Disclaimer: I took direct excerpts from Suzanne Collins' Catching Fire. I obviously do not own them. However, I don't really own anything except Charlotte. I go in and out from quotes to my original writing. I hope I made it pretty clear. (:
Chapter 7: Sun
I screamed and jerked forward just as Charlotte was about to stab Peeta in the heart.
"Mornin' to you too, sweetheart," Haymitch grumbled.
My heart was racing, and I was breathing heavily. I looked at Peeta, who was staring at me with nervous, caring eyes. I sighed. He was okay. He was mine and he was okay. No one would be killing Peeta anytime soon. Not on my watch.
Peeta stared at me with an unspoken question, "You okay?"
I nodded, and gave a slight smile as we both scrambled to stand up.
"Rise and shine! Get up, up, up! It's time to go! Eat some breakfast! Oh, Katniss, look what you've done! You've neglected your beauty sleep and now look! Bags under your eyes. Tsk, tsk, tsk. You, too, Peeta. That's unacceptable! You two have some very important days ahead of you-you need all the sleep you can get!" Effie bobbed around the table ushering Peeta and I into our chairs, as we yawned lazily.
Effie was right. We need to get more sleep, and on comfortable beds, not a couch. My neck was still pretty sore from the weird angle it was at all night. I reached under the table. Peeta's hand was already waiting for mine. If I was going to protect Peeta, I needed to get a good night's sleep. And getting sleep, meant Peeta and I had to sleep together. Otherwise, my nightmares would be unbearable. Peeta and I could not afford to be at odds during this, our darkest hour. We had to be united.
We ate breakfast in a daze. Then, I took a shower, and got dressed.
(Insert from Catching Fire page 234)
The final day of training ends with our private sessions. We each get fifteen minutes before the Gamemakers to amaze them with our skills, but I don't know what any of us might have to show them. There's a lot of kidding about it at lunch. What we might do. Sing, dance, strip, tell jokes. Mags, who I can understand a little better now decides she's just going to take a nap.
(My own writing)
Charlotte smirked at the idea of stripping and dancing. I could imagine what moves she would show the Gamemakers.
(Insert from Catching Fire page 234)
I don't know what I'm going to do. Shoot some arrows, I guess. Haymitch said to surprise them if we could, but I'm fresh out of ideas.
As the girl from 12, I'm scheduled to go last. The dining room gets quieter and quieter as the tributes file out to go perform. It's easier to keep up the irreverent, invincible manner we've all adopted where there are more of us. As people disappear through the door, all I can think is that they have a matter of days to live.
Peeta and I are finally left alone. He reaches across the table to take my hands. "Decided what to do for the Gamemakers yet?"
I shake my head. "I can't really use them for target practice this year, with the force field up and all. Maybe make some fishhooks. What about you?"
"Not a clue. I keep wishing I could bake a cake or something," he says.
"Do some more camouflage," I suggest.
"If the morphlings have left me anything to work with," he says wryly. "They've been glued to that station since training started."
We sit in silence awhile and then I blurt out the thing that's on both our minds. "How are we going to kill these people, Peeta?"
"I don't know." He leans his forehead down on our entwined hands.
"I don't want them as allies. Why did Haymitch want us to get to know them?" I say. "It'll make it so much harder than last time. Except for Rue maybe. But I guess I never really could've killed her, anyway. She was just too much like Prim."
Peeta looks up at me, his brow creased in thought. "Her death was the most despicable, wasn't it?"
"None of them were very pretty," I say, thinking of Glimmer's and Cato's ends.
They call Peeta, so I wait by myself. Fifteen minutes pass. Then half an hour. It's close to forty minutes before I'm called.
When I go in, I smell the sharp odor of cleaner and notice that one of the mats has been dragged to the center of the room. The mood is very different from last year's, when the Gamemakers were half drunk and distractedly picking at tidbits from the banquet table. They whisper among themselves, looking somewhat annoyed. What did Peeta do? Something to upset them?
I feel a pang of worry. That isn't good. I don't want Peeta singling himself out as a target for the Gamemakers' anger. That's part of my job. To draw fire away from Peeta. But how did he upset them? Because I'd love to do just that and more. To break through the smug veneer of those who use their brains to find amusing ways to kill us. To make them realize that while we're vulnerable to the Capitol's cruelties, they are as well.
Do you have any idea how much I hate you? I think. You, who have given your talents to the Games?
I try to catch Plutarch Heavenbee's eyes, but he seems to be intentionally ignoring me, as he has the entire training period. I remember how he sought me out for a dance, how pleased he was to show me teh mockingjay on hsi watch. His friendly manner has no place here. How could it, when I'm a mere tribute and he's the Head Gamemaker? So powerful, so removed, so safe...
Suddenly I know just what I'm going to do. Something that will blow anything Peeta did right out of the water. I go over to the knot-tying station and get a length of rope. I start to manipulate it, but it's hard because I've never made this actual knot myself. I've only watched Finnick's clever fingers, and they moved so fast. After about ten minutes, I"ve come up with a respectable noose. I drag one of the target dummies out into the middle of the room and, using some chinning bars, hang it so it dangles by the neck. Tying its hands behind its back would be a nice touch, but I think I might be running out of time. I hurry over to the camouflage station, where some of the other tributes, undoubtedly the morphlings, have made a colossal mess. But I find a partial container of bloodred berry juice that will serve my needs. The flesh-colored fabric of the dummy's skin makes a good, absorbent canvas. I carefully finger paint the words on its body, concealing them from view. Then I step away quickly to watch the reaction on the Gamemakers' faces as they read the name on the dummy.
Seneca Crane.
(So I don't feel like typing up another three or four pages directly from the book... but we all know what happens... she goes to dinner and Katniss tells her team what happened and we figure out what Peeta did. They were both really reckless. Everyone is shocked and no one approves. Blah blah blah.)
(Insert from page 241 & 242)
"And, Haymitch?" says Peeta. "We decided we don't want any other allies in the arena."
"Good. Then I won't be responsible for you killing off any of my friends with your stupidity," he says.
"That's just what we were thinking," I tell him.
We finish the meal in silence, but when we rise to go into the sitting room, Cinna puts his arm around me and gives me a squeeze. "Come on and let's go get those training scores."
We gather around the television set and a red-eyed Effie rejoins us. The tributes' faces come up, district by district, and their scores flash under their pictures. One through twelve. Predictably high scores for Cashmere, Gloss, Brutus, Enobaria, and Finnick.
(My addition)
Charlotte pulls an eight.
(Insert from page 242)
Low to medium for the rest.
"Have they ever given a zero?" I ask.
"No, but there's a first time for everything," Cinna answers.
And it turns out he's right. Because when Peeta and I each pull a twelve, we make Hunger Games history. No one feels like celebrating, though.
(Back to my own writing)
Peeta and I go back to my room. I don't let go of his hand. I can't. I endangered him by my actions. Now the other tributes will target us.
He starts to walk away, but we both know that's not going to happen. I wrap my arms around him, and he pulls me closer. We stand there embracing for awhile, until we hear a shuffling in the nearby dining area. If it's Haymitch, he'll never let me live this down. If it's Effie, she'll try to seperate Peeta and I. I can't let that happen. I pull open my door, still holding Peeta's hand, and lead him to my bed.
As we curl up on the bed, Peeta says, "I think what I did just made things worse for us."
It was almost magical how we had both done such reckless, rebellious acts in front of the Gamemakers. You would think we had planned it, but we didn't. Not at all. I respected Peeta so much more now. I appreciated the fact that he was beside me. Him just standing by my side was a sort of rebellion. We should not both be alive. I was so grateful that I was not alone in this war against the Capitol. Peeta supported me. He stood beside me. He hates the Capitol just as much as I do, and he's not afraid to show it. Peeta never ceases to amaze me.
"Well, I didn't really help either," I reply.
We chuckle, but it's not really funny. I think about my impending death. I know that President Snow probably gave direct orders to kill us both in the arena, but maybe just maybe they would let Peeta survive. After all, I'm the one who pulled out the berries. And no one has ever questioned Peeta's motives and love for me. He was the best person I knew.
He should be the one to survive. And I'm not just saying this because last time Haymitch tried to save me. I'm not saying this because Peeta is a better person than me. Although he really, truly is. I'm saying this because Peeta would be a better leader. He could lead the rebellion that this world needs. He could fire up the Districts with his igniting and inspiring words. He could twist his speech into a persuasive beautiful fashion that perpetually wowwed the listeners. I, however, would never be able to lead people. I could never give a motivational speech. Peeta was the one who made me desirable in my interviews. There was nothing I could say that would make people follow or love me. But the way Peeta spoke...was a pure, firelit brilliance.
I relax into Peeta's chest. How can I feel so safe in his arms when I know in less than 48 hours I will be in an arena fighting to my death? I close my eyes, feeling the realness of the Quell. It is overwhelming to think about killing these people I know and some I have befriended. I wince trying to block out all the painful thoughts.
(page 244)
"So what should we do with our last few days?"
"I just want to spend ever possible minute of the rest of my life with you,"Peeta replies.
...It feels like such a luxury, sleeping with Peeta again. I didn't realize until now how starved I've been for human closeness. For the feel of him beside me in the darkness. I wish I hand't wasted the last couple of nights shutting him out. I sink down into sleep, enveloped in his warmth, and when I open my eyes again, daylight's streaming through the windows.
"No nightmares," he says.
"No nightmares," I confirm. "You?"
"None. I'd forgotten what a real night's sleep feels like," he says.
We lie there for a while, in no rush to begin the day. Tomorrow night will be the televised interview, so today Effie and Haymitch should be coaching us. More high heels and sarcastic comments, I think. But then the redheaded Avox girl comes in with a note from Effie saying that, given our recent tour, both she and Haymitch have agreed we can handle ourselves adequately in public. The coaching sessions have been cancelled.
"Really?" says Peeta, taking the note from my hand and examining it. "Do you know what this means? We'll have the whole day to ourselves."
"It's too bad we can't go somewhere," I say wistfully.
"Who says we can't?" he asks.
The roof. We order a bunch of food, grab some blankets, and head up to the roof for a picnic. A daylong picnic in the flower garden that tinkles with wind chimes. We eat. We lie in the sun. I snap off hanging vines and use my newfound knowledge form training to practice knots and weave nets. Peeta sketches me. We make up a game with the force field that surrounds the roof-one of us throws an apple into it and the other person has to catch it.
No one bothers us. By late afternoon, I lie with my head on Peeta's lap, making a crown of flowers while he fiddles with my hair, claiming he's practicing his knots. After a while, his hands go still. "What?" I ask.
"I wish I could freeze this moment, right here, right now, and live in it forever," he says.
Usually this sort of comment, the kind that hints of his undying love for me, makes me feel guilty and awful. But I feel so warm and relaxed and beyond worrying about a future I'll never have, I just let the word slip out. "Okay."
I can hear the smile in his voice. "Then you'll allow it?"
"I'll allow it," I say.
His fingers go back to my hair and I doze off, but he rouses me to see the sunset. It's a spectacular yellow and orange blaze behind the skyline of the Capitol. "I didn't think you'd want to miss it," he says.
"Thanks," I say. Because I can count on my fingers the number of sunsets I have left, and I don't want to miss any of them.
(back to my own writing)
I look up at Peeta who is gazing dreamily at the beautiful orange and pink swirl. I smile and focus my attention back on the sky. This moment really is perfect. We watch as the sun sinks lower and lower into the sky until darkness fades around us. I close my eyes and Peeta sighs contentedly.
I'm just about to fall asleep again when a light flickers on.
