One- shot! This takes place after the first book, during the Quarter Quell, mid games. Let Me Know What you think!
A chill sweeps through my body, freezing me to the bone. I wiggle my toes inside my fur boots to make sure I still can. I'm thankful that Cinna made me wear them, though I objected at first. I hear Peeta's teeth chattering beside me, he's suffering too. I pull the hood up on my coat so it shields my face from the icy winds, but most of all, Peeta's inquisitive face. The fur tickles the top of my nose, but doesn't warm it. I knew that this was the quarter quell, and that this time it would be harder, but I never expected to freeze to death. I turn to look at him, and are met by sad eyes and a struggling smile. "We'll make it, Katniss," he says, "We have to."
I nod, not wanting to squelch his spirit. I smile back, a part of me dying inside with the thought that within a few days, one of us will actually die. It was a miracle they let us both with the last time, there's not a snow flake's chance in hell they'll do it again. No. Not after they killed Seneca Crane. But he deserved it.
I poke at the measly fire we've been able to start, wondering if I should put it out. I think not, it's not like the other games. Everyone is too cold, and we should be so lucky that we've kept a fire going with these winds. I sigh heavily, watching my breath swirl away from me, into the sunset-streamed sky, and fade away into the trees. The snow's almost as tall as me, the ice far worse than anything Peeta and I had seen in 12.
Peeta and I huddle together for warmth. I press my nose against his cheek. I feel his face contort into a real smile. Another cannon sounds. The blast booms hard in my throat. Another tribute has died at the hands of the capitol. Peeta's eyes widen a second, but he hides it well. I close my eyes, not wanting to roll them, or worse. I know at this very minute, all of Panem must be watching us, waiting for us to say something. But we don't, why give them the satisfaction? Darkness falls quickly, turning from copper-gold and beautiful to gray-blue and sullen. We lay back onto the rock behind us, having dug a spot free of snow and ice. We would've climbed a tree, but that's not Peeta's forte. So here we lay, in between a cluster of pine trees, nearly invisible to the eye.
Darkness has completely fallen now, black in every direction. We warm our hands one last time before extinguishing the fire. The games are halfway over, but there's still plenty of people to come after us, frozen or not. The Capitol's anthem begins to play, as they flash the seal in the sky. They flash the faces of those who have died today. "Eleven left," I say, "Less than half."
Peeta nods and says, "Maybe the odds are in our favor."
"Not quite," I say, with a hint of bitterness.
"Look at how beautiful the sky is," Peeta says, changing the subject.
I look up, seeing nothing but the darkness and eerie lines of the forcefield that is the top of the arena. "What's so beautiful about that?" I ask, folding my arms at my chest.
"The stars," he says, "If you think hard enough, they look like stars."
"You know," he adds, "The lines."
I look up again, this time trying to notice Peeta's "stars". All I see is a reminder of our entrapment and our imminent doom. "Those aren't stars, Peeta," I say, trying to let him down easy.
"They could be though," he says.
"But they're not," I say, disgruntled.
He frowns at me disapprovingly, "You know, Katniss," he starts, "There's more to life than just misery and pain."
"Maybe other people's lives," I say.
He shoots me a look but I disregard it. I don't care if the Capitol hears me. They've already doomed me, twice. This time, the last time, they'll finally get what they want. I assume the Capitol will call it something like "the mockingjay's last flight", a final insult. It has to happen this time though, otherwise we're both doomed.
I've made my choice, and I intend to stick to it. I even got Haymitch to be on board. This time, we save the boy with the bread. I know that Prim will be well taken care of, not by my mother, but by Gale and Peeta. She's becoming successful and proficient in her own right, with all her medical training. I smile, thinking of the life she could have if District 12 didn't exist. Who knows, maybe 13 does exist, miles and miles through the trees I know all too well.
We awake the next morning to discover it's quite warmer. Though it's still practically freezing, Peeta and I decide to hunt for breakfast. And by Peeta and I, I mean me. Peeta is really going to have to start learning how to hunt on his own if he has to do this again. I shut my eyes tight not wanting to think about it. What would happen to him if I wasn't there to protect him, save him? I'd like to think he'd hold his own, he's strong after all. I peek at him as he carries the squirrel I've shot back to our little camp. Something in the trees moves some feet away and I draw an arrow. Peeta brandishes a dagger he's found, waiting for the source of the noise to emerge.
A few seconds pass, but nothing happens. "Who's there?" I whisper, wanting to draw the person out.
A small rabbit hops out, through the snow, to our feet. He hops away quickly. I look up just in time to stick an arrow into the boy from District 9. He's carrying a sword and a small backpack. He falls to the ground, dead. The canon booms, ten are left. Peeta approaches the boy and removes his backpack. "Supplies," he says, opening the zipper.
Inside the bag is a small flask for water, three matches, a sleeping bag, and two crisp red apples. "Our lucky day," Peeta says, tossing me an apple. We leave the squirrel in the snow, literally 'on ice' for later. We sit on top of the large rock and begin to eat our apples. I'm hardly accustomed to such a juicy taste, even having been to the Capitol twice now. I think it's something about the games that changes things. Things just aren't the same under other conditions.
That afternoon two more canons blasted, leaving eight of us left, but nobody came for us. Obviously we are a target, yet nobody seems to be seeking us out. The night comes, flashing the boy I've killed this morning in the sky. I close my eyes and lay back against Peeta's chest, half because of warmth, half because it just feels right.
Suddenly, after the list of the dead has finished, all hell breaks loose. The ground begins to shake, causing us to scramble to repack and run away from camp. Cracks begin to appear in the surface, as the ground begins to split apart. "Peeta!" I scream, "Run!"
Peeta tries his best, but his leg holds him back. He begins the slip through the deep cracks in the earth. I grab his hand, but it's too late, the ground is pulling me in too. We look at each other durning the fall, dumbfounded, this is how that Capitol's killing us. There are so many things I want to say, but I don't have the time to form the words. Time and space ceases to exist until we crash into a pool of water, underground.
"Hello, sweetheart," a familiar voice says, adding, "Peeta."
I drag myself out of the water, onto the banks, towards the source of the voice. "Haymitch?" I say, in shock.
"You didn't think I'd let you die, did you?"
"But the earthquake," Peeta starts.
"...Was of our doing," Haymitch finishes.
I step towards him, "But how?"
"You know I have my ways, Sweetheart," he says, "You were dying, don't you understand that?"
"It's good to see you," Peeta says, stepping out of the water.
Peeta embraces him tight but Haymitch does something unexpected, and stabs him in the ribs with a dagger. He withdraws and Peeta crashes to the ground, not before seeing him glide away, turning to dust. I withdraw the knife quickly from him, trying to staunch the bleeding. Peeta whispers my name but I can't bear to face him.
I wake up, drenched in sweat, in my bed in Victor's Village, heart beating a mile a minute, wishing only that the boy with the bread would make my bad dreams fade away.