Hey everyone! So this story has been sitting on my laptop for a while, and I decided to upload it. It's basically a what-if story: what if Katniss didn't have the berries after the fight with Cato? What would happen? Here's my interpretation of that. I actually wrote a little drabble on this before, but the idea was really intriguing that I decided to expand on it. Warning though, it's pretty depressing, and it'll get more depressing in coming chapters. I would say 'enjoy', but...yeah. And, I know people are going to hate me for this...but a certain main character dies. Yeah. Just letting you know now.

Disclaimer: I don't own The Hunger Games.

Take It All Away

Greetings to the final contestants of the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games. The earlier revision has been revoked. Closer examination of the rule book has disclosed that only one winner may be allowed. Good luck and may the odds be ever in your favor.

XXX

"You can't kill yourself, Peeta. I won't let you," I say as I desperately plaster the bandages back onto his bleeding leg.

"Katniss, it's what I want." His hands fumble over mine as they try to keep the bandages off his wounds, but my stronger hands beat his and I plaster them back on.

"You're not leaving me here alone," I choke out.

"Katniss, listen to me." He pulls me to my feet. The bandages fall to the ground, letting even more blood spew onto the grass. "We both know they have to have a victor."

"I know. I won't let you kill yourself, Peeta." I look into his eyes. They tell me something horrible.

"I k-know that, Katniss. But t-there has to be a victor. You do know what that means?" He looks at me, his eyes pale in the moonlight. His expression is stern, but tired. He seems to be losing his very essence as I watch, and I am helpless to stop it.

So, in a way, my name being drawn in the reaping was a real piece of luck.

I almost gag. Because I do know what he means. And I could never, ever do it. I couldn't. I can't consider what Peeta is suggesting.

"No."

"Katniss." He reaches out for me.

"I can't kill you Peeta. I won't." I turn, but he grabs hold of my shoulder.

Katniss? How about that kiss?

"You have to, Katniss. I'm dying anyway," he says, gesturing to the blood on the grass. What a kick the Capitol must be getting out of this. It's such an emotionally heightened moment, they must not be able to turn away from the tragedy slowly unfolding. Every television in Panem is tuned in to us, every eye looking at the screen. No one is turning away. The Games are still not over, and the pinnacle of it has only just begun.

I shake my head vigorously. "No, Peeta."

"What other alternative is there?" he asks, cupping my face in his hands. I look into his eyes, his face, watching as it grows weaker every moment. I realize...there is no other alternative.

I think of nothing that can save us both; nothing in the world that can get us out of this horrible situation. I would never let him kill himself, have him leave this world on his own. And even if he were to kill himself, how would he do it? He is too weak to take my arrow to his own heart, to crack his own skull, anything. And letting his own blood seep from his leg would take a long time, endangering my health as well as his. If he kills me, he might still die anyway from his wounds, and there would be no victor. But even if he did live, Panem will look on him as a liar, protecting me one moment, then killing me the next. District 12 would renounce him, reject him for doing such a thing. And he would never let me kill myself. Even if he did, he would just commit some sort of suicide when he gets back home. He loves me too much to live without me now. If we both kill ourselves, our families, our entire district would be in turmoil, punished in their lives because we can't be in death. The citizens of the Capitol would be furious, crying fowl at the Gamemakers for letting it happen. President Snow would be mocked and hated. Snow would not allow that; he would subdue the districts and hurt people in the process. Nothing good would come out of it if any of these scenarios happened. But if I were to kill him, even with the guilt weighing down on me for the rest of my life, I could learn to cope. The Capitol would be angry, but satisfied. Hate me, but not enough to kill me. District 12 would shun me, but not as much as they would Peeta, because I am not the star of our little the show; he is. Over time, I would learn to live, because, I can live without Peeta; and he can't live without me.

Or at least I think I can live without him.

I don't know what else to do.

"I can't kill you, Peeta." My voice breaks. But I know that I must.

He kisses me on the forehead. "I'll die...die anyway, Katniss. At least you'll go home. At least District Twelve will have a victor."

Your hand shot right up in the air. She stood you up on a stool and had you sing it for us. And I swear, every bird outside the windows fell silent. And right when your song ended, I knew — just like your mother — I was a goner.

Tears fall from my cheeks. I cannot lose the boy with the bread. I cannot lose my fellow tribute, my 'lover', my…"There has to be another way, Peeta-"

"Katniss, there isn't. Just kill me." He slowly backs away from me. I try to run after him, but he just shakes his head. There is nothing left for me to do. I look down at my feet, pretending I am back in the woods in District Twelve, far away from here. Pretend I am with my father, singing mountain songs and hunting game and picking greens. Pretend that I am anywhere but here, pretend I am someplace else where the Capitol won't touch me, where the country won't look at me through their screens. A place where Peeta is safe, where my father is alive, where Rue glides through the trees like a bird, where my mother and Prim laugh in happiness, and the whole world is not subdued to such torture by the Capitol.

But there is no such place. Because this is reality, not fantasy. And nothing will get me away from the arena unless I do the thing I dread most: kill Peeta.

"Katniss." I look up. Peeta's eyes are pleading with me to do the deed. He looks weak; he is growing pale and he is shaking. His leg is soaked in blood, and he is surrounded by a pool of it. He will die very soon. Painfully. The life seeping from him like a bee bites through the skin; excruciating and distressing. An arrow through the heart would be better, less painful. A clean shot would end his pain in a matter of minutes, maybe even seconds.

Peeta, you said at the interview that you'd had a crush on me forever. When did forever start?

"Kill me, Katniss." The clock is still ticking, the Games not over, and every second he grows weaker. My options are all expired, my own health growing dire.

He bores his eyes into mine, pleading for me to kill him. I cannot refuse. He won't let me.

Slowly, I pick up my bow and arrow, my arms shaking. In one second, my arrow is notched at his heart.

The more likeable he is, the more deadly he is.

"Peeta...I...I'm so…" Tears run down my cheeks, and I make choking sounds as I gasp for air.

"I love you, Katniss." He tries for a smile, what could be his last smile.

Winning…won't help in my case.

Why ever not?

Because…because…she came here with me.

The arrow pierces his heart.

XXX

Peeta drops to the ground immediately, letting out a groan of pain. He clutches his chest, his hands swimming in an ever-growing pool of blood. I drop my bow and run toward him. I rush down, and grab hold of his hand, clutching it in both of mine, not caring about the blood. He coughs up more of it, spewing it mostly on me. His eyes are glassy, but staring at me.

I adjust my position and put his head in my lap. "Peeta! Stay with me!" Tears flow down my cheeks.

She has no idea. The effect she can have.

"Peeta!" I kiss his lips. "I'm sorry...so sorry..." I am choking, on air, on his blood, on saliva. I begin to feel like my latest meal might be making a reappearance, but I immediately discard that thought from my mind.

He looks at me, and tries to smile, but immediately begins to cough up blood.

I clutch his hands, trying as if to pump life back into him. But it won't. Nothing will bring him back from this.

"Peeta, please, stay with me!" My tears fall onto his cheeks. He smiles again, moves his mouth as if to utter a word. But of course nothing comes out, because he starts coughing up blood again.

For the next few moments, all I do is wail as his chest moves up and down ever so lightly, his eyes struggling to stay open, but death taking him under. And there is nothing I can do about it. Nothing, because I killed him. And Peeta will never be coming back.

I want to die as…myself. Does that make sense?

The cannon fires.

"PEETA!" I yell. I am crying now, crying so hard I cannot breathe. What have I done? I think. I have killed my friend. I have killed the boy who did everything to protect me. I killed the boy who could charm the most depressed person on the planet. I have killed the boy with the bread.

The trumpets blare. I cry harder, pulling my hands from around his cold ones, and put them on Peeta's cold, dead cheeks. I can't breath, I can't think, I can't do anything but cry out my heart as I lie next to the corpse that was once Peeta Mellark.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to present the victor of the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games, Katniss Everdeen! The tribute of District Twelve!" I hear a few cheers and boos as they turn on the speakers live from the Capitol. But overwhelmingly, cries. The Capitol is not happy with my last choice in the arena. District Twelve is not happy.

I am not happy.

Two hovercrafts arrive; one to carry me away and one to carry Peeta's lifeless body away. I move to lean against his chest, weeping even harder. I wrap my arms around him, as if to shield him from the world. But I am disgusted with myself at killing him, heartbroken at his death, and going slowly insane as the weight of his loss bears down on my shoulders.

Claudius Templesmith speaks again, saying congratulations on my victory, and that if I could please move away from the body, it can be moved out of the arena and I can board my own hovercraft.

My eyes snap open. I look up at the hovercraft. How could the Capitol do that? Ask live over the speakers, so all of Panem can hear me be mocked as I weep over Peeta. How could they ask that, in that way, when I am supposed to be the star-crossed lover of District 12? And I am sure now, with me weeping, and refusing to move away from Peeta's body, that I look like a real lover, horrified at his death and refusing to leave him even when he's gone. The Capitol's request, and the way they requested it, drives me further over the brink.

If they want a girl gone crazy with love, they will have it. Because with the fact that I took Peeta's life, the fact that the Capitol still controls me even as I weep, drives me insane with rage. My sadness has transformed me, like my transformation from a girl from the Seam to the Girl on Fire, into a person gone insane at the sight of her lover's death.

I stand up, remove my hands from Peeta's face, and scream at the top of my lungs in the direction of the hovercrafts. I do not care that I look like a lunatic on national television, because I am a lunatic; a girl gone insane with sadness and rage at the carnage she has seen, the boy she has lost, and the wretched things she still has to face even after she leaves this arena. I get up, still yelling, and run around the Cornucopia, sobbing and yelling and cursing the Capitol for making me get to this point. For having me kill the boy with the bread. For putting us all through this inhumane game of killing each other for the Capitol's entertainment. I stomp at the ground, sobbing, throwing my arms around, ripping my hair out, defaming the Capitol with rebellious words, not caring that all of Panem may be watching this or even that the Capitol has cut to commercial. Because I have truly gone off the deep end.

I think I wish I were dead as I run, screaming my head off, beating at the ground, clawing at my own face and hair, ignoring the trumpets still blaring. I want to die. I want to die. I want to die. And I will, if I keep going at this rate.

As I turn away from the Cornucopia, back to Peeta's body, I throw my arms out, yelling at the stars to kill me. To let me be with my father and Rue and Peeta Mellark. But of course, my wish is not granted.

And of course, I do not even register the tranquilizer piercing my neck.

So how was it? Let me know in a review, please. Chapter Two should be up soon (ooh, that rhymed lol).

-singingtothewind