[She continues to struggle and flail, nails digging into the flesh of Clove's hands while legs try to kick against the body covering her. Katniss screams wordlessly as the grasp on her neck tightens. She spits and hisses, a wild animal caught in the possession of a predator she never intended to encounter. Everything inside her screams to survive. To fight until she regains the upper hand and then go in for the kill herself.
That is, at least, until she sees the hunting knife. The silver gleams in the corner of her eye and she remembers. Remembers how painful another knife once felt against her cheek. How cold the blade had been against her throat.
She should have died then. She should have died in the very beginning of the Games. By the tracker jacker stingers or when the fire wall had chased her back into the middle of the arena. Should have been killed by Thresh or by Cato, should have eaten the nightlock berries and let Peeta be the sole victor of the 74th Hunger Games. Snow could have killed her any time afterwards. She should have killed herself before ever going back into that arena. And once there - the corroding gas, the dangerous monkey mutts, Joanna, the chance of lethal electrocution when she completed the circuit to destroy the force field surrounding the clock arena. She should have died fighting in Distict Eight or the bombing of Thirteen. When Peeta tried to strangle her or the bullet she took in District Two. And then, during the assassination attempt -- all those many moments when it should have been her dead instead of one of her teams.
But when she really should have died was when the parachutes exploded again. That hummingbird snare that Beetee and Gale had perfected, the lure to take as many victims as possible. Died then, a burning human torch like her sister. The girl who was on fire should have died in a fiery blaze.
She never had that chance. She had been saved instead, the uprising's precious Mockingjay. Worked on by the Capitol's best medics to preserve what was left of her ruined skin. They hadn't let her die. But at least she had been given the chance to take her vengeance. After that, what was left? Her last real chance to die, stolen from her by Peeta Mellark.
But he wasn't here anymore. There was no one here, no one aside from Clove. No one to stop the girl except Katniss. Death isn't permanent here. Do the people who die go elsewhere? Get sent home? How could death not be permanent? It was the most permanent thing she knew of. How could she possibly survive if Clove finally slashed her throat? But then, how could the dead be brought here - brought here with those memories of their final moments in tact?
Maybe, maybe if she gave up and let Clove kill her, the Malnosso would see that she wasn't worth keeping around. That she wasn't the soldier and pawn they thought she was. That without Peeta, she was absolutely nothing.
It was a wild chance. A risky gamble. As risky as the stunt with the berries had been once upon a time. But if it got her home, got her back to Twelve and Peeta... anything was worth the chance for Peeta.
Her mind races. All that in a matter of moments. But she lets go. Falls limp. Her eyes stay open even as she's forced to squint in the falling rain. She's going to die now. Clove will finish what she couldn't in the arena. But if she's going to die, she'll face it head on.
action;
That is, at least, until she sees the hunting knife. The silver gleams in the corner of her eye and she remembers. Remembers how painful another knife once felt against her cheek. How cold the blade had been against her throat.
She should have died then. She should have died in the very beginning of the Games. By the tracker jacker stingers or when the fire wall had chased her back into the middle of the arena. Should have been killed by Thresh or by Cato, should have eaten the nightlock berries and let Peeta be the sole victor of the 74th Hunger Games. Snow could have killed her any time afterwards. She should have killed herself before ever going back into that arena. And once there - the corroding gas, the dangerous monkey mutts, Joanna, the chance of lethal electrocution when she completed the circuit to destroy the force field surrounding the clock arena. She should have died fighting in Distict Eight or the bombing of Thirteen. When Peeta tried to strangle her or the bullet she took in District Two. And then, during the assassination attempt -- all those many moments when it should have been her dead instead of one of her teams.
But when she really should have died was when the parachutes exploded again. That hummingbird snare that Beetee and Gale had perfected, the lure to take as many victims as possible. Died then, a burning human torch like her sister. The girl who was on fire should have died in a fiery blaze.
She never had that chance. She had been saved instead, the uprising's precious Mockingjay. Worked on by the Capitol's best medics to preserve what was left of her ruined skin. They hadn't let her die. But at least she had been given the chance to take her vengeance. After that, what was left? Her last real chance to die, stolen from her by Peeta Mellark.
But he wasn't here anymore. There was no one here, no one aside from Clove. No one to stop the girl except Katniss. Death isn't permanent here. Do the people who die go elsewhere? Get sent home? How could death not be permanent? It was the most permanent thing she knew of. How could she possibly survive if Clove finally slashed her throat? But then, how could the dead be brought here - brought here with those memories of their final moments in tact?
Maybe, maybe if she gave up and let Clove kill her, the Malnosso would see that she wasn't worth keeping around. That she wasn't the soldier and pawn they thought she was. That without Peeta, she was absolutely nothing.
It was a wild chance. A risky gamble. As risky as the stunt with the berries had been once upon a time. But if it got her home, got her back to Twelve and Peeta... anything was worth the chance for Peeta.
Her mind races. All that in a matter of moments. But she lets go. Falls limp. Her eyes stay open even as she's forced to squint in the falling rain. She's going to die now. Clove will finish what she couldn't in the arena. But if she's going to die, she'll face it head on.
There's nothing left to lose.]