A Dissimilar World: Fingers Unclenched
A Hunger Games Fanfiction
Author's Note: This story chronicles Peeta's first killing during the 74th Hunger Games. Beginning at the point when he volunteers to finish off the girl who had lit a fire to get through the cold of the night.
His mind began racing as he quickly bustled away from the Career group.
How could he have volunteered for this? How could he kill another person?
The answer was simple of course, to protect Katniss.
As he edged away from the clearing, he spotted his prey.
The girl lied limp on the ground, one leg tucked underneath her side, the other outstretched as if to make a snow angel.
Her arms were dripping with the burgundy shadows from her wound, and tightly grasping the ground.
There was a stoic beauty about her.
Peeta wished he wasn't here. Anywhere but here.
From her stomach a gross protrusion erected into the sky. A coarse spear had launched itself into the girl's unfortunate abdomen with little mercy.
As Peeta approached her, his shoes and their heavy thump started the girl.
Her eyes darted every which way, until… they locked with his own.
She mumbled to herself, "I was cold. I was just so cold. I was cold…."
Peeta glanced back, hoping no one had followed.
The girl was petrified with pain and begged the dear boy… "Kill me please. Kill me. I can't handle this. I don't want to live. Why am I here? Why?"
Peeta watched as her mouth began to quiver and her eyes shut tight. A restless stream poured from her bloodstained face. She clutched the boy's arm, reddening his skin.
"I want to go home," she said with the little breath left in her deflating lungs.
Peeta felt himself weaken. His eyes went frantic, looking for something to stare at. He clenched the dagger already slicing his toughened hand.
The girl bit her lip in hesitation.
He raised his arm.
She whispered, "Papa…"
He felt his throat close.
She gripped his arm harder, digging her nails sharply into him.
He struck the heart.
She gasped.
He sobbed.
"I'm sorry," the boy whispered, "I'm so sorry."
A drip of blood made its way down the corner of her mouth.
He let her arm fall to the ground. Fingers unclenched.
Her heart stopped.
His heart nearly stopped as well, but it did not.
Peeta backed away slowly, feeling the pressure in his chest build. He threw the knife on the ground.
He glared at his hands. The hands of a murderer. Blood-streaked with his and hers.
Suddenly, the world was dissimilar.
The air was thinner.
His knees began to quake and lightness arrived in his head.
He vomited.
He cried.
He begged himself to forgive what he'd done.
He forced his legs to walk back to the Career group.
They would know.
He quickly wiped his eyes and thanked the darkness of the night that his own tear-stained face would not be noticed.
A mask of deception.
Or rather, a mask of himself.
He would not take another feeble life.
Not under these pretenses.
Not yet.
Please read and review! Thanks.