My only satisfaction is in your blood II Cato & Peeta
Peeta attempted to stop Cato from going near his throat, but the blond Career was much too strong and much too fast. Peeta staggered in his grip, looking around desperately as the cameras trained on his miserable face. His body was failing him, and Peeta nearly fell, taking Cato down with him, but the boy caught himself. Katniss’ face kept flashing in and out of his mind as he struggled to pull himself away. Of course, it was of no use. Peeta knew that he would not have the strength to run, even if he did manage to free himself. He would fall to the ground and be stabbed to death. When the blade was pressed harshly against his throat, Peeta let out a small grunt. When the blade cut, however, Peeta reeled back, his hands grasping at Cato’s wrist. He was too weak to pull the knife away from his throat. As his skin tore under the weight of the knife, Peeta began to choke. Blood gushed from his throat, draining down his shirt and spilling from his mouth. This was it. This was the end of Peeta. He dug his nails into Cato’s wrist and pushed him away with all of the might he could muster, but Cato did not move far. After a moment, Peeta was once again within his grasp. Peeta’s face began to pale after a short period of time, as did the rest of his body. It wasn’t long before he began feeling limp and numb, his precious life source flowing freely from him. Peeta was nearly dead. He began to choke out short sentences, but they were barely audible, as they were drowned in blood. At one point, Peeta successfully whispered Katniss’ name, almost as if he were crying out to her for help. But the hunter did not arrive.
Cato’s eyes burned with rage, the elation of seeing Peeta’s absurd face stained in his own crimson blood. Knowing that he could finally reign down his full vengeance against the one who had taken his life. Perhaps it was Katniss’s arrow that had brought with it’s piercing agony, Cato’s untimely death. But Cato would always would always place full blame on Peeta’s head for his death. After all Cato’s massacre would never have transpired hadn’t Peeta kicked him off Cornucopia in the first place. The boy flailed underneath Cato’s strong grasp like a fish out of water. Although Peeta didn’t seem fully there as if his mind were a thousand miles away. In the heat of the moment Cato found himself rolling his eyes, assuming that lover boy was thinking of his little fire girl instead of saving his own neck. Cato saw a boy so consumed that he seemed to surrender, knowing this boy could not withstand the thunderous strength of Cato’s resolve to kill the baker boy; not leaving his own life in fate’s cruel hands. Previously fate had turned against him leaving him to die just before the victor’s crown was in his hand. Peeta uselessly tried to show Cato’s hands away, though Cato would not be swayed from bringing death to Peeta’s doorstep. Cato found himself laughing harshly as though Peeta in his current state had a single iota hope in of defeating Cato in his prime. Peeta’s futile attempts of resistance felt more like a bug landing on his skin; a slight annoyance but nothing that couldn’t be easily disposed of. Peeta’s blood sprang forth, a satisfying bright red, which stained against Peeta’s skin and also his own. The warm wetness in the already scorching heat sent shocks through Cato’s body, reeling in the anticipation of the soon impending death blow. Cato watched as the light in Peeta’s eyes began to fade in rapid speed, life draining from the boy’s face, Peeta’s lips moving in patterns that could easily be deciphered as utterances of Katniss’s name. Katniss did not come to his aid, no sounds of arrows cutting through the air, no other sounds in all the world but Peeta’s struggle. Cato kept the blade poised along Peeta’s throat, his other hand grasping the long sword in his other hand. “Good bye lover boy.” He said bringing his blade down for the final execution.