Katniss's POV

I scan the horizon in search of deer, or any other precious meat that roamed through the woods surrounding district 12½. 12 ½ is the perfect place for hunting; a small run down hut that belongs to my husband. That's the entirety of 12 ½. A hut. He never comes here; it brings him to tears at the memories of his terrible childhood, thus leaving me to hunt in this peaceful area with no danger of Peacekeepers finding me and a roof over my head. He looks after our children while I hunt – everybody is happy.

I stand, all my muscles taught, waiting. Waiting for a sound; a rustle, a twig snap, anything. My eyes settle on the beaming sun, listening. Its constant warmth is the only thing that seems at peace. How can something be so happy among these dark, dark days? We struggle, and I am one amongst those people. We do what we have to survive; whatever it takes to fill the permanent nagging hunger in our bony bellies.

There, in the distance, a whistle, a voice. I turn around, as quick as a flash, to see a person standing a mile or so away, a spec in the distance. I sprint towards him, my precious bow stretched out in front of me. I pull back the string and wait for my legs to carry me to a position where I can better see him. What is he doing in these forbidden lands?

The grass is as high as my knees and the trees are everywhere, making it hard to run, and as thick as 7 human standing in a circle. 7 district 12 citizens – probably the amount that died every day of hunger.

His hair is dark and rather ordinary for those belonging to the poorer and latter of the Districts. He has a muscular build, probably from years of labour in the mines, but somehow he seems not as malnourished as the majority of district 12.

He stands there calm, a clear target for my arrows. I run until I am a foot away from him (I would stand closer but he could easily pin me down if I got any closer). I wait, and wait, and wait. Why is he not running? Why is he not scared of me? After all, I'm an angry mother with a bow and some extremely dangerous arrows. A realisation hits me.

He knows. He knows I cannot kill the innocent. Without innocence there is no peace, no calm, nothing natural and civilized. Without hopelessness there would be everlasting war. Hope; it is the only thing stronger than fear. A little hope is effective, a lot of hope is dangerous. A spark is fine, as long as it is contained. But why should I take pity on this creature before me? I work out roughly his weight, and how much he would sell for, and how many days his meat would last my hungry family. It is not worth it. My family is to big – it is not worth it. A few days of meat are not a worthy price for a life.

As I come closer to the boy I notice he is uncanny, and I am not sure why, nor what about the boy is uncanny. He calls my nickname "Kimber!"

I feel rage spreading through my body, coursing through my veins. He is an idiot. You do not make nicknames for strangers, in district 12 this is an insult. Only you're family and friends call you nicknames, otherwise – big trouble! "How dare you call me Kimber? You are a stranger, yet you show so little respect for me! To you, I am Kimberlite, so show some courtesy and call me by my name!" I shout. I switch my arrow to type 6, and fire straight into the air. It glides up, splitting the air above it like my children do on the rare occasion my brother has a few pounds to spend on providing them with a cake. The arrow starts to fall towards me, pointing at my head, and I am in danger of an arrow through my head if this arrow is faulty, or if I picked up the wrong arrow. District 13 secretly supplies me with a dozen arrows a year, as a thanks for my Mum being their mockingjay. 1, 2, and 3 I count in my head, as the arrow explodes a few metres above my head. It is silent, and only produces a small amount of colourful sparks. It is only an arrow of threat, an arrow to hopefully scare away this teen, and also so that that the Peacekeepers will not see us if they bothered to guard the outskirts of district 12 (when they can be bothered to get out of bed) about 20 miles away.

He laughs and says "I should have known you were volcanic, just like your name. Kimberlite is a volcanic rock with diamonds in, isn't it? Where's your diamond side? You going to be nice or burn my head off?"

I glare at him and notice his twinkling ocean eyes, a blue the shade Dad colours the sea whenever he draws pictures of District 4. "Why are you here? Who are you? How dare you disturb me whilst I am hunting? I hunt alone, so bugger off." I reply firmly to him.

"I am Flint. I walked here all the way from district 13 to come meet you. I have come for help." Flint said.

"How can I help a mere boy like you? And are you deaf? BUGGER OFF!" I replied, cutting him off.

Flint shouted "I am not a boy, I am 18! And you are not much older!"

"I am 35! And I have 3 children!" I shout. This argument is getting out of hand. I say calmly "why should I help you, what do you want help with, and why me?"

Flint mutters mysteriously "you will find out".

COOKIE CORNER

Close your eyes... (Okay don't because then you can't read the next bit. Close one eye or daydream or something along those lines). You see a bag, a lilac paper bag. Mmmmmmmmmmmm. Smells good. You open it slowly and you find... 3 cookies! You smile and dip your hand in and pull out a triple choc chip one... Your just about to take a munch when you see written on the bag:

THESE COOKIES ARE NOT FOR YOU. THEY ARE FOR YOUR FAVOURITE FANFICTION FRIENDS. THEY MAINLY GO TO REVIEWERS, BUT CAN ALSO GO TO PEOPLE WHO PM YOU. THESE 3 PEOPLE GET THE COOKIES. YOU MUST ALSO READ ALL THEIR STORIES AND READ AND REVIEW EACH AT LEAST ONCE.

Who will be the lucky cookie winners next week? :D

AN

Pleaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa aaaaaaaase review I am begging you! I'm down on my knees while I'm writing this…. Pwetty please? With a cookie on top (and 3 up for grabs)?

Luv chu all :*

~Gx