town Square.

The resulting blast shook my entire house to bits, the force exploding through the window, sending glass shards flying throughout my room.

Everything went silent, and all I could hear was a distinct, high whistle in my ears as I was blown backwards onto my bed.

I landed, half hanging off of my mattress, as the silence continued and I drew my hands from my eyes and saw the blood covering my arms.

The glass had only scratched the surface of my skin, but still, the amount of red streaming from the cuts was more than I'd ever seen before.

I wanted to scream, choke, cry out, but even when I did, I couldn't hear myself. My ears were filled with the overwhelming silence, and I felt numb.

I was so afraid.

All I knew was that I had to get out.

At that moment, my mother came bursting into my room with my little brother in tow and grabbed me, dragging my stiff self out.

My mother was not an ugly woman by any means. She was plump and some would say large, but I thought she was the most beautiful woman in town. I loved the way her round cheeks always shone a lovely red, making her look permanently flustered. I loved how we shared the same blue eyes, ones that twinkled in the sunlight and were the colour of a bright summer sky. I loved her large, soft hands that rubbed my back when I felt sick, and the way her arms wrapped around me when I felt sad.

At that moment, those hands were my salvation.

She had grabbed me and screamed over and over, slowly yanking me out of my bedroom, until my ears returned to normalcy and I understood her words.

"Delly! Come on Delly! We have to go! We have to go!"

I remember scrambling to put my boots on and throw on a sweater before running out of my house with my mother and father, my mother desperately clutching my hand and holding my little brother Colin tight to her chest as we raced out into the open.

Right towards the Town Square.

It's a sight I will never forget.

The town burned before me, a blazing testament to the power of the Capitol. I wanted to cry. I wanted to run in fear. But at the same time I didn't want to leave my home. I wanted to close my eyes and open them and have this all be a horrible nightmare; but the heat radiating from the fires scorched my skin, assuring me that it was all too real.

I heard my mother shriek as I watched my father leave us and run off towards the Bakery; no doubt to save Peeta's family, our friends the Mellarks'. The building was engulfed in flames, burning bright before us and as soon as I saw my father break through the door I knew he would never come out.

I knew we had to run.

And so I grabbed my mother and brother and spun desperately around, searching for an answer, not knowing where to go or what to do.

And that's when Madge Undersee approached us.

Madge was a girl in my year at school, the Mayor's daughter. She was someone whom I had known in and out of school; someone I'd grown up with; a friend. Her blonde ponytail bobbed behind her as she ran towards us with soot and sweat streaking her face. Her blue eyes locked on mine and she urged me to run, pointing me in the direction of a dirt road that I knew led to the Seam, and eventually the fence.

She said it was the only way to get out.

And so I said one last goodbye to Madge, holding her in my arms for one final hug, and ran for it.

I dragged my mother and brother down the beaten dirt path, racing past the throngs of people –from the Seam and the Town- to get to the fence. All of us screaming and crying as we ran, all of us desperate to escape, all of us determined to try and make it out alive.

As I ran, I heard the bombs exploding behind me, destroying more and more of my home, but I dared not look back. I knew if I did, I'd never be able to tear my eyes off of it.

I knew that there was only one way left to go, and that was forward.

I knew that if I turned around, I'd never make it out alive.

I have never felt relief like I did when I saw the fence looming in front of us, sharp wire and wood tangled and torn, collapsed.

Looking at it, broken and ripped in two, it was hard to believe it was the only thing that had held us in all this time. The only thing keeping us here, confined like caged animals.

And now they burn us in our cage, with no way to get out.

I felt sick to my stomach.

We finally made it out into the dark woods, a massive horde of citizens burnt and bleeding, pushing their way through the fence into the dense green forest. And once out, I let out a sigh of relief, dropping my mother's hand to brush hair out of my face and wipe the soot from my cheeks.

But my relief was short-lived.

We weren't safe yet.

A hovercraft whipped over and we all stood, paralyzed in fear, as it flew low above us and dropped another bomb in the forest.

I was thrown back; we all were.

The force of the explosion threw me back into a tree, and I hit it so hard I thought I might black out.

The air was filled with moans and cries, and I forced myself to stand, all the while feeling as though I would faint. Praying that I would wake up, that this was all a dream. I stepped over the bodies lying on the ground, some pleading for me to help them, others begging for me to end their lives, and make it quick. The tears and smoke stung my eyes as I searched desperately, crying out for my brother, and for my mother.

I found her.

She was crushed beneath a tree, felled by the explosion, and as soon as I recognized her face, now bloody and burnt, I couldn't help it; I threw up. Her face now something I dream of every night, and I wake up shaking and crying, the image of my dead mother burnt into my eyes.

After that, I searched the clearing for hours looking for my brother. The sun rose and set once more, but I couldn't find Colin in the wreckage. And so I convinced myself that he survived, and I pushed on by myself. I told myself that I'd find him in the woods; that he was safe and that we'd be together again; that I wasn't abandoning him.

I escaped to the woods, surviving for days on pure luck and a sparse knowledge of berries and plants.

A man named Skylar -an old miner from the Seam- found me collapsed under a tree; scared, tired, starving and alone. I'd been ready to die, to give in to the elements, and the overwhelming pain in my gut. But Skylar forced me to keep moving. He, and a group of 10 others, was traveling as far out as they could into the forest. They thought they might find help, or at least others.

Their hope was contagious, and –surprisingly- successful.

About five days from the bombing, we did find others.

We found the Hawthornes, and the Everdeens.

And it wasn't long after that, that we were found ourselves, and taken to District 13.

Which is where I sit now, staring eye to eye with Haymitch Abernathy, the 'District Drunk' and former victor of The Hunger Games.

The small room feels cold and unwelcoming, the clean-whitewashed walls closing in on me, glaring at me in the harsh artificial light.

I have yet to get used to life underground, but it's better than nothing.

In District 13, I found my brother, and Colin and I were reunited, thankfully. But they don't let me live with him. Instead I'm sharing a room with other parentless girls; girls who are unclaimed and uncared for, the youngest of them only four and the oldest 19.

Colin shares a room with boys of a similar fate, and each day I have to hold him and remind him I'm there. Though he's only 10 years old, and though he managed to survive the woods alone for a few days, he's still a scared little boy when he falls into my arms.

I have to stay strong for the both of us, and that's why I'm here in this small room, in a staring match with Abernathy.

They asked the survivors of District 12, all 800 of us -800 of thousands that didn't make it out- for those who knew Peeta Mellark.

For those who shared memories.

They didn't tell us why though.

I immediately volunteered; I was desperate to see my best friend again, so excited to see him alive and hear his voice that I didn't think twice of what could be waiting for me.

Peeta and I grew up together, drawing paintings on the sidewalk, rolling and playing in the meadow, picking dandelions and playing in the creek. And as we grew, so did my feelings for him.

When we were young, our mother's dreamed that one day we would get married. And as I got older, I found myself dreaming of that same thing; shamefully at first, although after a while I realized that my feelings for Peeta were more than just a school girl crush, but I could never say anything out of fear. We got closer and closer as we got older, trading in dandelions for books and chores, spending every moment together and using every spare second to relieve each other of our ultimate boredom; and then he was reaped. My heart broke. I'd never cared for someone so much, and I'd never really had to say goodbye.

I will never forget that day in the Justice Building, waiting outside in the hallway, thinking up words to say that could possibly convey what I was feeling. I was used to being comforted by Peeta, telling him my fears and having him help me solve my problems. I was unprepared to comfort him. I didn't know what I should do or how he was going to be acting, but I did know one thing; I had to tell him how I felt.

When I entered that room, his eyes were red, his face wet with tears, and I held him close to me as we both sobbed onto each other's shoulders. But then he grew serious and stopped crying. He held me at arm's length and told me goodbye; told me that he wasn't coming home and that he'd miss me very much.

I asked him why.

I simply stood there, shocked as he continued to speak, telling me that he had something bigger to do in the arena, that he had someone to protect. I knew it had to be Katniss and he admitted to it, but he refused to explain. Instead, he just told me that he'd been there for her before and that he wouldn't be able to stand aside and watch her die in the arena. He told me that he would do anything and everything he could to protect her.

I couldn't think of a word to say, so I simply hugged him again, and held him tight until the peacekeepers ripped me away.

I watched him on television as he wooed the Capitol audience, proclaiming his love for Katniss. I never doubted his motives for a second. I watched him fight along with the careers, secretly holding some poor tribute girl's hand as she took her last breath. I watched, terrified, as he took on Cato and suffered the near-fatal leg injury that almost stole him from me, stood proud as he used his talent to camouflage himself. I watched the games proud, as he refused to play by their rules, and stayed himself the entire time; the Peeta I knew and loved. I watched him as he won the games with the berries, and cried tears of joy when he returned home. I didn't care that he was one half of the star-crossed lovers of District 12; I just cared that he was alive.

And now here I sit, being interviewed- more like interrogated really- by Haymitch Abernathy himself.

His dark eyes are rimmed with red and they stare at me intently, intimidating. His hair is greasy and streaked across his forehead with sweat, and he licks his lips loudly before he speaks.

All in all he's rather disgusting.

"So Miss…. Cartwright-" he begins.

"It's Delly."

"… Delly." He repeats, amused. "How do you know Peeta?"

"Well, we grew up together."

"You were friends?"

"Yes."

"Even while he was in the arena?"

"Yes, well. For the first games at least. I uh, I didn't really speak to him much when he came back…"

"He was rather busy when he returned wasn't he."

Tears prick the back of my eyes but I force a smile, "Yes. Unfortunately he was."

"Yeah well, that's kind of my fault in a way. But nonetheless, would he recognize you today?"

"I certainly hope so!" I blush deep red. "I mean, he was my best friend. Is still my best friend. I, I hope he hasn't forgotten me."

Haymitch's expression softens, "I hope so too."

I stare down at my feet nervously. Seeing Haymitch Abernathy look that way is unnerving, he almost seemed to be capable of emotions.

Weird.

"So, Delly…" He starts back up again, taking a quick swig of his flask. "I don't doubt your relationship with Peeta. But tell me, do you know Katniss at all?"

"Well, we were in the same grade together, all three of us."

"Were you friends?"

"Oh no."

"You didn't speak to Peeta about her?"

"Not that I can recall."

Haymitch pauses for a moment and seems to consider this. "Well," he announces, "I'm done."

He pushes himself out of his chair and brushes past me as he walks briskly towards the door.

"Wait!" I call, spinning around on the cushion. "Don't you want to ask me anything more?"

"Nope." Haymitch turns on his heels and walks back over to me, leaning his elbows on the arm of my chair. His breath smells of liquor and he stares intently into my eyes as he speaks, "I've already chosen you sweetheart."

I hold his gaze and lower my voice, "For what?"

I sit in a waiting room of the hospital here in District 13, waiting patiently in a hard wooden chair. I'm chatting with Plutarch Heavensbee, one of the leaders of the rebellion.

He's actually very nice, and I've been complimenting him on his pocket watch, a lovely golden thing. We've gone on to have quite the conversation about clothing and fashion, something I've been deprived of being here in the underground.

It's strange waking up each day and putting on the exact same grey shirt, pants, shoes; grey everything. The fabric feels slightly itchy on my skin, and though I'd lost weight in the woods, it isn't exactly the most flattering. The conversation with Plutarch brightens my day a little bit, as we discuss his clothes- considerably nicer than mine- and mock the fashion in the underground.

It's a relief to hear someone else complain as well.

I was afraid I was the only one who could think of things like that at a time like this.

Haymitch walks in, bringing Katniss Everdeen with him.

Seeing her alive makes me happy, as although she's the object of Peeta's affections –and I, along with the rest of District 12, know that she broke his poor heart- I now know there's someone else here who cares for Peeta almost as much as I do.

That much was clear when he hit the force field and Katniss broke down.

I give her my brightest smile, and she returns it with her usual vacant expression. Her eyes are sunken and hollow, the bags under them alarming. Her hair is stringy, but nonetheless pulled back into her famous braid. She's lost weight and her cheekbones and collarbone are prominent, her arms skinny. She looks almost delicate, frail; a ghost of the victor of the 74th Hunger Games.

"How are you doing?" she asks as she approaches me and I rise from my seat.

"Oh, it's been a lot of changes all at once," for a moment my mind flashes back to my parents and home in District 12, and I have trouble hiding the tears that well up in my eyes, "But everyone's really nice here in Thirteen," I manage. "Don't you think?"

I give her another smile and she tries to smile back.

There's a faint tug at the corners of her mouth, but not a huge movement.

"They've made an effort to make us feel welcome," she replies coolly. "Are you the one they've picked to see Peeta?"

As she says his name her voice wavers, and I realize just how scared she is for him.

"I guess so." I shrug. "Poor Peeta. Poor you. I'll never understand the Capitol," I say.

And I mean it.

Katniss voice is soft s she replies, "Better not to maybe."

Plutarch jumps up from his chair, "Delly's known Peeta for a long time." He pipes up cheerfully.

"Oh yes!" I smile, thinking back to my memories, "We played together from when we were little. I used to tell people he was my brother."

"What do you think?" Haymitch turns to Katniss nervously," Anything that might trigger memories of you?"

"We were all in the same class. But we never overlapped much," she replies.

I can't help but pipe in at this point, "Katniss was always so amazing," I gush. "I never dreamed she would notice me. The way she could hunt and go into the Hob and everything. Everyone admired her so."

And I mean it.

Although, I suppose, I don't realize how childish I sound until Haymitch and Katniss stare at me, questioning. I blush a deep red and stare down at my plain, grey shoes, embarrassed.

"Delly always thinks the best of everyone," Katniss explains to Haymitch. "I don't think Peeta could have bad memories associated with her," she pauses. "Wait. In the Capitol. When I lied about recognizing the Avox girl. Peeta covered for me and said she looked like Delly."

My ears perk up at this; Peeta mentioned me in the Capitol?

I feel my heart swell. I thought he'd forgotten me, but knowing that I was the first name that came to his mind gives me a sort of comfort, even if it was just in passing to help Katniss.

"I remember," Haymitch replies. "But I don't know. It wasn't true. Delly wasn't actually there. I don't think it can compete with years of childhood memories."

"Especially with such a pleasant companion as Delly," adds in Plutarch generously. "Let's give it a shot."

I blush red at his compliment, but I feel the fear growing in my chest as Plutarch, Haymitch and Katniss leave and go to what they call the 'observation room', where they can watch over what happens.

A nurse comes over to me, a kind looking older woman, with sparkling green eyes and wrinkles lining her face.

"Are you ready honey?" she asks softly.

I nod, shaking slightly.

She gives me a warm smile and leads me to the door, opening it quietly.

And there he is.

My best friend.

Peeta lies on the bed in the center of the room, his arms strapped down tight. He's not fighting against his restraints, although he constantly twitches and fidgets and glances around nervously. He looks rational and sane enough to me, even though I was told otherwise.

I shake with nerves as I close in on the bed, but as I get closer and closer I recognize the Peeta I once knew, and I can't help but smile. His eyes are still the same bright, clear blue, and he still has the same nervous tendency of clenching and unclenching his jaw rhythmically. I almost laugh out of relief.

"Peeta?" I say softly. "It's Delly. From home."

I add this is for good measure, hoping that he'd know it; but after what he's been through I don't want to jump to any conclusions.

"Delly?" he asks softly, "Delly. It's you."

I feel my heart burst as I come in close to the side of his bed, resting my hand on the railing close beside my friend, staring down at his face.

"Yes!" I answer, completely relieved. "How do you feel?"

"Awful." Peeta groans slightly and winces as he shifts in his bed. "Where are we? What's happened?"

I pause for a moment, remembering Plutarch's words.

"Make sure to avoid talking about Katniss. That will come in time. And avoid the Capitol too. Just remind him of home, see how much he remembers about you, and about District 12. Tell him where he is and just… go slow, yes?"

"Well," I pause, thinking of what to say. "We're in District 13. We live here now."

"That's what most people have been saying. But it makes no sense. Why aren't we home?" Peeta asks sincerely.

I bite my lip, fighting to hold back the tears as Peeta's words conjure images in my mind: home. Why aren't we home?

"There was" I take a deep breath to stop myself from crying, "an accident. I miss home badly, too. I was only just thinking about those chalk drawings we used to do on the paving stones. Yours were so wonderful. Remember when you made each one a different animal?"

Peeta nods, "Yeah. Pigs and cats and things. You said… about an accident?"

I take a moment and choose my words carefully and I feel the beads of sweat form on my skin.

"It was bad. No one… could stay." I stammer.

I want to say more. I want to tell him. He deserves to know.

But I know I can't.

"But I know you're going to like it here Peeta," I continue, forcing my brightest smile even as the tears form in my eyes. "The people have been really nice to us. There's always food and clean clothes, and school's much more interesting-"

"Why hasn't my family come to see me?" Peeta cuts me off.

I can feel a lump in my throat, "They can't." I fight the tears desperately, but I'm unable to get the image of Peeta's house burning in the flames out of my head. "A lot of people didn't get out of twelve," and now an image of my parents fills my thoughts. "So we'll need to make a new life here. I'm sure they could use a good baker." I sniffle, conjuring up another bright, forced smile, "Do you remember when your father used to let us make dough girls and boys?"

"There was a fire," Peeta says abruptly.

I close my eyes and my grip tightens on the side of his bed. "Yes," I whisper.

"Twelve burned down, didn't it? Because of her," Peeta's jaw clenches tight as he raises his voice. "Because of Katniss!"

Peeta fights against his restraints, desperately pulling against them, shaking the bed.

I jump back, startled, I've never seen him like this before.

"Oh, no, Peeta. It wasn't her fault."

"Did she tell you that?" he hisses at me.

He's never spoken to me like that before.

My face collapses and my gut wrenches as I hear the door open behind me and I back towards it, terrified.

But I know I can fix this.

"She didn't have to. I was-"

"Because she's lying!" he interrupts me, screaming. "She's a liar! You can't believe anything she says! She's some kind of mutt the Capitol created to use against the rest of us!"

My voice trembles as I speak up, desperately trying to appease him, "No, Peeta. She's not a-"

"Don't trust her Delly." He says frantically, interrupting me once more. "I did, and she tried to kill me. She killed my friends. My family. Don't ever go near her! She's a mutt!"

The tears come streaming out of my eyes now, and I choke on my tears as I lose my control and break down.

A hand reaches from the doorway behind and tears me from the room.

The kind old nurse wraps her arms around me as I sob into her shoulder.

"Shhh, darling. Shhh, it's all right. It'll all be all right." She soothes, stroking my hair as I bury my face deeper into her shirt.

No it won't.

He's lost.

My best friend is gone.

And I don't think he'll ever come back.