Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction using the characters in the Hunger Games world that belongs and is trademarked by Suzanne Collins. These characters were created and are owned by Suzanne Collins and I do not claim ownership over them or the Hunger Games world. Thank you.
More Like a Tiger Anyways
That was it. Only four of us left. Katniss. Peeta. Cato. Me. I hope Cato and Katniss have it out, then we'll hopefully just leave nature to take care of Peeta. I'm not stupid, but I'm not...the confronting type either. It's easy to pick out Peeta in the forest despite his, and it hurts me to admit this about my opponent, impressive ability to camouflage himself. But I've still seen past the masks, and I've seen him, I've seen the injuries he's sustained. I can only hope neglecting them will finish him off. I evade, not attack. If I killed Peeta, Katniss would surely avenge him by killing me. Same situation if I killed Katniss. I mean regardless of his wounds, Peeta is still twice my size. He'd only need to lift me up and smash my head against something and I'd be done for. And then Cato...if I killed Cato, that would strike up a chance for Peeta and Katniss both to get outta the arena because of the rule change. It looks like I'm just not allowed to win! But if it came down to a finale, the four of us stationed against each other, I'd be the one with blood on my hands. The other three don't know what I can bring when I need to. I know I'm clever, I know how to strategize and move evasively, but I know I can also kill if I'm left in that position.
However, right now the only thing I need is food. Food, food, food. If I can't find food, I'm a goner. I don't have to worry about the other tributes; I'm too "sly and elusive" I suppose. I've never been in contact with any of them, I work alone. Isolated. Just like it is at home.
Home.
The word breaks something inside, cracking it, dismembering it. We are all just children that want to go home. I have to swallow the sob that threatens to come up; I can't let my district see this. See my calm, independent demeanor suddenly shatter at one, damn word. No. That's not how you win The Hunger Games.
Control, control, control. That's all this is. Where were my thoughts at? Home? No, food! This godforsaken arena is keeping me from surviving. It couldn't have been a fruit forest or a bread desert! It had to be the woods, where the only food is small rabbits and plants. I'm left struggling with only a knife, and the backpack I got at the feast.(This contained little food that I gobbled down certainly within five seconds.) But now I was left starving with a small chance of survival. The thought almost makes me laugh. And to think, ha, that I thought I had a chance! I really did, I swear I did.
My stomach was shrinking and I needed to find something to eat. Who knows what could—oh! Whoa! Wait—what did I...OH! This was Katniss's and Peeta's food pile! Cheese, rolls, apples and berries! Salvation! I started picking away at the cheese. I take only small amounts that they won't notice are missing, like I did when I invaded the Career's camp; I only take a small amount to live, not enough to provoke any suspicion. If I could only figure out a way to assure myself that the remaining three tributes were goners...
I'm so wrapped up in my thoughts of victory that I don't take notice of how many berries I've shoved in my mouth. They seem a bit familiar...oh what does it really matter? If Peeta and Katniss were all prepared to eat them themselves, I'm sure they're safe to eat As the berries are making their way down my throat, I begin to feel a slight pressure in my stomach. My vision begins to blur, like a thousand, tiny, black dots are enclosing around my pupils.. I stop eating and stumble back. The pressure in my stomach has increased to extreme pain now and I'm clutching my stomach to keep my intestines inside that I think are falling out. I feel like I'm inhaling blood and my throat is burning. I've made my way away from the food pile and lay on the ground. It's only minutes, but the pain lasts an eternity before the swelling feeling in my neck starts to cease and the blood-vomit-air-oh-God-whatever-it-is stops erupting from my loosening stomach.
Everything is faint.
What's left of my body aches like I took a shower in broken glass. So close...I could've won, won the whole thing. My district, I only know of a few victors from District Five. I will not be one of them. I know that this was a slightly better way to die than to come face-to-face with Cato or Katniss or Peeta. No doubt if I were killed by them it would've been extremely brutal. Bloody.
And I can't let my district see me like that. I won't let them see my mutilated body being lifted into the hovercraft. I won't let my older brother see me die that way. My brother, who whispered soothing words of love and encouragement to me before I left for the Capitol. My parents never said goodbye to me. It was just me and my brother. He's the one who taught me about plants, showed me weeds and flowers and berries, played hide-and-seek with me and danced with me when I was little. In a way, he's the one who prepared me for the Games. The one who taught me how to hide and survive.
"Just disappear, make everyone forget about you. Hide, steal, make no alliances! And you'll come out fine, you'll be our district's victor." His voice rings in my ears as we said goodbye. Then he pulled me close and kissed my forehead. "You're already my victor, Idabelle." He whispers quietly as a waterfall of tears roll down his face. I hug him tightly, not trusting myself to say anything without breaking down myself.
Vaguely, I feel a tear in the corner of my eye as the memory fades away.
My brother.
When I was little, during one game of hide-and-seek, I had hid behind an old cabinet in our basement. It took him nearly an hour to find me, and when he was close enough, I jumped out and tackled him. He let me tackle him really, for I was only about seven, and his thirteen-year-old boy body would've crushed me in an instant.
"Whoa there tiger!" He laughed. God, I missed his laugh, pure and innocent. He hauled me up on his shoulders, his red hair tickling my exposed legs. He had very dark hair, the red emerging out to be more of a midnight ruby in contrast to my pumpkin-head.
He looked at me then, in only the way a brother looks at a sister. With protection, with hope, with certainty. The look of someone that'll protect me from my first asshole boyfriend, someone who'll get on my nerves so much and who I'll annoy to death, someone who'll be there, be my best friend when I need someone.
He hugged me tightly then, kissing my cheek. "I promise you Idabelle, you'll be okay. You will. I won't let them take you. I'll show up to the reaping in a dress, wig and makeup and volunteer for you if you're called. If that's what it takes. If that's what it takes to keep you safe, little sister. Please...don't waste these next five years. Right now you're safe, they can't touch you...but you won't have that security forever."
"Rawr!" I had pathetically replied, giggling the way a damn seven-year-old giggles.
"That's right, little tiger." My brother laughed, holding me close.
I'm so pissed at myself right now as I lay dying. These were the berries Katniss and Peeta collected. I know the damn Girl on Fire was smarter than this.
That left Peeta. Peeta. Peeta collected the berries, Peeta killed me. In the last few moments I have, a groan of frustration and anger slips my lips. That boy from District Twelve! Peeta! Oh, God he killed me, he did that. Oh...I'll kill him. I can feel my hatred level rising, and the only thing I can think of is how I'm going to make Peeta feel so...much...pain. I know I'll get him back. I'll get Katniss, too. I've played the quiet, sly and cunning girl so far but no more! Now, I will kill Peeta. And the last thing I see is the small dribble of blood pouring from my mouth, and my last thought it that I'm going to make Peeta bleed from the inside out and I'll tear the triumphant grin I know he'll be wearing tonight when my picture appears in the sky right off his face. My rage had no limit, no equal, I wanted to go home, I needed to. For my brother, for my district. It's all I have left, but now they'll never know my fury. Never see that I can be a fighter.
But...I made it to the top four remaining.
I think a harsh laugh escapes me, but I'm not sure. Perhaps I'm already dead.
That's something. Top four. That's...something.
I will be remembered.
Not as Foxface, not as what the other tributes see me as.
But as the girl who fought.
Foxes are forgotten. Sly. Cunning. Elusive.
Everything I was thought to be, but never was.
Tigers are not forgotten.
Another laugh.
My brother always said I was more like a tiger anyways.