Hello peeps!

God, I forgot how totally engulfing and lovely and painful writing a ff can be.

As you can see, yes! It's the hunger games!

I wrote a little something. I know the world outside is like "Peeta I love you!" or "Team Gale all the way!".

But me? I have a slighlty different version in mind. Maybe if you read it, you'll understand it?

I obviously don't own the hunger games. How can you even think that?

Love love love.

Reviews are cool, yay!

1.

My name is Katniss Everdeen and - as I step into the tributes' elevator, headed towards the silent comfort of my room after such a tiring day- there is one thing I'm sure of: Johanna Mason, from district seven (filthy stares, provocative grins and a bad temper), is the last thing on my mind right now.

Well, I'd be worried if it were any different. It'd be irrational to say the least, thinking about her in my current situation. I hardly even know her, and the little I do know, I don't like.

Furthermore, there's no doubt I have a lot of more important thoughts going on in my head at the moment, and they're all fighting for my attention like kids begging for sweets.

First of all, since the announcement of the Quarter Quell, I am well aware that I'll have to go back to the arena. There's no way around it.
I have to admit, Snow's plan was perfect, neat, with no apparent flaws. Just like the Hunger Games...before I messed it all up with the berries. Only, this time, there'll be no berries of sorts to save me. No fake love to use as a shield.
It feels like something final. I am a magician with no tricks left.
I knew I had it coming, but our lovely President managed to surprise me anyway. Unpredictable: he'd make such a good hunter. Well, in a way, he is. And I am his prey.
It's not like I am fixated on this thought about the arena 24/7. I do things, say things, worry about things, I eat and I sleep - at least I try to. But the knowledge that I will, eventually, have to go back, stays with me even when I am not focusing on it. Even when, disturbed by nightmares of what happened and what's to come, I am not completely conscious. It's even more difficult not to think about it, now that I am in the Capitol, where it all started, ready for another round. It's a matter of days, really. Training is -more than ever- a formality. I'd skip it if I could.
The arena, though, -or the idea of it- is with me, every hour of every day, like an old friend, or better, a persistant enemy. It's a reality I can't escape, as hard as a stone, as shiny as metal.
Like the fact that the sky is blue, the grass is green, and when you cut yourself you bleed, I know I have to go back to the arena. This is such a heavy burden to carry it's hard to forget it's is there in the first place.
It's not that I'm afraid to die.
Well - at one point of course I was. And I still am, a little. But not like the first time. Nothing can compare. The first time, I was terrified. And fear is good, because it means you are alive and you want to keep it that way as long as possible. It means you are in for a fight.
The lack of fear tells me I am somewhat accepting my fate. And it's okay, really. I just don't want Peeta to die, and that's something I can focus on.
Hopefully, so will Haymitch.
But, as far as my life is concerned, I said my goodbyes the moment Effie pulled out my name for the second time at the reaping. I remember how she looked so defeated herself, indirectly showing how my survival was never really a believable option.
I will always love Prim, and Gale, and my mother, and of course I miss them like crazy and there's a dull ache right where my heart is supposed to be. But it feels like I've already lost them. They are so far away in District 12 and I can only hope they'll manage to live without me, stay safe, and remember about me what's good enough to be remembered.
Right now, while I'm stepping into the elevator with Peeta and Haymitch, it's not death that scares me. It's not Prim, who I know has grown into a beautiful smart woman, or Gale, who I'm certain will find someone that'll love him the way he deserves to be loved.
What scares me is the fact that I can't remember a time when I did something just because I could. Just because I wanted so badly to. Just because I chose to.
To choose.
Not out of calculation, or obligation, or fear. Not because it's the last and only option you have. Not because if you don't, someone you love is gonna get hurt.
To choose, freely. Between more options, without fearing the consequences.
I vaguely remember how empowering that is.
Too choose.
Surely, a luxury a tribute doesn't have.
And, especially in my case, "once a tribute, always a tribute".
I will be in the arena for the second time in a row because Snow decided it was the best way to end both me and the uprising I apparently caused. The same uprising I didn't even intend to cause. Someone picked me as a symbol of a ribellion, but I am not a rebel myself. At least, I didn't have the chance to really think about it with a clear mind. Time to choose.
The berries. Was it choosing? Was it an act of rebellion?
I was barely trying to keep us alive and get us both out of that hell.
And in a different arena, in a few days...yes, I will kill people, like I eventually did in my first games, but because I have instincts and because that means giving Peeta a chance to win this thing and live on. Not because I choose to. Not because I want to.
You could say that saving Peeta is something I choose, something I want to do. It's not, really. It is just the way I have to play, it's not an option. It just has to be him, for so many reasons. In my mind, it's not a decision, it's just another fact. It isnt even because I'm in love with him. To say my feelings towards him are conflicted is an understanding. But, among the doubts I'll never be able to solve, deep down I know I'll never love him the way a wife is supposed to love his husband. The way my father loved my mother.
Because he chose to, he was free enough to love her. It was easy and right, smooth and as it should be, something that I'll never have with Peeta. Maybe I could have it with Gale, maybe not, but now it's too late and the games have spoiled even that. Another decision Snow stole away from me.

Even when it all began, when I volounteered to save Prim's life...I can't think about it like it was a decision. For me, it was a necessity. It was my blood screaming at me to do it, and me listening to it.

So yeah, choosing. It'd be nice for a change.

That's what I'm thinking as I start to press the bottom that will take me to the 12th floor.
I am Katniss Everdeen, and I'm thinking about being free to choose, about how I miss that, and Johanna Mason, from district seven, is the last thing on my mind. But then, just as the doors of the elevator are closing, she steps in.

In the elevator and in my mind. Without warning and without being invited.

At first, I am so annoyed. I am tired, and the last thing I need is her, postponing with her interruption the prospective of a full belly and a sweet reunion with the warmness of my bed. Well, I guess we'll have to share the elevator with her.
But she's staring at me, hard. That alone makes me uncomfortable.
She says something unpleasant about her stylist, which I don't really get, cause I'm crap at girl-talk, but mostly because her eyes are glowing too much and they distract me. They are cat-like. I wonder if she's able to see in the dark because it looks like she could. It looks like she can see right through MY darkness, which I know it's foolish, but that's exactly what crosses my mind.
I can hear me saying some stupid comment about velvet. I dont even know where that came from.
She's just said she wanted to rip my dress off. Wait, what? I must have heard that one wrong.
Then, she's turning her attention to Peeta. "How do you feel knowing the whole country wants to sleep with you now?" she asks, but her eyes are still fixated on me, so I suppose the question's for me, which it obviously isn't.
The conclusion is that I blush.
God, I am so stupid.
"Unzip me?".
She does that thing again, talking to Peeta but watching me. It's like she's studying my reactions. She's clearly amused by them, pleased even. I just want to slap her in the face. Maybe. Not too hard, though. She has a pretty face.
Wait, what?! Never mind.
I hear the zip as it goes down and I shiver. Does she plan on changing in here? Aftern a second, it's obvious that she does because she begins to undress. Slowly. Like a flame in slow motion. I can see her pale shoulders, free from the tree dress she hates so much. I can understand that being a tree is not the most comfortable thing in the world, but couldn't she wait until she was in her room? This girl has no filter and it bothers me. I don't know why. I make faces and begin fidgeting while Haymitch enjoys the view and Peeta looks like he has never seen a girl naked before. Wich, of course, he hasn't.
As for me, I see myslef in the mirror everyday but nothing prepared me for what I see and feel now.
Between the embarassment and the hardcore blushing that's going on, I find myself thinking of one thing.

God, she's beautiful.

It's almost as she can hear me, because her smirk widens in a complete smile. She hasn't looked at anyone but me all this time.
I haven't let my eyes go past her shoulders, though.

But then, it hits me.

I want to. I want to look at her. All of her. I feel like she's doing it for me. Not for Haymitch or Peeta's eyes. For my eyes. And maybe a bit for her ego too, but it doesn't matter. Because I look. Up and down. And -I realize- I choose to look. Openly. I want to. I don't bother to hide the fact the I'm enjoying it. And I fell like I'm getting fresh water after months of dehydration. For all I know, she may be made of the same materialmthe moon's made of. She's little and bright, slim but curvy, just like the moon up in the sky. Only, she's closer. Oh, so very closer than the moon. Reachable, if only...
And then the elevator stops and, just before vanishing, she says: "That was fun. Let's do it again, some time".

That's what her words say, but her eyes and her skin are saying a completely different thing. They are adressing me and no one else.

"Follow me".

And so I do. I follow her. I want to. I choose to.

I am Katniss Everdeen and right now I am not thinking about the arena, or Peeta, or Gale, because Johanna Mason from district seven (or maybe from the moon) is the only thing on my mind.