Survival

It is a cold Sunday, a perfect day for hunting. The freezing wind cuts through the holes in my jacket and stabs at my bitter chest. I feel nothing, but I am fuming. I was overjoyed at first, by the fact that Katniss now has a better chance of winning this game; after all, only district 2 and 12 will benefit from this 'rule change'.

But then she said it. She said his name. She just had to yell out "Peeta", didn't she? Was this because she too wanted to make the new rule worthwhile? Or had they actually developed a... connection? A shudder runs through my spine as I enter the woods, and it has nothing to do with the bitter cold.

I breathe in the cool, fresh air, letting it pierce my face. Would she be breathing the same air? I ask myself, going deeper into the woods. The only place where I can be alone with her. This is what the games do; they turn can into could, is into was, life into death.

Not before long, I kill three squirrels and one rabbit before deciding to check on the snares I always leave overnight.

I had been checking my snares when I saw the girl in the woods. It was a Sunday in October, the air cool and pungent with dying things. She looked no older than twelve with a squirrel tied to her belt and a few plants in her hand; I recognised them as katniss roots. An unfortunate rabbit caught in one of my twitch-up snares was hanging by its neck in a thin wire a foot above her head. About 15 yards away was another. When the prey is caught, the snare yanks it into the air out of reach from other hungry animals. She dropped her roots to examine this one. Her frail looking fingers were just on the wire above one of the rabbits when my voice rang out. "That's dangerous."

She jumped back several feet as I materialized from behind a tree. Now that I could see her more clearly, I realised that I'd seen her around the Seam and at school. And one other time. She'd lost her father in the same blast that killed mine. In January, I'd stood by while she received her medal of valour in the Justice Building, another oldest child with no father. Just when my mother was pregnant, too. That child now has no father, but a busy mother that is never home due to his need to feed so any mouths.

"What's your name?" I questioned her, coming over and disengaging the rabbit from the bloody snare, and adding them to my collection of three that were hanging so innocently off of my belt.

"Catnip," she barely whispered.

"Well, Catnip, stealing is punishable by death, or hadn't you heard?" I reply.

"Katniss," she says louder. "And I wasn't stealing it; I just wanted to look at your snare. Mine never catch anything."

I scowled at her a likely story I thought "So where'd you get the squirrel?"

"I shot it." She pulled a bow off her shoulder.

I stared at it. This had to be handmade. If people were caught selling weapons they could easily be executed – not that what we were doing was to risk-free.

"Can I see that?" She handed it over. "Just remember, stealing is punishable by death."

I smiled, and it almost hurt to do so. I hadn't smiled since... well, that was a long time ago.

I go deeper into the woods, so that you can hardly, if at all, make out the sun above the trees. Deep enough so no one can hear me. Deep enough so I can yell. So I yell. I yell and let all of the anger that has been trapped inside for the past few weeks wash over me. It feels good. Refreshing. But I am still furious. Furious at the games for existing. Enraged at the Capitol for making all of this happen. I now have to work four times as much to provide for both of our families, but this is nothing to the pressure Katniss must be feeling right now.

Poor Katniss, her only ally a twelve year old. Poor Katniss, her only ally dead. The funeral she had provided for the little girl was beautiful, and when she sang, even the birds stopped to listen. It had given everyone in district 12 and probably many others the one thing we have never had: hope. Did she realise the anger she would stir up when she softly sang those simple notes? Did my constant rants on the Capitol have anything to do with her actions? Or was she thinking about that boy when she planted flowers over the delicate body?

I shoot another rabbit.

I can only hope that she will survive.

¡Hola readers! My class had to write the chapter where Rue dies in another persons' point of view so I decided to upload mine here (obviously).
I'll just say:
1) I hope you enjoyed reading this!
2) I'm English so you might think I spelled realise, valour and recognised wrong, but that's just how you spell it here :)
3) If you think that I wrote The Hunger Games series, you are very much mistaken (unless you are from my dreams. In my dreams I am Suzanne Collins :P)

Well, enough with the long A/N :) I hope that you have a very nice day! (or night, I wouldn't know...)
¡Adios!