One Afternoon

Somebody was inside my house when I got back. I had no doubts as to who that might be. Only one person patiently waited for my return from the woods every single time.

"Peeta?" I called out as I closed the door behind me.

No answer. I wondered if he fell asleep. But one look around told me he wasn't in. A bit panicked, I rushed to the dining area where he usually sat and waited. No Peeta.

Instead, I found a still-hot cup of tea. Beside it, a half-eaten roll of bread. Something else . . .

I saw the book we started out together. The book about our Games, our stories. It was open on a blank page--or at least, on what was a blank page before Peeta started on it. I could make out the slight traces of a drawing. A dress I had worn before, the one that Cinna had turned into a mockingjay costume before the entire Panem.

My wedding dress.

Suddenly, I knew why Peeta abandoned this task. I frantically whipped my head around, searching for any sign of him. Finally accepting the fact that he wasn't anywhere around, I ran out of the house.

"Peeta! Open up!" I pounded on his own door.

Without waiting for an answer, I flung the door open and looked for him inside the unlit living room. I could just make out the outline of his huddled figure by the fire-less furnace. He whimpered and hugged himself closer.

Tears started streaming down my cheeks. He was in that world again, alone and scared. I wanted to reach out and hold him but I knew it was not what would help him. Like what I had always done before, I sat on the floor just inside his door and waited. I cried with him, felt my body shaking and folding on its own.

It was some time, hours maybe or even an entire day, before everything was quite inside Peeta's house. Maybe I had fallen asleep on the floor because the next thing I knew, Peeta was silently shaking me awake.

"Katniss?" he called out softly, his gentle hands on either side of my face.

"Hmmm?" I stirred and then suddenly was jerked away by the fact that Peeta's bout was over. "Peeta? Peeta? Are you okay?"

"Hey, hey," he pulled me up with the same gentleness that he had woke me with. "Sorry."

"What for? You shouldn't be saying sorry. I . . ." I wanted to say I understood. But I didn't. I couldn't ever. Rather than continue in what I was saying, I tentatively stepped closer and pulled him into my arms.

I felt his arms go around me, with much more certainty, and I hugged him tighter, never wanting to let go. Dreading, actually, the fact that I had to let him go in a while because he might succumb again. But just that moment, while he was still my Peeta, I held him tight as I could.

Maybe this was all we could have together. The past, the moments of the present, and a very unsure future. I hated how things were said to be freer but I felt more trapped. We never would lose this battle that we were facing even after the war had died out.

But as long as we had each other, as long as Peeta could hold me and I could him, I could never let my fears get the best of me. I had battles to face and I knew I could win this out someday--with Peeta.

Coming home

"Never!" Her father shouted so loudly every bit of frame hanging in their living room seemed to shake.


Oliva was scared. Her name had just came out of the Reaping. She was allowed an entire afternoon with her family. One last afternoon with them. Good thing they were members of the more affluent districts in Panem. At least, there were parts of this whole thing that they are exempted from.


Still, Oliva was scared. She was smart and cunning and fast. But those kids that would be thrown in with her were just the same. Actually, they were better--they were lethal. They could handle knives and swords like they were born with it.


"Maybe . . . Maybe we could swap. Amarina. I know she wants her daughter to fight this year. She even bragged about how she thinks the child would volunteer today." Oliva's mother was beyond console.


"Mom. Dad. Enough." At last, Oliva found her voice.


"But Oli. You can't . . ." Her mother pleaded, reaching out a hand to touch her cheeks.


Oliva avoided her mom's touch, which could just as easily release the tears she was fighting hard to keep from flowing.


"I'm ready, Mom. I want to go."


"You're not going," her father replied. "I'll go and talk to everybody who owes us. I'll make them send their kid in your place instead of paying us."


"Father!" It was a horrific idea. "I'm going! I'm smart enough. I could win!"


"Yes, honey. You are smart enough. But those kids? Districts 1 and 2? Even those two unsuspecting tributes from 12? They look way ahead of you. Think about it, Oliva. You never had training." Her father was already pleading, begging her.


But Oliva's mind was set. Scared as she was, she could never bear the idea of having people talk about her and her family if she allowed her dad to do what he said he would. She could not help but shudder at the thought of sending some other girl in her place when she knew no one actually wanted to. Not one of them even had the courage to volunteer for her earlier.


Oliva did not want her parents to become just like the Capitol.


So she had made a plan. A slightly formed and totally weak form of plan to make her last throughout the entire Games. If she was careful enough, she could even win.


But if she was not and it came to the point where she would inevitably face combat, she knew what she would do. And that was to make sure her parents would not feel the pain of watching some other kid draw her blood, beat her to death.


She would come home in one piece. Not mutilated. No blood.


That last conversation played in Oliva's mind over and over ever since she saw Thresh's face in the night sky. Four. They were down to four. The only remaining Career boy was a good fighter. The boy from 12 was protected by his partner. And that only other girl. The one from 12. For some reason, Oliva did not want to end up in combat with the girl. She had to find a way to get out of their way before the finale.

Oliva kept on moving. She had no direction anymore. The others could be anywhere so taking a strategic path would be next to useless. After quite a few hours, she set up a mat of leaves to rest on. And then she heard them.

They seemed to be arguing. Oliva hid under a neat bush and watched the tributes from 12 separate ways. The girl had in her hands a loaded bow. She looked like she was hunting but if for food or for a tribute, Oliva was not sure. The boy, meanwhile, set out to scour bushes probably looking for edible berries.

Some more minutes passed and the boy had gathered enough roots and berries but the girl had not yet returned. He set down their pack, looked around and when he seemed decided that she wasn't returning yet, went back to gather some more.

Oliva quietly slipped in to take a look at what the boy had gathered. She saw cheese and could not resist the urge to pick at it. Just as she was enjoying the melting sensation in her mouth, her eyes caught sight of the berries. Purplish black ones she had not seen in a long time. The very ones that she had looked for in the days she had wandered around the Arena.

Nightlock.

She picked out some of them and held them in her hands. Oliva remembered the alternative ending to her plan. This could only be a sign that she was on the right path. She looked up, hoping that her parents were watching, and walked away in case the two tributes came back.

"Mom. Dad. I'm coming home."

Oliva raised the berries to her mouth. A cannon fired and just like that, Foxface's body was shipped back to her home.



*** Because I totally agree with the theory that Foxface knew what the berries were for that day she stole them from Peeta . . .