Hey guys,

So this is my second time of writing this chapter, because I wasn't happy with the idea that Peeta came into the story.

Even though Peeta is freaking cool, he just doesn't have a place in this story.

And what I wrote before... well, it sucked balls.

So I re-wrote it, and I'm much happier now!

Apologies to those who like the old stuff, but things change.

You have to learn to move on :')

I have her name. Aeyr Wyllows. Her face was in the sky last night; Ayer is dead. She was just 12 years of age... The more I recall her face, the more I think of her resembeling Prim.

She had a cute, heart-shaped face, and a petit, round, button nose... that could've easily been my sister within a few days of the arena, once her survival instincts had kicked in, of course. But this girl: Aeyr was, and had been driven crazy at the hand of the Capitol. Her family now weeps at her loss. A family that was just as real as my own, that had the same traditions of sharing their meals around one table, a family which had a cat much like Buttercup.

But karma has come out to play, and now she has truly paid for what she did to Gale.

Karma always plays fairly.

Just as I reach the end of the forest, light finally reaches my eyes. I know for certain that this isn't the Capitol's weak excuse of 'light', but the true and honest weather. This light is too pure; too real to mistake for the Capitol's creation. This is a sign of hope.

The light bounces off the pool of shimmering water, reflecting off the surface in all different heavenly colours. It is all I can do not to run to the edge of the lake and enrich my skin with the refreshing liquid. I cup handfuls of the stuff and force them down my throat, panting as the water spreads delicious flavour onto my tongue. I have only just realised how truly thirsty I am.

Just as soon as my need for water has vanished, my stomach rumbles. Food! I haven't eaten in hours!

I get up from my crouching position beside the water and rush back over to the forest, stripping the first few trees of their bark and shoving the scraps into my pocket. I limit my meal to only three measely scraps, due to the fact that I have absolutely no idea when I shall eat again.

This thought, along with a string of other, less pleasant ones, force themselves into my brain, almost as if they are incrypted on the inside of my skull. This thought scares me most: the thought that I am never to escape the Games, even if I am fortunate enough to win. The thought that the Capitol will always control my actions, my future; my life, is enough to make me want to die in the Games.

But my family back home in The Seam is enough to make me fight.

The light begins to dim in the arena, the first sign that night is soon to fall, the second being the constant sounds of the owls calling and answering to one another. With the light, my hopes of winning the Games dwindle and falter as a low hum of voices approaches the area of which I hide.

The Careers have found me.

I drop the bark I have been chewing on and make a break for shelter, or anywhere to hide myself from any number of eyes. I settle for a small shrub behind a nearby tree, and duck behind it, until I am certain that I cannot be seen in plain sight.

The voices get clearer as the Careers get closer, and I can make out only 3 seperate voices.

I hold my breath.

The deeper voices seem to be arguing with the lighter, higher pitched voice, about what: I don't know. I clamp my hand over my mouth and take a few calming breaths through my nostrils.

The Careers advance to beside the shrub, and I whimper. Loudly.

Crap, I think.

'I saw her a second ago! I swear, Denwood! She was right here!' the female's voice fills with worry and confusion, and I hear a slap where palm meets cheek, closely followed by a scream of agony; then a menacing laugh.

The low, monotonous voice speaks next, the one I assume to be Denwood. He whispers a string of highly offensive curse words and aims them all at the female. Exactly what you would expect from a District 2 volunteer.

I remember watching his reaping.

Gale and I were settled on the metallic train's couch and Effie Trinket rushed into the carriage and bleeped on the television screen.

District 1: a small, young and undoubtedly cute girl was called. In training, everyone towered over her; she was shy and made no effort for conversation. She was underestimated.

That girl, Clanesh, I'm sure her name was, bagged a 9 in the private sessions. Turns out she can kill any living being in more than 36 ways. Without weapons.

The District 1 male seemed every bit as typical as every other Career male ever entered into the Arena. He volunteered as soon as the paper was drawn, and he mounted the stage with a proud smile plastered all over his face. His hair, dark. His eyes, dark. His skin tone, dark. Basically, he reeked 'victor'.

Again, typically this 17 year old boy from 1 gained an 8 on his private session. And I'm pretty sure all he had to do to get that score was take his shirt off.

After all, the Capitol audience love a good show.

Ask Finnick Odair, a victor from about 10 years back. He's rumoured to be able to work through 4 or so 'fans' each time he visits the Capitol.

The broadcasted show then cut straight to 2, where a large man with skin enhanced to look scaly, like a snake's, stood. He dampened his lips with his tongue, which had been cut down the middle: exactly like a snake's.

I smile to myself slightly, despite my surroundings.

Because I remember what happened next.

I turned to Gale, finding his eyes already hooked on mine, we both make faces as we say at the same time, 'Snake Man!', then burst out laughing simultaneously.

'Snake Man' drew his hand out from his jacket pocket and plunged it deep into the bowl of the paper names. It resurfaces from the paper sea, and he clears his throat with one, quick cough. The microphone echoes the name 'Cranberry Breech' throughout the clearing, and a wicked looking girl with her eyebrows raised steps out to stop the depressed 12 year old from taking the stage.

The older girl shouts 'I volunteer!' and Cranberry fades back into the crowd.

The volunteer rushes to the microphone and grips it in her hands.

'My name is Bess Moiva. And I promise you-' she stretches out a hand and points to one face in the crowd before her '- that I will win the 75th Hunger Games!' She ends by placing her hands into fists and pumping the air triumphantly while the audience screams for her.

It took a long while for the shouts to die down to a barely audible hum, and even longer for Snake Man to regain soul ownership of the microphone. Before long, the next name is reaped, the next volunteer shouts for attention and the volunteer mounts the steps.

Denwood Minkton. Muscular, golden skin, honey blonde hair, black unforgiving eyes.

His jaw was set in determination and if Bess Moiva was attention seeking… you wouldn't know. Denwood captured everyone's attention.

I was so scared of him. We were the same age, but Denwood was terrifying because- well, he was from 2 for starters, and there was something about him that reminded me of Cato, last year's victor, inevitably from District 2.

Cato was blonde, beautiful and unforgivingly brutal. His weapon of choice, sword. His victim, every single tribute. This boy was the first to break the Career pack bonds in over 50 years of the games.

And by the time he was finished with his 'friends', his clothes were so blood-soaked they had to strip him naked before allowing him access to the victor helicopter, just through fear of the lavishly expensive (and utterly replaceable) carpet getting ruined.

All because he dripped blood that wasn't his own.

I was afraid that Denwood would be a happy reminder of last year's events.

Cato showed no mercy. How could I expect and different from any other Career?

Denwood and Bess faced each other and shook hands.

Gale and I faced each other and shook heads.

'Don't let one of those two kill me, Katniss. Promise?'

I thought about it for a second, before I replied, 'Promise, Gale.'

Now I think about how dumb I've been. How ridiculous and childish.

Because I didn't let one of those two kill Gale.

I let someone else kill Gale.

The angry chatter between the three cut out suddenly and I held my breath. Had they seen me? Is this… is this it?

But- they were gone.

The voices didn't return.

They had retreated…

I was safe.

For now.

Yayayayayaayyyyy! If you have any thoughts, comments, questions or criticisms feel free to review!

And don't forget to follow this story!

And if you liked this, check out my other Hunger Games story, it's a one-shot all from Peeta's POV, all about his anger towards Katniss for being used.

Cheers guys!

Megs xxx