Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games trilogy and I highly doubt that I will ever magically become Suzanne Collins, but I am not stealing her work.

Are you, are you
Coming to the tree
They strung up a man
They say who murdered three.
Strange things did happen here
No stranger would it be
If we met at midnight
In the hanging tree.

My heart roiled and leapt as they sentenced my lover to death. A cry of despair threatened to leave my throat as his eyes scanned mine. They seemed to speak to me, and I knew just what they were saying. "Stay quiet and live, my love. If you scream, they will know of your involvement in the murder."

I had helped him kill the men. Not on purpose. I'm not even sure that he meant it, either. All I remember from the night was running from a trio of angry men and hiding in the rafters of a roof, waiting for the three men- peace keepers- to pass. I remember giggling by the side of Robert as the marched past and then suddenly, he was gone.

I remember hearing muffled shouts and a grunt of pain, but I was too drunk for me to remember anything. Too drunk on the household remedy made by a woman in the Hob. I had traded three dozen eggs for a large enough bottle of the burning liquor to fill both Robert and I. Fear had filled me when I heard the first of the three gunshots, but as the time passed, I grew less and less so.

I was not co-ordinated, but I remember leaping from the rafters and stumbling towards the here bodies, spread eagled around my lover, who held a gun, his face white as the snow in our district- twelve.

He had asked me to assist him in the burial of the men. We ditched them in a shallow grave, raking the dirt out with a trowel that we had found on the back porch of a nearby house. We dug and dug, digging for hours with a shovel and a trowel, fear eliminating after the first hour. We giggled and dug and spoke and talked and kissed and eventually, the grave was large enough to bury the three men in their white uniform.

After covering the grave, I looked down at my nails, which were now filled with dirt and my clothing, which was covered and dampened by the light sprinkling of snow that had stumbled back to my shack hand in hand, my head on his shoulder and the liquor diminishing my memory of the events previous, freezing and smiling like fools.

Three months later, the bodies were found- rotted of their skin, flesh and identity, but they had been found, and someone ratted Robert out. But we fought a losing fight. He was taken away from me too early…