Hello All,

My vision for this is to be a series of one-shots based on the sufferings and struggles while living in District Twelve. All shots will involve Gale/Katniss somehow, and neither of the families is reaped because it makes my heart beat a little softer if I know they are together. This is my first time publicly posting my writing, so please leave LOTS of constructive criticism in the reviews. Someone already suggested that I change the title (which I have done - THANK YOU!), and if you have any specific situations or plot ideas that you'd like me to write about - tell me! I'll do my best. For now, read with me a bit.

~ theory of mice


We take our usual route among the backstreets of the town, slipping in between the throats of the alleys to hide ourselves from peacekeeper eyes. This is a luxury we can't afford in the Seam, where each crevice and shadow provides a haunt for sour hearts. The danger only heightens in the murky passages between the buildings that separate the Town and the Seam, where both fair- and dark-haired vermin creep.

Katniss' boots scrape the damp asphalt behind me. I glance back, quickly, sharply, to watch her tired gait slump in the growing night. It was a long day of trading and hunting after school. Fall is always taxing… catch the animals before they sleep for winter, trade before the prices go up, struggle to get home before dark, simper in the constant rain. By the time winter rolls around, it seems our spirits are already punctured by fall's prickly blow.

I lead the way out of the last alley and wait gently in the moonlight for Kat to catch up. Her eyes wander to mine, illuminated by the effervescent evening, and she nods once before swallowing sleepily and looking down. We walk close to the house walls, close to each other, not in comfort, but in instinct, as we pass coal-smutted alleys.

"You could have stayed with me at the Hob," I break the steady silence, "We didn't need to split up, not really. And I know Thurma cut me off a few for the salt. She likes you better."

Katniss bunches her shoulders in a shrug before cramming her hands into her leather coat pockets. "It was quicker this way, and I'd rather be home… or your home, anyway. And Thurma is just biased against men… and boys," she adds, peeking at me.

"Well, we'd have to bring in Rory to know the answer to that," I say, jostling against her with my elbow.

She laughs, but mingled with that breathy bell-sound is something not-quite-right. She hears it too and stills. We hear it again – a sharp breath, like one taken before a sob, whitens the night. Then a whimper, high and clean, slinks from the nearest alleyway. Katniss jerks forward, running towards the pained plea even as I reach out to snatch her.

"Katniss… wait! Don't be… damn!" I race after her, blind in fear and preparing myself for her rewarding screams to whoever lay in wait behind this trap. "Katniss?" The alley is dark and naïve little Catnip ventured deep.

"GALE!" The cry is only a foot in front of me, and as my eyes adjust, I see two figures crouched on the ground. A sob cuts the air.

"I didn't want him to do it! I told him not to… I didn't want… please don't leave me! Please…"

"Kat, what's going on…" but Katniss shushes me out and reaches for the figure limp against the wall.

"Move against the wall," she whispers, and as I move, a strand of moonlight pierces the scene.

It is Iggy Freysburn in a torn dress and a pool of blood leaking slowly from beneath the hem. So she is the victim; the one who ventured too deep and fell much deeper. Her eyes pool over purple bruises and ebony hair plastered against her face.

"I couldn't scream… he wouldn't let me…" she chokes and quivers in the wet, "don't leave me, he'll come back… he'll do it again, he said… PLEASE!"

She takes fists of Katniss' coat in her hands and shudders, half crazed with fear and pain.

"Shh…shhhh…" Katniss weaves her hands into Iggy's and looks at me, "You need to get my mother. She'll be waiting up for me… at home. You need to get her."

Her eyes are so serious… determined and frightened in a steely swirl, protected by her long, damp eyelashes. My heart tears at the thought of leaving her at this crime scene, alone, oblivious, unprotected. She glances at the blood, slowly slurring with the ashy rain puddles as it oozes from underneath Iggy's beaten form. Does she even know why?

"Kat…" I want to tell her and I want to shield her, and the whole time, she looks expectantly at me, waiting, "Kat, she'll bleed out by the time I fetch her."

"Can you carry her?"

I nod and crouch down, handing the strap of my game bag to Katniss before looping my arms underneath the crook of Iggy's knees. I pull her against my chest tightly as she sobs painfully and her dress drips crimson against the pavement. Katniss only stares at the scarlet puddle left behind, while I start on my way.

We get to her house after my arms begin to burn and Iggy's eyes have closed unnaturally against the star-crammed sky. Katniss is silent along the way, but she stretches her legs out so that she is always a step ahead of me so that she is in control of the situation. Because her fourteen-year-old mind cannot grasp entirely what has happened except that it is essential we reach her house; because without control, Katniss is uncontrollable.