A/N: This is a one-shot (one and a half-shot?) from Foxface's POV. What confused me in the movies was the fact that Foxface passed the edible plants test. So why did she eat nightlock? I don't like to assume things happened because she was being stupid, or because Collins was being lazy and needed some way to kill her off. So here's my theory.

More contemplation than action, and anything recognisable belongs to Suzanne Collins. Enjoy!

An Honourable Human Being

I like to think I'm an honourable human being.

When my name was selected from District Five's Reaping Ball, I knew I had to face a difficult decision. In the Hunger Games, it's either kill or be killed.

So do I stoop to their level, transform myself into a brutal killer? Or do I refuse to murder, and instead die at the hands of someone ruthless, most likely a sadistic Career?

I had mulled over this as Peacekeepers ushered me into a lavish, over-furnished room. I had sat down in a chair made of some rich, plush fabric while the thoughts raced through my mind. I can remember trying to calm myself by running my hands over the soft texture, as if soothing my palms would somehow soothe my mind.

But I had never stopped thinking. Not even as my shell-shocked father and weeping mother came in. My thoughts hadn't ceased until my little sister, who has six more years of safety from the terror of the Reaping, clamoured into my lap.

"It's gonna be okay, right, Foxface?" she had asked in the innocent, naïve voice that only young children seem to be capable of.

I had smiled then, in spite of myself, in spite of the situation, when she called me by the nickname my friends had given me ages ago.

My bright red hair and fox-like features are what earned me the name, but for months, I adamantly denied seeing any resemblance. But the name stuck, and pretty soon even my family was calling me Foxface. So I gave up and decided to like it.

"It's gonna be okay," I promised her softly.

And that's when I had realised what I would have to do. I can't allow her, my younger sister, to see her older sister become violent. I can't help what the other tributes do, but I won't let her watch me kill another human being, one that is just as much of a pawn of the Capitol as I am.

If she sees me die, at least, when she grows up, she'll know that I was a decent person. A moral, merciful, nonviolent person. And that's something. And that's enough for me, because in circumstances like these, one has to be willing to adapt. To accept less than what they normally would; to settle for enough.

The leaves of the trees rustle gently as a cool breeze blows through the arena. It's silent as death. There are only three others left: the scary-looking blonde hulk of a tribute, and the star-crossed lovers from District Twelve. I feel a pang of pity for them, but it dies quickly. I remind myself not to get attached.

Katniss and the boy, whose name I can't remember. I did my best not to remember names. Somehow, thinking about an innocent person die becomes infinitely more unbearable when their name is known.

I've made it this far, to the final four, without making a single kill. I've survived weaponless, relying on stealth, on thievery and intelligence. I can make it further. But herein lies the problem.

If I keep going until only I and one other tribute remain, I'll have no choice but to kill the other person. I'll either be hunted down, or the Gamemakers will create some way to push us together, to force us into a face-off. And my mother and father and little sister will have their eyes glued to the television screen. And my little sister will either watch me get killed. Or worse, watch me murder somebody else. And I'd never be able to look her in the eye again.

No, there's only one way out of this.

The small, dark berries look harmless in the palm of my hand. Nightlock. The name sounds pretty, to me at least. I roll them around in my hand for a few seconds, contemplating my options for the final time.

Get killed, kill someone else, or kill myself.

I want nothing more than to die an honourable human being. This is a simple dying wish. This is an easy dying wish.

Steeling myself, I shut my eyes, squeezing them until I see stars behind the lids, a pop the poisonous berries into my mouth.

I hope she understands.