A DREAM PANG

I had withdrawn in forest, and my song

Was swallowed up in leaves that blew away;

It's like there's a line that she's unwilling to cross. She doesn't know why. Maybe it's because she's on national television. Maybe it's because he's so innocent, so oblivious. Maybe it's because he's so devoted to her. You know, the one with the braid and the bow and that badass personality that captures the camera so unfathomably often. The girl who's going to win.

And part of her knows, part of her truly understands that it's probably all just a show, that he's probably absolutely different in the real world (yes, the fact that this is still reality frequently slips her mind). She knows that she doesn't know him, not really, only what he presents himself like when she and the others are watching, but she likes to fool herself into thinking that she can see past his façade. Which maybe she can.

And by the time she gets to that point of utter desperation, of twisting the already-convoluted facts in her mind, it's like she's past crossing the line. It's so hard for her to stick to the facts. She tricks herself into thinking his love for the girl he knows (she's so unaware that his knowledge of the seam girl is equivalent to her own knowledge of him) is for the audience only, and is awash with a fresh wave of pain when she sees the genuine longing on his face when his eyes are trained on the huntress. She is glad she doesn't look that pathetic when thought of him consume her; she knows her blonde friend wouldn't have let that kind of weakness show.

And it's at night, when her gruesome companions are in that limbo state between awake and asleep, that she sits in her strained nirvana and comes to her wretched epiphany for the umpteenth time. She is going to die. He is going to die as well. The decision is solidified in her mind; She must perish before he, lest a camera catch one tear upon her face.

So she works. She trains herself against her instincts. She teaches herself how not to look at him, even when the two are forced into close proximity. She teaches herself to lower her heart rate when she meets his eye. hHe makes sure to show no vulnerability. Most importantly, she makes sure to merge his name wither her teammate's over times, so that as she's killed (something so inevitable she could weep) she's scream "Cato!" instead of something much more private – instead of calling to him.

She made sure that her inner turmoil over the defenseless baker boy would never be born, if it was the last thing she did. And it was. Sure, she screamed "Cato!" as her final breath passed through her lips, but inside, Clove only yearned for her innocent blonde savior.

I dare not – too far in his footsteps stray –

He must seek me would he undo the wrong.

A/N; read&review? i know it's gross and short and annoying but it's my birthday today so you should review and such. ~Bills