Author's Note: All right, this is a very angsty little story I've had on my brain for a while now. The whole concept of the "Foxface Suicide Theory" was introduced to me at an acting camp this summer, and the more I thought about it, the more plausible it seemed. She's one of my favorite characters from the first book, and I felt that she was never given enough recognition. Also, I must say, I love Peeta with all of my heart. Foxface, at least in this story, may not think much of him, but her opinions are hers, not mine. Please enjoy, and I always love reviews!

Disclaimer: You think I own The Hunger Games. *cricket, cricket* *slaps forehead in disgust, sighs*

I've made my decision.

I didn't sleep at all last night, from the hunger pains that ravaged my body, leaving me weak and helpless. Even my mind, my one stellar feature, is starting to lose power from the lack of nourishment. At sometime before the sunrise, I realized something. Something that if my brain was at full power, I would've realized a long while ago. I have no chance. No chance of coming out alive.

Earlier in these games, I thought I had one. Sure, if the big, strong tributes are killed fighting so heroically early on, I can outwit and outfox the others. I'm sneaky, stealthy, and smart. I'm not going to pretend to be modest about it, because it's true. I'm not partial to lying, especially not to myself. This particular reason is exactly why I've made my decision. No use sugarcoating my fate, because it will happen, whether or not it's presented in a pretty little package.

There are four left besides myself. Thresh, Cato, and not to forget those dreadful lovebirds Katniss and Peeta. Thresh: he seems gentle and kind, but honestly, how far do kindness and morals carry you when you're faced with your own survival? He's gigantic and strong, and he could take me out in a heartbeat. Cato, that noxious scapegrace, is essentially my worst fear. He has no respect for intelligence or the subtle arts of survival. All he cares about is winning by any means possible, which basically involves all the horrific bloody murder he can commit. Disgusting. And Katniss and Peeta's whole romance back in the Capitol was all an act, that much is obvious, but they're a team, and I know how skilled she is with those razor-sharp arrows, so that's certainly no good news for me. However, while I may not be the most desired girl in District 5, I know a thing or two about the mechanics of love. If they've been alone together all this time, I'd bet anything they're at least beginning to fall for one another. Who could possibly think about romance when you're facing imminent death? Only fools would think such things. And fools are dangerous, dangerous creatures indeed.

If you ponder all these people's combined chances of surviving the remainder of their time in the arena, the odds aren't even close to in my favor. I'm short and skinny with very little muscle, with the added disadvantage of being barely fed and completely neglected for over a week now. And at the end of the games, a physical advantage does one more good than could ever be imagined.

I did my research. I kept my morals. And I did all that I possibly could in order to get this far. But what will it secure me? A more notable death for my family and friends to cry over. What would be my eventual end, my throat slit with a dagger, my head crushed in, an arrow through my heart? None of these options sound very good to me, and I know I wouldn't be able to help appearing weak in front of the entire nation, most likely crying and breaking down as I took my final breaths, while my murderer(s) stood over my body, cruelly grinning as I'd die. I don't want to be that girl. Just another pathetic little girl, dead from another's hand.

In spite of what one might think, I do have people to come home to. I have some childhood friends, a family that loves me, and even a boy that would, every once in a while, flash me a smile. More than anything, I'd love to be able to hold them close again, talk to them, be with them. But that's no longer an option. I want to die as nobly as I can in a televised game, which would not be tied up, begging for mercy. It would be my choice.

I've been watching the lovebirds for some time now, and I know that Peeta, that stupid, stupid, boy, thinking he's so impressive, has gathered up some berries to share with his lady-friend. She knows that they're not blueberries, and I certainly do as well, but he doesn't. He's just being a pet dog who's trying to provide for the family. Cute.

If anyone thinks my death was an accident, think about it: if my strength back in the training center was my intelligence, specifically my plant identification skills, would I "unintentionally" eat very plainly poisonous berries "because I was so hungry"? No. I want to die with dignity.

Peeta's off gathering more toxic berries (idiot), so I make my move. Darting out from my hiding place under a bush, I creep along the ground, knowing the cameras can now watch my every move. If my family sees this is suicide, maybe they'll know what I'm doing. They'll know it's not just a lapse in my judgement. I take a handful of the berries out of a wrinkled bag, and shove them in my mouth, giving a discreet nod to anything that could see me. Immediately, I feel the earth start to sway. There's a terribly awful sweet taste at the back of my throat, and my vision begins to grow foggy. My head pounds, and instantaneously, I fall to the ground.

As I feel myself slipping away, I have only one thought. This was my choice.