"'If I'm gonna die, I wanna still be me.' On the 20th of November 2015, the war will change everyone, including Peeta."

~ For Peeta ~

Rain lashed down through thick, grey clouds. Fine ash rested on rooftops as sludgy soil slodged across the ground. Feet stomped through the storms, thick-skinned miners rolling barrels of coal down the hills. All while I rested against the chipped wood of the pig pens. My skin; frozen from the cold. My hair; greasy from the rain and unkempt. My nails; tiny blots of dirt stuck in them like iron pockets. My mind; numb on the thoughts of what could ever happen next.

And that's when I saw his face.

When I thought all hope was lost, a wooden spoon smacked against his forehead, a puff of flour forming from the utensil. The raging woman scurried back inside, and I watched as he crushed nothing but black in his hands. Scorched, burnt bread in two dusty pieces. He eyed me cautiously, hastily looking back through the doorway for his mother. Nowhere for her to be found.

I watched as he flung that bread right at my feet. Almost like he felt bad. But that wasn't the only case. For when years later when I knelt by his side, blood pouring from a gaping wound in his leg, he told stories not even fairytales could beat.

"I watched you walk home everyday. Everyday."

The Boy With The Bread. The Girl on Fire. Nobody could seperate us. Nobody could come between us. That's the way Snow created us. But the thing you must realize is that the artist can undo all their beautiful pictures if they please.

"I just don't want them to change me. Turn me into something that I'm not.."

My arrow shot like a dagger straight through the forcefield. A ring of neon light plagued my vision. Air turned to ash. Ash turned to fire. Debris showered from the collapsing arena as my body froze. Eyes stared straight up at the night sky filled with tiny stars.

I remember walking through a small sliding door, listening as Haymitch told me it all. The whole story. How we had escaped the arena. That we were flying to the 'destroyed' District 13. And that he was gone.

"Where's Peeta?"

"In the Capitol. They got him and Johanna."

"You son of a bitch!" was only one of the long list of things I yelled. Punched Haymitch right in the face before a syringe dove deep into my neck. "You promised me! You're a liar! You're a liar!.. You're.."

I remember week by week, watching Peeta's golden locks grow greyer. His skin bruising.

"She can't handle it; the Games destroyed her!"

Lips turning swolen.

"Rescue Peeta at the earliest opportunity or you will find another Mockingjay!"

And each time, he kept me asking the same one question.

"How will this end? No one can survive this.."

Asking him the one question even though I knew he would never hear.

"They're coming, Katniss. They're going to kill everyone, and then District 13. You'll be dead by morning!"

Even though I knew I never would be answered.

What have they done to you?

Little did I know that my question would be answered soon. Just not the way I had thought. Or that I had wished.

"It's the things we love most that destroy us.."

I remember walking into that small hospital room. Stared straight at his uptight body. Back arched. Hair looking unkempt. Black circles under his eyes. Nasty, gruesome burn marks. Pale skin. And his body now dangerously thin. I ringed around the table he sat on and stared straight into his dead eyes, gently whispering his name. "Peeta."

Peeta.

Fingers dug into my skin. Hands firmly locked around my throat. Head smashed into a glass case, shattering into millions of pieces. Across a paper-filled desk. Slammed straight down onto the floor, a gigantic pain nailing like a dagger through my head. He was no longer the Boy With The Bread. I was no longer the Girl on Fire. But in his eyes, I was still on fire. The Mutt on Fire.

"Today we have freed the victors. Tomorrow, Panem!"

I sat for days in that hospital bed. My neck completely swollen from his tough hands. I felt alone. Isolated. No one to be loved by. No one to be cared by. And that's when I realized something.

It's the things we love most that destroy us. I was a weapon to Snow. He made Peeta become a weapon to me. But no longer would I stand as a piece in his Games. He had pulled too many final straws. Both of us. Him and I. We've got weapons on each other, but then was the time that I needed more. The rebels as a whole needed more.

And that's what lead me all the way to District 2. Not even Peeta could hold me back much longer. Oh no; but I was going to bring his real self back.

"Tonight, turn your weapons to the Capitol. Turn your weapons to Snow!"

Author's Note:

Hello! I just wanted to say that all these 'Author's Note' things will be copy and pasted in each of these 'For The Mockingjay' oneshots. Yes, they will all be the same. If you're really confused by this, let me explain:

As you all know, the beautiful and amazing Hunger Games movie franchise will finally come to an end on November 20th. As a major fan of the series, I have decided to write as many oneshots 'for' the characters as I can to celebrate what it has achieved.

These stories will try and focus on the heart and soul of the characters, digging deep into their most special memories. I will try to do as many as I can. This is quite possibly one of the most craziest things I have attempted on this website, but whatever. The Hunger Games is too special for me to just treat as a sad ending... It must end in style, and I will help it end in style in my own way!

We all have one enemy, and that's President Snow! He corrupts everyone and everything! He turns the best of us against each other! Stop killing for him!

Tonight, turn your weapons to the Capitol. Turn your weapons to Snow!