Oh, yeah. That girl? Her older sister was my old sweetheart. Disappeared a few years back. She's never been the same. Lotta people say she's just in depression. Most people say she's unhinged.

She smiled down. She'd show them unhinged.

At first, she was sorta rabid. She'd snarl at anyone who came close. She used to bite and scratch her mother when she tried to feed her.

She remembered feeling like that. The only reason she stopped was because she was hungry. She may be 'unhinged,' but she wasn't suicidal or anything. She tucked the butcher knife into her bag.

Then she would hole up in her room for hours, never bothering about her mother's pleas to come out and talk.

She crept out of the house, sneaking down the road into the bar.

The crazy little waif just wanders around, staring at nothing. Her phases lasted maybe a year each. Such a small town, everybody wonders what she'll do next when they've got nothing to do.

'The crazy little waif's' phase was about to begin. She snuck into the bar, crouching behind the counter.

Wait. Did you see that?

What?

I thought I saw something small and white...

She tensed and mentally cursed her clean white nightgown.

Never-never mind.

She relaxed.

What's her name?

Hmm? What?

The girl. What's her name?

Primrose Everdeen.

She could hear the sounds of gulping and sighing.

Well, I think we should go home now. We'll have awful hangovers at work tomorrow.

Roommates. Perfect. Or brothers. Even better.

Do you get the feeling we're being watched?

Wha?

The other man was slurring badly, clearly more drunk than the other one. She decided to keep the drunker one alive longer. She enjoyed the screaming. Well, she enjoyed the screaming of the cat, but it hadn't been enough. She thirsted for the blood on her hands and the screams carrying. She heard the first man sighing.

Never mind.

Now they were in an alley. Office buildings, windows dark, were on both sides and office buildings and stores up and down the block. Nobody would find the bodies for a long, long time. She leapt out, drawing the knife and plunging it into one man's back. He screamed. It was the clearheaded one. She twisted and knocked the drunken man on the head. He fell, unconscious. She turned to the man she had stabbed and sat on his stomach.

The first thing is excruciating pain. Then I yell in agony, and fall backwards onto the stab wound. I can see the girl knock my poor drunk brother on the floor. He's unconscious. Then she turns and jumps onto me. I can see the glint of crazy in her eye. She's wearing a pure white nightgown. That's what it was. Let's start slow, shall we? she purrs. Then she flips me over-how did she get that strong?- and smears grit into my back. I shriek, praying someone will hear me, but of course nobody does. Then I hear something shaking. Something grainy pours into the wound. Salt. She brought salt. Now I'm screaming. She chuckles. Then she turns me over and traces my features with the bloodstained knife. She stabs me again and again until I'm begging. Then, along with the crazy, I see the girl she used to be. She was innocent and sweet, the whole town loved her. That girl takes over for a moment, just a moment, and then sweet oblivion.

She stumbled back. To cover up, she killed the other man too. But she didn't torture him. Then she looked down. There was blood on her hands. The crazy was back. She smiled and ran.

Well, Katniss. Peeta and his brother down. Who next?

Mother.