Here's a short little random thing I've been working on. For anyone who wants to read the sequel to The Secrets of the Girl with the Fox-Like Face, I haven't started it yet, but I have an idea for it and I promise the first chapter will be ready in early June. (and if you haven't read it, and you like this, please check it out if you have time!) Until then, just expect a few small one-shots from me.

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games series.

Please review, even if you honestly don't like it. Constructive criticism is always appreciated.

Enjoy!

"What's wrong, Glimm?"

"Nothing," I snap, "and don't call me Glimm."

"Whatever, Glimm."

I let out an exasperated sigh, and instinctively wrap my left hand around my right index finger. But nothing is there.

Why is nothing there?

Oh, I know why. Because the Gamemakers took it away. They took it away… What gives them the right to do that? Nothing that I know of. Nothing except the things they tell us. And it was mine. Mine! My token! My one and only token!

I think I know why they did it. No, I know why they did it. But I never would've used it against someone, I swear. That would take all the fun out of killing them.

Shouldn't they have realized that?

And anyways, even if I did use it, even if I did twist the gemstone with that wrenching motion my fingers know so well, there was only enough venom in there to kill one tribute.

And really, what difference would that make? Not enough for them to take it away. Would the Capitol even care? No! It would just be more surprising, more entertaining for them!

So why is it gone? Why? Because it would give me an unfair advantage? I already have that. We already have that. Me and Clove who has thrown knives since before she could walk and Saranna who can make a noose in less than a second and Cato who doesn't need to think twice before killing someone with a slash of his sword and Marvel who gives everyone annoying nicknames now but is deadly with his spear and that idiot from District Four who got himself killed in the bloodbath like any ordinary tribute.

And then a terrible thought comes rushing out of nowhere.

I'm the only one without a token. The only one. Even the smallest, weakest, most unprepared excuse of a tribute will have one. It might just be a rock or a bracelet or something, but they'll have one. Something to remind them of home.

But now I have to shake my head so hard that Saranna gives me a funny look. Because I can't think these stupid thoughts. That's what weak tributes think.

And weak tributes die.

Again, I reach for my ring, but it's not there. And I feel so pitiful, like I'm about to burst into tears in front of my so-called allies, in front of the cameras, in front of the world. So instead I stand up. "I'm bored, let's hunt." I say in a slightly shaky voice.

They smile and gather their weapons. I reach for the bow and arrows that I don't know how to use, and wish that I didn't let Clove take all the knives. That's what I specialized in, back in District One. Why is she better than me?

I have to get rid of all these stupid emotions. And the only way to do that is to kill someone, to feel the rush of taking a life.

But before we leave, I stoop, pretending to add something to my pack.

I pluck a long blade of grass, and roll it into a circle. I pick another, and tie a knot around it. Then I slip the makeshift ring onto my right index finger. I close my eyes and take deep breaths, massaging it into my flesh.

But I was never good at making intricate pretty things like my mother, like my sisters. So the knot undoes itself, and the grass falls off my finger onto the ground.

"Hurry up, Glimm!"

"I'm coming!" I say, and join them, all too conscious of the empty space around my finger, of the empty space in my ice-encrusted heart.