a little bird told me //Clover|Blitz

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The knife in my hand felt so unnatural so wrong that I just about dropped it then and there, in the middle of a training session. I tried to hold it with confidence, wrapping my fingers awkwardly around the halt of the knife. It was a reasonably short knife, one with a needle sharp edge. I knew what to do with it, sort of. But each time I moved to hold it against the throat of the dummy I froze. Fear, pain racing through me as soon as the knife touches the fake rubbery skin of the dummies throat. Each time I see her, the knife pressed to throat, the fear in her eyes. I see the way her body drops to the ground, the life draining from her body. Her eyes, which are usually full of life, now slowly die. Each time my knife touches the throat of the dummy, a little piece inside me dies, all over again.

Finally I pull away from the dummy, no longer able to watch over and over again my sisters body falling to the ground dead. I couldn’t do it. I could kill something that wasn’t even alive. I just couldn’t. I stare at the knife in my hand. Is this what it had felt for the man how had torn her throat out, or had he felt giddy when the body had fallen to the ground? I would never know. No one would even know, for all I knew that man hadn’t even lived through the night, not after what I had done to him.

I walk back over to the stand where the knife are stacked, lines and lines of knifes, all different sizes, all different shapes. Some sharp, some, well, not to sharp. My eyes fall onto one of the blunter knife and I try to imagine how painful it would be to be hacked at by a knife as blunt, but dangerous as that. A shiver runs down my spine as I turn away from the knife, my eyes catching the small figure of the district 12 girl.