Roses are white

by Lucilia Venom

The family of Snow is not yet finished. One young girl is so close to dying for her family's crimes, but maybe the Capital Games can give her a way out. Get her a step closer to her goal. To show the rebels that they cannot let history repeat itself. And surely, with the mockingjay on her side, they can't refuse...

Run

A/N

Hi, this is my first Hunger Games fic, sorry if it's not what they usually are, actually no I'm not sorry because it's what I want to write so if you hate it don't leave flame, just don't read (not that I'm suggesting you do that dear reader, as you're my favourite). Hey, YOU! Just because I'm expressing favouritism does not mean you can throw a book at my head! Anyway, I won't say anything else to distract you from the story, apart from the fact that I know its short, but it's just the prologue.

Spider-man never fails, slush puppies with extra ice and stinging nettles ~ Lucilia Venom, the organic cooking sauce lover

Run. Run. Run

The last thing my Grandad will ever say to me.

Run. Run. Run.

Probably the last thing I'll ever do. Well, considering who I am, it could be that or scream, or yell, or cry, or shout, or whimper, or writhe, or screech, or...

The list goes on, and depresses me so much I have to stop, or else I'll crumple to the ground, give up, let them find me, and then my Grandad will have stayed behind for nothing. My resolve strengthens, and I carry on, pretending the tears coursing down my cheeks aren't there, pretending this is a game of tag, and if they catch up and tag you, you're dead. Yes tag, a game I've always been good at. Tag, which has changed from a childhood game to a fight for survival.

Run. Run. Run.

I'm a good runner. Naturally small and slight, naturally fast. I remember racing through the grounds of Grandads mansion when it was bedtime, and no one could catch me, for I was fast, faster than fire. I'd always won all the races at school, but now it's harder. I've been running for days, through the dirty sewer, with nothing to eat, fuelled only by terror, and I fear it's starting to show, that I'm starting to slow, and become clumsy, crashing through the water.

Run. Run. Run.

The very thing my Grandad could have done had he not stayed to buy me time.

Run. Run. Run.

And I do. I run now, and I realise I'll be forever running. Running from what I am sure is to be Grandads fate. Running from the rebels. Running from the people who are to replace Grandad as the President of Panem.