Freedom on Your Tongue: Prologue
Title: Freedom On Your Tongue
Author: Kiki
Fandom: The Hunger Games
Pairing/Character(s): Peeta/Katniss
Rating: M
Word count: 970
Spoilers: tHG-MJ
Summary: Katniss enters the games alone, wins them alone, and must face the consequences of her actions alone. Peeta has other plans.
Disclaimer. None of this is mine.
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Prologue
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There's nothing she can do.
Katniss has to tell herself this over and over again.
Cato's not screaming anymore.
She briefly wonders what the mutts did to stop that awful sound, before her mind slips away, distancing itself from the possibilities.
Still, whimpers reach her in the breeze, coming from somewhere deep inside the Cornucopia. There are no more howls or yelps either. Cato would have fought the mutts with everything he had, with those knives he wielded so expertly, with those fists, so much quicker than someone of his size ought to be. But he wasn't fighting anymore. There was nothing but the snapping of jaws and the shredding of what she could only hope was clothing.
She didn't want to know if flesh could make that sound.
She huddles on top of the Cornucopia, pulling her legs close to try and make her jacket cover as much skin as possible. It doesn't seem to matter though. The icy wind pounds at her body, inescapable and relentless. She grits her teeth, but can't stop them from shattering together almost painfully. The ripples and seams of the gold Cornucopia prevent her from finding even the slightest amount of rest. Eventually, she's overcome with numbness, and the icy metal beneath her is just another dull discomfort.
She can't feel any of her body anymore.
It's not a good sign.
She wishes she'd saved something from the last meal Haymitch had sent her. People from the Seam often had to work through the harsh winters of District 12, till their workmates would bring them to her mother, shivering and confused, faces a sickly blue. Her mother would place improvised heat packs under their arms, while Prim would scrounge something for them to eat. The body loses energy quickly in the cold, and without replacing it, their bodies won't have the energy to rewarm themselves.
All she had was the nightlock she'd used to trick Foxface and that wasn't going to be much help keeping her alive.
A new sound pricks at her mind. She tilts her head, trying to make sense of it. Everything seems distant and muddled, but it must be Cato. No more whimpers this time, just a breath, gurgled and pain-filled. But it seemed closer now.
Hesitantly, she crawls to the edge. Her movements are sloppy and loud. The agility and grace that had gotten her this far abandons her in the cold. It's still dark, but it's beginning to soften. Dawn can't be an hour away.
She can make out Cato's mauled body close to the entrance. She pulls away before one of the mutts remembers there's more prey still to be had.
Her bow is in her hand before she makes the decision.
This is it. She can end this game and live to tell the tale.
She fumbles with her arrow. It slips from her fingers twice and trembles in the nock unsteadily. This isn't like her. She narrows her eyes to see clearer. Her fingers are blue-grey. They shake violently and she can't feel the arrow in her grip, just sharp pins where the feeling should be.
She resists the urge to cry in frustration.
It's her last arrow. This is her last chance to end it all: to end Cato's shallow breaths, to end the game, to live.
And then what?
The Capitol will pick her up. She'll be their beloved victor. She'll walk out in front of the Capitol audiences and they will applaud her with their multi-coloured hands, Caesar will congratulate her with lips the same shade as her frozen fingers, but will she see them? Or will she see Tate? Tate, who was seventeen and only three months short of escaping the reaping, who screamed at her to run from the Cornucopia, who was only a few steps away from the forest when Clove's knife flew into his neck and severed his spine. Will she see Glimmer, no longer golden and beautiful, just bones and skin to be broken for the sake of a bow? Will she ever forget Rue's tiny body, bloody and still under a field of flowers? Or maybe it will be Thresh who haunts her, his monstrous size and strength nothing in comparison to the Capitol's need for entertainment.
No.
She will not smile and be grateful that she got lucky while twenty-three others did not.
The Capitol could have their pound of flesh, but they could not take her soul.
With that, her fingers, still thick and clumsy, tighten around her bow, even as her other hand dips into her pocket, preparing. If she's fast enough, they won't figure out what she's doing till it's too late.
She draws, and somehow her arrow flies true.
Cato will never make another sound.
She drops the bow and it tumbles off the side of the Cornucopia. She doesn't need it anymore. The mutts run, called back by the game makers. Her hand is already over her mouth and she swallows before the berries can barely touch her tongue.
Would they taste like freedom?
A canon goes off.
It's not hers, but it will have to do.
The Capitol stole so many lives, but it's her who will steal their last chance at a victor.
Her legs disappear from under her.
There's a soft orange glow on the horizon, the beginnings of a dawn she will never see. She tries to keep her eyes open, but it quickly becomes too hard.
Her mother. Prim. Gale. Rue. Haymitch. The boy with the bread…Too many faces, too little time.
Sleep, the final one she will ever take, comes quicker than it ever has before.
Her father's face comes last, clearer and truer than her memory could have conjured.
In the end, she is happy.
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