:| Lost Words |: {Damen; blitz}

Had I really been so focused on the knives that I didn’t detect another presence at the table? Or was I putting all of my energy into ignoring that presence? Neither option was really that good: if the former, I would have been hopeless detecting threats in the arena; if the latter, I was wasting my energy.

It was simple: I didn’t want to make friends. And I didn’t want to make enemies. If I really had an option, I wouldn’t have been in the training center, wouldn’t have stepped on to that platform. But no matter what parents said about the choices we had, the truth was that there came a point in our lives when we couldn’t choose. For some of us, it was old age. For some of us, it was when we went down into the mines. But for 23 of us in the training center, it was the moment we stepped into the training center.

And yet, when the tribute from District 3 spoke to me, I turned to face him. Which to begin with what? Is he a killer? Will he be my killer? Every breath that escaped my body seemed to shudder as I realized that every face I saw, I would always ask the same questions in my mind. I pointed at three of the blades, trying to hide the fact that my hand was shaking. “These three—they're useful for skinning. And these four—slicing.” The last four I wasn’t familiar with, but I could have only assumed they were used for “—throwing. Probably have different weight distribution.” I couldn't stop staring at the deadly knives, knowing that their attacks I would never see coming.

He started talking about the different knives and how exactly the weight distribution worked for each, making the palms of my hands sweat. How does he know so much? District 3 was known for electronics so knives were—oh. Weight distributions was probably half the science involved in the District 3 industry, which would have explained how he knew so much. Still, it made him a formidable opponent just knowing how the knives could be used while I, a tanner’s daughter, could only identify knives.

For someone who seemed to understand the science of throwing knives, he was doing pretty well as my eyes followed his every movement and watched as the knives landed on their target. It was far better than I could ever do and I knew I was absolutely hopeless. Whatever confidence I had from knowing the different types of knives fled when I saw that a boy from District 3 could utilize them better than I could. I wanted to retreat into my shell, to start crying from worry, and yet I started laughing at myself, the scene, everything about the situation.

“I’m, I’m sorry,” I apologized, wiping the water from my eyes as I couldn’t stop. “It’s just—you know more about what you’re doing than me and I just can’t stop laughing.” Was I offending him? I couldn’t tell and he wasn’t giving me any emotions to read from. “I don’t know how to use these,” I explained. “My father is a tanner and he does the skinning so I could identify some of the knives, but using them? I have no shot.”

But he could. I swallowed the last of my laughter to look him in the eye and I asked him perhaps one of the most important questions for my survival: “Will you help me learn how?”

I thought I was the only one laughing and I could only become more aware of how far the sound traveled, but the slight grin on his face made me feel less self-conscious about myself and I could focus on his face, his words, his hands. It was like watching gears run through his head and I almost wanted to pick them apart, ironic considering he was the one from district 3 and I was from district 12. I didn’t see gears; I saw coal, leather, poverty. Yet with this boy, I was starting to see more.

His admission made me raise an eyebrow. For someone who didn’t know what he was doing with the knives, he sure had a way with them. Still, he did know something about knives that I never would have if I hadn’t had to leave home. “Well, geek from Three, teach me about the weight. Maybe theory will do me some good in the arena.” I picked up one of the knives, trying to understand what he saw in these knives.