A/N: Hellooooooo! I'm back and here to say not only the words of Katniss and Cato's undying love, but also this: Check out Scream by Dances With Vampires. It's another 24/24 collab. And it's gonna be totally awesome! Trust me on that, m'kay?
When you're reading this, think about how different it all is just because of two things: One, Peeta thought ahead and had one condition for helping the Careers find Katniss. And two, Cato and Katniss got their heads in the game and realized that they like each other, kind of. Lot different, ain't it?
I've got a lot of surprises and one—maybe two, if you're lucky—cliffhangers in store. As someone who reviewed one of my other stories said: Cliffhangers- As a writer, you love them; as a reader, you hate them. But it's okay, because this is Catoniss. All can be forgiven, am I right? Am I right? Of course I'm right. *is all conceited*
Rue is not dead. When I kill Rue, it's gonna be tragic and sad and I will "honor" Rue, so to speak. I promise. I'm not just gonna be all "Ope! Rue is dead! La-di-da-di-da!" Killing Rue like that is like killing Cinna, period. Not Finnick. Finnick is way above Rue.
And always remember: I love tragic romances *evil grin*
D2- 17- (Cato Allens)
Quivering with fear, Lover Boy looks up at and straight into Clove's eyes. "That's right, Lover Boy; she's dead," she snarls. I bring the sword tighter to his neck. He starts to choke. "Wait, Cato, I've only just begun speaking. I haven't even drawn blood." Then she clutches her knife and scrapes it across his forehead as he gasps for breath once I've taken the sword away from his neck. The audience must be captivated. "Don't like that, huh? Huh, Lover Boy?"
I look up at Clove. She sounds like she's about to explode, like she has so much reason to want to kill this boy that it'd take days to explain. I don't know what she's been through in life, but whatever it is it gives her motive to want to destroy the entire arena. It gives a glint in her eyes that just screams that there isn't enough tributes for her to slaughter, like there isn't a sharp enough blade to be thrown; there isn't a dark enough day for her kills to see.
It's vicious.
I don't like it. Because there isn't enough things to make my kills suffer with, but that doesn't mean I have to treat life like it needs to give me every person in history of the Hunger Games for me to kill. Sure, I might like to relive or go back into the Hunger Games once I've won, but I don't want my world to revolve around dreaming of the deaths and the ways I could have and can make my kills suffer. Life's life, and for me life is about the Hunger Games, but I only am allowed twenty-three people to make suffer, and if I have to make that do, I'll make that do.
Clove is inhumane. She's completely and utterly a machine. I don't think that there is a feeling bone in her body. Her mind focuses on calculating the logical way to kill someone and making them suffer, and that she needs more, more, more people to draw blood from. She needs a lifetime of people to drag her knife through, and that's all she cares about. She is psychotically obsessed. Her viciousness is something that no one but her would ever wish to obtain. Mine, on the other hand, is perfect and will take what it's given, though if I could, I'd kill double the amount of tributes in the arena. If I could and if I was given the opportunity.
She then punctures Peeta's cheek. Then his lips. Then his arms, hands, his abs—and then she says, "You take him, Cato. I'm done."
I sigh and decide for a moment whether I should decapitate him, or if I should puncture his heart of stomach, or if I should give a wound that will be fatal and long, and then throw him in the lake to drown. Maybe an arrow in his heart would be nice if the girl on fire didn't take Glimmer's bow, and then I could decapitate him and let him drown in the lake's depths. I smirk as something pops in my head.
"What do you think, Lover Boy? Decapitation? Stab to the heart? Stomach? Drowning? How about all four?" I growl, staring down at the idiot's face. To think he ever thought he could make it as a Career.
He croaks. When he does so, I can see the blood coming from his neck. The deed is already half done, so it seems. I put pressure on my sword for a moment and then lift it as he, mouth wide open, turns over and vomits on the ground, blood in the vile bile. As he's turning back over, I step on his back and push my sword all the way through where his heart should be. His cannon fires and I walk over to throw him into the lake. Once I've done it, I return to the Cornucopia.
Glimmer stares in awe. "That was amazing, Cato," she whispers, a smile coming on her face.
The late afternoon sun is temporarily blocked by a hovercraft coming to pick up the boy's body.
"I know," I say back to Glimmer, and then go sit in my tent, realizing how much energy today's events took out. "Everybody, over here," I call to my allies and sit up, pretending that I'm not dead-tired. I wait as the rest of my allies come over. There are only three. Four, actually, since girl on fire is dead and we only need confirmation tonight before we go out in search of Marvel. We need a guard, though. Everything's drastically falling apart because of her.
I don't know what to feel about her right now. I don't know whether I should be angry at her, or glad she's dead, or disappointed that I didn't get to kill her. I don't know what to think at all right now. The smoke from the fire has clouded my thoughts. I don't know what we're going to do, or how we're going to guide our supplies, or what our next move is. I also have a major headache, which doesn't help any of the confusion caused by the smoke.
Once Glimmer and Clove are under my tent, I realize that I'm going to spend the rest of the Games with a psychopath and a stereotypical dumb blonde that can't do a damn thing in these Games except file her nails and flip her glossy hair. I think that in about three days tops, it'll be time to split the Careers. Looks like I'll not only have to try and think as the leader of these two, but I'll also have to prepare for splitting from them, or, if things go wrong, kill one or both of them. And that's when I suppose all hell will break loose.
As soon as I finish that thought, I realize I just planned all that as if Marvel was dead. I can't, somewhere in me, accept that the girl on fire is dead. But I have to. After all, she is, and there's no changing that. And even if she's not, I'm going to kill her. I desperately seek revenge against that girl to the point where I hate the thought of her dying and not under my watch, not because of me. That's how far under my skin she is.
She must love taking over my job.
If she's not dead, I know I'm going to flip, and if she is, I'm still going to flip. Maybe the Careers will split tonight.
"Listen, we've got to prepare ourselves for searching for Marvel," I announce, and Clove smirks. "What?"
"You want to find that idiot?" She laughs. "Please, let him die!"
Glimmer nudges Clove. "No," she snaps. "What if we did that to you?"
"I'd come back and kill you all," Clove tells us simply, honestly. "But the difference is, you see, I actually could."
"Please, so could Marvel."
"Shut up!" I bellow. The girls turn back to me. I only barely notice that Clove has one of her smaller pocket knives are in her hand. Something only I would notice from training back at the Career Academy for that type of thing so I am prepared, and because I've been with her for long enough to notice when she has a knife in her hand. Call it self-preservation.
"Shut up," I repeat. "How about we don't find Marvel, then? How about I just sit around here for a while with two girls who can't kill worth shit, okay? How. About. That?"
"Get over yourself," Clove says. "We all know you had a crush on girl on fire by the way you stared. So give it, get over yourself, and go drown in the lake, why don't you?"
"Excuse me! It was all to get in her damn head, Clove! Not because I liked a rat from Twelve! Now shut up, be a good little Clove, and don't bother me, since you're too incompetent to be able to comprehend, let alone carry through on, anything else I might tell you to do," I snarl, scooting closer to her, spitting rage, fury replacing the blood in my body. "You're a little kid, Clove," I taunt, continuing. "I'm in charge. Kids are best seen and not heard, remember? In this case, killed with no screams."
I completely forgot about the knife in her palm, so, with that, I earn myself a knife to the chest. I don't even think I'll be alive to watch to see if Katniss is dead now, but if I am, I'll be knocked out or in too much pain to notice and-or care. I'm basically dead, killed by a little girl, and never getting my revenge on Katniss Everdeen. I'll be dead by morning.
D12- 16- (Katniss Everdeen)
A cannon fired earlier, and another fires just now. I don't know why after all he's done, but I want to think that Peeta got away, and that he's safe off in the forest somewhere. I guess I just have unresolved feelings about the bread. I really want to thank him. After all, it wasn't only my life that bread saved; it saved Prim's, too. Poor, sweet, little Prim wouldn't be here if it weren't for the kind boy with the bread who was gracious enough to save three lives in risk of a beating.
Later, when night falls, I'm dreading the Anthem. Once it does play out, I take a deep breath and look to the sky. The boy from One died. He must've been the one who died in the fire. And then the boy from Three died—he must've been the one who left the pool of blood this morning. So that means Glimmer, Clove, and Cato are alive. Neither of those names marked as "alive" bring relief. But even the relief of getting out of the arena right then couldn't drown out the grief that the next face brings.
Maybe Rue would bring this grief, too. Maybe even Thresh. Probably not Foxface. But it doesn't even matter. Because the name printed up in the sky with the same picture that was presented for training scores makes what little history we had useless, wasted mush. His simple, unsmiling face lights up the arena with the slight glow that the real moon would.
"Peeta," I whisper as his face leaves, along with the simple, mechanic, computerized lettering saying "District Twelve" does, which only confirms my suspicions. Maybe the boy with the bread truly did say that he loved me, not the twisted boy out to kill me. Maybe somewhere in the messed-up but kind mind, he truly was trying to help me. I'll never know, though, because he died. And I could've saved him, went back and got him, repaid him for the bread. But I didn't. I had a big enough head start. And maybe it would've resulted in a minor wound for me. But he saved my life once, and it resulted in his injury.
"That's the difference between you and me, Peeta," I whisper, feeling broken. "I'm selfish. I don't realize I could have and should have done until after the time is up, where you—you think about it way before." And with that, I say goodbye to the boy with the bread forever, because ultimately, no one's ever going to speak to him again, see his kindness again. Who's going to decorate the cakes now, District Twelve?
It sickens me that Cato or Clove or both of their faces were the last he saw before he died. When he called out for me earlier… he really needed me. And I could've helped him. I wish that I wasn't so foolish. I wish I didn't play the exact game the Careers wanted me to play. At least I got away from it, and that diverged from what they wanted. I guess if, during the interviews, the boy with the bread was telling the truth, this is what he would've wanted anyway.
He never did think he was a contender.
I want to see him. I want to see Cato. I want to shoot that pretty little Career smirk right off his face and shoot his allies, too. For, the unfairness, the unjust, the sickness of it all—I know all that, and I don't like it; in fact, I hate it, and I'm not glad I was a part of it, but am happy I got away from it when I did. Anyway, I know all that, but now—now it's personal, and vengeance is a dish best served cold. And I want to serve that dish; I want to fight fire with fire—and who better to fight fire with fire than the girl on fire?
My plan is set. I don't think I can turn back now. Not after this. Not after Peeta's death.
Right now, I can't do anything, so I climb up a tree and belt myself into the sleeping bag from my pack, becoming instantly warm. Tomorrow I'll find water. I'll find camp. And I'll stay. Because I have my bow, and I am therefore unstoppable in these Games, especially since I want revenge. So I'll stay. I'll wait for Cato to come, and when he does, he'll never go anywhere else, ever again.
I try to sleep. But nightmares don't allow me to. In them are glimpses of Peeta. And that day, the day he through me the bread. Only, after he throws me the bread, his mother comes out before my eyes and morphs into a sickening Clove-mutt. The mutt claws his eyes out, and then shreds his face. But the sickening, grotesque Peeta still screams, and it's the most disgusting thing I've ever seen.
"Katniss!" he screams. "Katniss, save me! Why won't you save me, Katniss? Why didn't you save me?" I can detect that his screams are oddly in a very singsong voice. "Why did you let them kill me, Katniss?"
And then the worst thing possible happens. I wake up screaming, in the middle of the arena during the Hunger Games, when three deadly vipers are out to steal my blood and they'll do whatever it takes to get it.
Tears welling in my eyes, but just little enough that no camera could pick them up in this light, I remember I have my bow and that I want them to come get me. I decide that now's the perfect time to go find a place to stay anyway, though. I'd rather fight them up in a tree, but really, I don't think they heard me. I got pretty far, and if they were killing Peeta, they must've thought I was dead. They aren't going to come until they're rested. I know. It's one of the few good things joining the Careers brought me.
I pack up and scurry down the tree. Once I'm on the ground, I immediately position the arrow to my bow and pull back. I walk for a second, quietly, trying to determine that I'm alone. When I think I am, I let the bowstring relax but keep the arrow there and try to be as ready as possible to pull back in a second's notice with today's events hanging on my shoulders.
With Peeta's death on my shoulders.
Then I hear a twig snap. I pull my bowstring back clumsily. My fingers are a little shaky. I look around in the direction I think the noise came from. I start to inch closer, for I don't see this person as a threat. But if Clove, Cato, or Glimmer jumped out right then and caught me off guard, I'd be a goner, even with my bow. There wouldn't be enough distance for me to shoot.
Blending into the darkness and a bush, I see little Rue is the person who accidentally snapped the twig. She winces and fades back farther into the bush. That reminds me more of Prim than ever. I smile as Rue starts to crawl out the other side of the bush. Before she can dart off—because I know she's fast—I call out quietly, "Rue, wait, I won't hurt you."
She turns around, a scared look in her eyes.
"It's okay, really," I whisper. "I promise."
She creeps forward slightly.
I smile a little wider. "Come on, I was just looking for some water. Do you know anywhere?"
She nods. "The river is a little bit away, but it's got a lot of water and protection," she explains.
"Well, come on. We are allies now, right?"
She looks taken aback. "Yeah," she whispers. Then she sets her eyes on my mockingjay pin. "Beautiful pin. There are lots of mockingjays back home. They're like my friends. There are lots here, too."
"Really? I haven't notice many."
"I'll point them out," she offers.
"Thanks."
Before we set off, she tells me she needs to get in a tree for a moment to make sure we're going in the right direction. I oblige and climb too, but wait for her on a branch in the middle of the tree she chose. I watch as she climbs higher than I could and then… And then she poises on her tiptoes and leans forward like she's about to take flight. Like Prim does. Then… she actually takes flight…? She jumps from tree to tree. That's probably how she got the seven in training. I smile.
She finally comes back and when she does she tells me the first good news other than getting away from the Careers all day. "We're headed in the right way."
And then she leads the way to our "safety."
A/N: Eh? Eh? Love it? Hate it? Review!
Peeta, right? Don't worry, Cato's better. Am I right? Am I right? I'm right.
Anyway, sorry for the long wait, thanks for all the reviews, and I'll try to update soon, and next chapter I'm thinking that maybe Katniss would start to get a little confused about Cato, eh? If he's still alive, that is.
Because I love a tragic romance.