Has not beedn beta read, simply because my beta-reader is asleep, and I don't feel like waiting. I'm rather impatient. So, anyways, I'll have her edit it later.

Also, sorry for the wait. My writing spurs come randomly once or twice a month, and then I spend a whole day writing, like today.

Enjoy-

Warning; rape/torture/ect

Katniss blinked back tears; the loss of her fellow District 12 tribute, and her broken wrist that, whenever shifted, flashed red hot in pain, was almost unbearable. She told herself that her pain didn't matter, she was going to be dead soon, anyways.. Just like Peeta, but even with this in mind the pain – both physical and emotional, were undeniable.

The sicko was enjoying himself, finally getting the chance he had been waiting for, the chance to kill Katniss the way he wanted. She didn't want to give him the satisfaction to know that he was hurting her, but she couldn't help but scream out whenever Cato's grip tightened around the cracked bones of her useless left hand.

His face was inches from Katniss's, and the smell evading his mouth was raunchy enough to make her gag. You would imagine that after years of eating Greasy Sae's concoction's, and spending a month in an arena without soap, and toothpaste you would be used to rotten smells, apparently not. Cato's breath was like a smack in the face, covering her in a blanket of thick smelly fog, stealing the air from her lungs. Katniss turned her face away from his, but strong fingers grabbed at her chin roughly forcing her to look at him, and endure the smell of decayed flesh.

She breathed as little as possible through her nose, trying to keep from yelling out as his previous two hand grip, lessened to a tighter one hand around both of her wrist, inevitably crushing the fragments farther. She failed pathetically, and grimaced at the thrilled smile on her captor's face.

Katniss knew she could fight back, but there really wasn't a point. Even if she got her bow back, somehow, her internally mutilated wrist would prevent her from notching it, let alone shooting it. Cato was massive; at least ten times her size, there wasn't a chance in hell she could take him down. And even if she managed to kill him, she would go home a different person; a killer, a betrayer. Everyone back home would hate her for letting Peeta die; the districts would want her head on a pole for their loved one's death.

She had never been afraid of death, at least not in the sense of being dead. But dying was different, dying was painful, and frightening; it was that last ragged breath that set fire to your lungs, it was the final compression of your heart that felt like someone was squeezing it in their hand. Dying required a how, death was just dead. No way was Cato going to let Katniss go quickly, and that terrified her. She was drenched in layers of sweat, despite the cool air.

"Just get it over with." She pleaded with him. His eyebrows creased, and his lips pursed; it was a look of mock concern.

"But I've only just started." With unusual care he sat her down against the wall of the cornucopia. "Why don't we get a little more comfortable? You look hot." , he claimed reaching into his coat bringing out a silver, sharp knife, as long as her forearm.

She froze, as he brought the knife down to her chest. 'Please let it be quick.' She prayed, hearing a rip. She was surprised that she didn't feel anything, nothing at all. Was this was it felt like to die?

A sudden cool breeze flashed on her chest , making her realize It wasn't her flesh he had ripped through, it was her shirt. What the.. Did he wish to torture her through humiliation, strip her naked for the whole of Panem to see? It was cold, but with each item of clothing he removed from her body, her skin felt hotter. She hissed quietly when Cato's knife slipped slicing a thin gash into the side of her thigh.

"Sorry." He said, but his face was amused.

When she was completely naked, utterly vulnerable, she couldn't hold back the tears. She wanted death to come so badly, but at the same time she was afraid for it to happen.

"Peeta" , she whispered, as if by some miracle her dead district partner would save her.

Cato's eye's narrowed dangerously at her. He spat viciously, "Not your lover boy, I'm afraid." His hands snatched out, grabbed Katniss's knees, and dug his finger nails into her skin, forcing them apart.

Katniss realized his intentions; she saw the evil hunger in his eyes. So she fought against him, but her thrashing was no match for his weight as he held her down, and straddled her bare body, forcing her knees back opens wide.

He eyed between her legs, carefully, and grunted. "You're not even wet for me, bitch. The least you could have done was get a little slick. But no worries, there are other means of juicing you up." Cato reached out to her opening, fingering her clitoris, causing her hips to twitch. Katniss averted her gaze to the ceiling, ashamed at the motion. She bit her tongue, to keep from making any noise. When he stopped, she peered at him, hoping that was the end, that he had gotten bored of her, and would just kill her now.

Cato shook his head at her, "No peeking."

He was right; dying would be easier if she didn't have to see it coming. And then a pain, so un-despicably mind frying, tore through her body, spreading through every nerve in her body flowing from between her legs. Her body convulsed, eyes rolled back into her head, throat strained from the intensity of her scream. The object inside her, was beautifully made, a knife with hundreds of sharp teeth ripping, and slicing through her soft inner flesh, as its owner twisted and pumped it inside her. Her vision was pure white hot fire. She weakly pushed herself back, with her hands, as if she could get away from the pain. And the agony in her crushed wrist was nothing compared to that of her shredded private.

When the knife was gone, she hardly noticed; because the aftermath was just as bad. Even after her vision was clear, and she could breathe again, her awful guttural moans never subsided.

She watched, helplessly, as Cato slid his trousers down slightly exposing his robust penis, which to Katniss's horror was as vigorous as the rest of him. She had seen this part of the male before, on many of her mother's patients, and once her fathers, when she caught her parents in a moment of passion. They proceeded to set Katniss down, and explain that this is something that adults do to express their love for one another. But this, right now, this was not out of love, and Cato was sure not like any of the other men she had seen.

Cato pushed himself inside of her, and she couldn't help but release a current of screams.

"You like this don't you, whore, lubricated with your own blood." Katniss couldn't have answered even if she wanted to; her mouth was once again preoccupied with spouting about meaningless cries.

"Scream for me, bitch, yell, cry, beg me for a release, you slut. Show me how you got that '11'."

Cato genuinely seemed to be relishing this, and Katniss couldn't help but take notice of how similar Cato's flesh pounding into her was to him fucking her with the cold steel knife. Every inch he slid in – slid out, was a new torture. The ragged tears the knife had left were being ripped apart farther, and Katniss was being torn in two by Cato's new torture device, his own personal knife of human flesh.

It would be over after this, she hoped. Surly he was tired of playing with her, he would slit her throat, and he claimed victor. He could go home, and pretend this never happened. He would be safe forever, rich, and famous for the rest of his life, with his family.

Katniss thought of Prim, was her little sister watching this, unable to tear her eyes from the screen as her older sibling was tortured to death, surly their mother had taken her from the television. Gale, would he be watching, or would he be in the mines, right now? She hoped for the later.

She wished that this had been different, that she would be coming home, instead of Cato. She wished that it was her torturing him, rather then he she. She wished more than anything that Peeta was still alive, that he hadn't fallen into the pit of mutts, fallen to his death, his long miserable death. No matter how bad Katniss felt, Peeta had definitely felt worse. But that didn't matter any longer, Katniss was going to die, one way or the other, and it was going to happen as soon as Cato was done using her broken body as a pleasure toy. She was alone, and dead, actually, worse than dead, with no way out. Katniss was hopeless, helpless, and painfully utilized. The girl on fire was turning into a pile of ashes, and she hated it. She didn't want to die, she wanted to go home, and forget about this. She wanted her sister, her friend. She wanted to be in the woods, her woods. Please, she silently prayed, just take me home. And as if somebody had heard her pleas, there it was: Hope.

Cato had been so caught up in his actions; Katniss had been too traumatized by the fire between her legs. Neither of them had noticed that Cato's knife, still bloodied from Katniss's vaginal bloods, had fallen from his belt, onto the cornucopia floor.

Reaching it would be almost impossible; being it was a yard away. She would have to push herself forward, stretching, to grab it. She would have to force Cato deeper into her, a motion that she feared would leave her permanently damaged. It was the last thing she wanted to do, but it was also the last chance she had to survive.

With one last glass shattering shriek, she pushed herself forward onto Cato, feeling him so far inside her; it was as if his penis had ruptured her spleen. It was nauseating, and vomit threatened to spew, but she choked it down.

Cato had released himself into her, a warm sensation that stung her cuts. He hardly had time to register what was happening, before she drove the knife into the back of his neck, it jutting sickeningly out through the front of his windpipe. His wide eyes locked onto mine, shining with fear as he uselessly attempted to draw in air. It took less than a minute for him to die, for his cannon to sound; he was still hard inside her, and she thought once again that she might puke.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to present the victor of the Seventy-forth Hunger Games, Katniss Everdeen! I give you- the female tribute of District Twelve!"

And so she lay there, bloody, broken, used, and on display for all of Panem to see.

Please review.

Oh, and I do not own the Hunger Games. Ms. Collins does.