It was an afternoon quite unlike any other. The forest, normally emanating life, seemingly possessing one of its own, was eerily still. Not a breeze stirred the leaves on the trees and bushes; no living thing could be perceived.
It seemed almost as if time had stopped and left, in the place of life and activity, a mockery of those things. She dared not take a step further ahead; too sacred and surreal seemed the scene before her. She felt more asleep than awake; more dreaming than conscious and for a moment forgot the terrible reality of her situation. What was pressing down on her and confusing her thoughts was not the sudden silence of the world surrounding her, rather its cause. She knew that the buzzing forest was holding its breath; waiting for what was to happen. It was the calm before the storm and the calmer it is before the outbreak, with the more force the storm hits when it does come. She noticed that she herself was holding her breath in anticipation of the first bolt of lightning to slice the sky in half, giving her enough time to run from danger before the crashing thunder shook the ground beneath her feet. But this storm was far quieter, both in approaching and in its outbreak, than any she had ever experienced. No booming thunder came; only the sensation of the hair on the nape of her neck rising let her know it had broken out. And before she knew it, she was stuck in the middle of it. There was no time left to run, and she probably wouldn't have known how to, had there been any. Her feet were stuck firm to the ground, as if she were one of the trees; her roots dug dip into the earth. She didn't have to turn around to know he was there and had a smile on his lips and dark, hate-filled eyes; not without a certain type of lust in them. Bloodlust, she realised. Suddenly, with all the force imaginable, the forest came alive. The birds didn't sing; they screeched, cried, shouted. The rustling leaves sounded like a marching army, the river like roaring canon-fire. She came back to her senses and realised her end was near. As she turned around, trying to appear as composed as possible, the intolerable noise subdued into something more natural. She noticed that the birdsong, once again, became what its name implied and that the wind, which had started that moment, seemed to be an accompaniment to the melody.

He stood at some distance from her, but she realised he could close whatever space there was between them in a few strides. There was no sense in running; or even trying to, she knew that. In a way she was glad to be trapped there among the trees. It put an end to her troubles. From that moment on, it was up to another to decide over her fate and she found that oddly comforting.
The setting was far too picturesque for the bloodshed that was about to take place there. She looked up at his face, but couldn't identify many features. It was dark; covered with the gloom expected from a killer like him. His burly frame blocked out the sun that was setting behind him.
However, something told her it wouldn't appear much lighter, even if the sun were shining straight at him. Too strong were the shadows cast over his face by his own state of mind. As their eyes locked, she involuntarily flinched. He interpreted her sudden movement as an attempt to flee or attack, which led to him holding his sword in front of him. She had no such thing in mind; the idea itself seemed entirely ridiculous to her. They both knew she had no chance.
His body relaxed a little, but he was betrayed by the tension still present in his every muscle. A smirk did no more to conceal this than the sword, which he slowly lowered. The way the sun made his blond hair seem almost golden as it shone at him from behind, matched the situation as little as the spring flowers spread out on the forest ground. They reminded her of a carpet; a bed as soft as any made of down. Suddenly, as if at once realising he had already lost too much time, he walked in her direction. She backed up against a tree. His sword was once again in front of him.

"Look, who we have here. It seems I have you trapped."

Her breath hitched at the sound of his voice. It was far lower and raspier than she had expected it to be. She had only ever heard him shout and whoop. It trembled a little, which was barely noticeable, from the excitement of the moment.

"You're brave to walk around so unprotected. Or should I say stupid?"

He towered over her as he spoke these words. She felt something that was a cross of fear and rage rousing in her. They were now only parted by his sword, the tip of which touched her stomach. The thought how easily it would cut through her clothing and the skin, which lay underneath it, made her feel faint. A shadow was thrown over her, as he bent down towards her.

"You have no idea how long I've waited for this." His breathing became heavier as he said it.

"It seems the 'Girl on Fire' is about to fizzle out."

The way he spat her "nickname" didn't distress her half as much as the sword tip, which moved closer and closer to her flesh, the smaller the distance between them became. He leant so far down towards her she could feel his breath on her face. A look in his eyes confirmed what his tone had only been able to hint at, for in them lay all the hate and rage she could imagine. Behind the dark blue his icy stare had transformed into as a consequence of his strong satisfaction at finally having what he had pined for since before the Games had started, she saw something, which almost resembled disappointment.
His successfully securing his prize kill seemed to be far less satisfactory than he had hoped for. Perhaps he had expected the moment to be more glorious. She was one of the main obstacles on his path to victory, after all. But as he had her there and was ready for the kill, the whole situation seemed to be dampened and she had no idea what might have been the reason for it. The moment must have had all of Panem on the edges of their seats. He was probably just trying do draw the moment out to make things more exciting for the Capitol. She saw his eyes lose focus. Obviously, something else had occupied his mind. As it seemed killing wasn't everything to him. Then suddenly she realised that the reason he hated her wasn't because she was from District 12 or a good fighter or anything like that. Of course those things also played a part, but what really made him loathe her to such a degree as that killing her was his ultimate goal, was that she stole the spotlight from him. And who wouldn't be angry at having the only thing their life had revolved around snatched away from them?
He had trained all his life to win the Hunger Games. He was so sure he would, but then had to realise that brute strength didn't get you through the Games. Neither did intelligence alone. What you had to have was the adoration of the audience and what a hit to his ego it must have been, for the coal girl to be preferred to the Capitol's willing gladiator in shining armour. What made things worse for him was his confidence in his own success. Well, he was to have his path evened at last. She might be a root that he would trip over, but she could ultimately be removed as easily as any leaf lying in his way. Still looming over her, Cato bent down even further towards her. She now felt his sword slice through the fabric of her jacket. He turned is head slightly so he could hiss whatever he wanted to say in her ear. This wasn't for the crowds anymore. It was about him and his kill and he was going to have the moment as private as possible. " You almost took it all away from me. Everything I have ever trained for. You", he scoffed, "You, a frail thing. But, do you know what I'm going to do now? I'm going to have what I deserve. This is all I know how to do, but trust me I am damn good at it. Ha, you're at the end now. What good is an eleven in training when there's a sword in your stomach."
His lips were now so close to her ear, she felt them ghost over her skin. His breath tickled her, which made her pull away slightly. Meanwhile the sword had also cut through her shirt.

"Shame about lover-boy. I wonder how long he'll survive without you."

She felt his grin on her skin.

" Don't you know that trying to take what is mine is never a good idea? Putting yourself in the limelight only made it easier for me to spot you."

The sword scratched her skin and drew blood.

"And now, now you'll see."

His mouth covered the skin behind her ear. It rested there for a moment. She then felt him breathe in. The tension in his body was there again. He pulled his sword back and she opened her eyes, noticing that she had shut them while he spoke. They locked eyes once again and he smirked at her before pushing the blade of his sword into her stomach.
All she was able to exclaim was a gasp of surprise. There was no pain, probably due to a reflex reaction. She grabbed at his jacket, desperate to keep her balance. The sudden course of action made her feel dizzy and she needed some hold. He stepped backwards and she tumbled to the ground, lying facedown in the mud, leaves and moss. That's when the pain came. Everything she hadn't felt in those moments beforehand took her over all at once. She convulsed on the ground, which led to her turning onto her back. She lay there panting for breath and moving her shaking hands to her stomach. Even through the jacket she could feel he had left a gaping wound. Blood was pooling beneath and next to her. Her fingers were coated in it. She had given up on trying to close the wound with her bare hands. With the steady flow of blood from her abdomen she could feel her life seeping out of her. Everything had gone cold, save her stomach that was warmed by her own blood. The screaming pain had been replaced by a prickling sensation that was no less uncomfortable. Soon her stomach seemed to be the only part of her body that was still alive. The rest had frozen to a degree of numbness. He was still standing next to her, a lot further away than before. At least that's how it seemed to her. The smirk hadn't disappeared from his face. With her last force she managed to turn her head away from him. The only thing she could wish for was a dignified death without him watching her life flicker and go out like a candle. But he wouldn't have it. She felt him kneel down next to her and turn her head back towards him. He brushed a strand of hair from her eyes. He probably wanted to revel in every moment of her agony. She groaned. It felt like experiencing every second of his sword ripping through her flesh over and over again. Sometimes in slow-motion, sometimes as fast as it actually happened, but always with a new wave of pain that made her vision turn blotted and her fingers claw at the forest ground with lessening force. The canopy of trees above her now only appeared before her eyes sporadically with long periods of blackness in between. All this must have passed in the space of about five minutes, but to her it felt like hours. When the blackness became more and more frequent and the numbness had extended so far it enclosed her wound, she imagined a voice near her ear.

" Don't worry, I'll greet your sister for you on the Victory Tour."

Had she had enough power left at that moment, she would have bludgeoned his forehead with a stone, but as it was she had to accept that she would never be able to make him pay and could only hope that the images of all his cruel deeds would come to him in the dead of night and haunt him to the point of insanity. Nobody can see so much death without it taking some toll on his or her mind.
He touched her cheek to mock concern for her sister. However, the dark dispersed and the ice thawed and his eyes were simply blue for the first time she could remember. As if assuming she couldn't perceive what was going on around her anymore, his touch lost something of cruelty and became softer, but stayed cold.

At that moment she realised why she was such a danger to him. For the first time she really understood instead of assuming as she had so many times before. She herself was a danger to him, but not in a way that was related to the Games. It wasn't simply her stealing the show that enraged him. It was mainly he himself that led to his hating her. What she had seen in his eyes just then had betrayed it. He was a danger to himself and she was the cause of it. So the only logical conclusion was to remove her. This satisfied her, because she realised that by killing her, he had, to a certain degree, also shot himself in the foot and magnified his problems instead of eliminating them. This new knowledge of her passive revenge that was going to take place over time finally gave her the peace to let herself slip away. The "Girl on Fire" was no more.

A/N: I have always had some Catoniss feelings and I couldn't help thinking about some scenarios with them. Hope you liked it!