This was written for the Prompts in Panem September 2013 collection, Day: Gluttony.

I do not own The Hunger Games.

This can't be possible. How is this possible?

The cheese buns are gone. I polished off all the cookies. I licked every last bit of frosting from the cake plate. I even refused to share the lamb stew, and now that's all gone, too.

But I'm still hungry. I can't be sated.

Lately, everything I eat is practically inhaled. I burned my mouth because I didn't bother waiting for the fresh loaf to cool. Cookies are always eaten whole – I've lost the concept of actually biting into anything.

I need to try focusing on something else. I think back to the cave in our first Games, when we were on the brink of starvation, but we managed to distract ourselves by holding each other and sharing the occasional kiss.

But kissing's how we got here in the first place.

Kissing leads to touching. Touching leads to moaning. And moaning always leads to the two of us writhing against each other, calling out each other's names, bringing each other to earth-shattering climaxes, temporarily forgetting the possibility that we might actually be creating a new life.

Which is exactly what happened. We created a new life.

And now I'm starving. It's almost painful. There has to be more food somewhere. I open every drawer and search every cabinet – they're not completely bare, but nothing is appealing.

Then I remember.

A box of crackers. Underneath the bed.

I run up the stairs to our bedroom and find the box, feeling both relieved and yet increasingly frantic. I don't bother bringing it back down to the kitchen table like any well-mannered person would. No, instead I sit on the floor and tear the box open, groaning at the sight of plastic that still covers the food I am so desperate to consume. I rip the plastic hastily, only to have the crackers fly out and hit the floor, all of them breaking into what seems like a million pieces.

I sit there with the plastic still in my hands, staring at the mess I've made. Laughing at myself, I realize how ridiculous I must seem.

But I'm still hungry.

So I start to eat. I scan the floor for any large pieces that survived and begin with those, reveling in the salty flavor the moment they hit my tongue. I eat and eat and eat, moving on to the medium-sized pieces, and soon the smaller pieces. Eventually I begin licking the tips of my fingers and pressing them to the floor so that the miniscule crumbs would stick to them and arrive safely in my mouth.

The sound of the front door interrupts my feast. I look down at myself and wipe the crumbs from my clothes, but it's no use. I look pitiful.

And fuck, I'm still hungry.

I stand up when I hear footsteps on the stairs, preparing myself for whatever I'm about to hear…when finally…

"PEETA MELLARK! I AM GETTING SO TIRED OF YOUR SO-CALLED SYMPATHY CRAVINGS!"