clove's story. [fanfic]

c l o v e .

Reaping day.

So wonderful these events were, being able to admire all my hard work and dedication to training. Watching everyone line up in the square, and you could spot the cowards. Their lips quivering, they legs shaking, their face with no color. Then, there were people like me, Careers. We were the badasses, the trainers, the ones who wanted to go into the arena because we know we could win. The sun is in the middle of the sky, spreading light on all of us. The weather made it even better. Girls around me are nervous, too. See, we're all nervous, but some of us are nervous for different reasons. Most of the people around me aren't as good as me, 'cause honestly, I'm pretty hardcore. Knives are like a second-nature to me, and I'm the fastest girl in my gym class. Yeah, I'm pretty cool.

The wanna-be for the year steps onto the stage. Sometimes it's someone different, sometimes it's not. It's always a Capitolite. I can tell by their dyed hair and colored skin. I am not like that, I care more about my physical abilities rather than how I look. "It is time to announce the tributes for this year's Games." Sigh. No one cares. We just want to know whose in them. "Ladies first," They grab into the reaping ball, full of slips. Many people offer tesserae not because they need food, but they need fame. "Clove Solis!" My heart stops beating. For the first time in my life, I do not want to be a tribute. For the first time in my life, I forget about all my training and wanting to be famous. But I am a Career, I must be strong. With one foot in front of the other, I go to the stage. People try to volunteer, but it's no use. I won't let them. "I accept my spot as District Two's female tribute." I spit out, my voice shaky. I scan the audience for two faces, one of them unknown. One of them the male tribute, and the other my dad. I rub the side of my stomach, feel the welts of the belt he whipped me with. For once, I hope he feels bad about his actions. I might never see him again.

It seems I had gotten too caught up for my thoughts, and snap back into reality when a bigger, blond kid reaches to shake my hand. I am only fourteen, he must be sixteen at the least. My dark-brown hair falls down my face, I just hope it hides the one tear that escapes my brown eye. Two Peacekeepers escort the boy, Cato and I, I only know this because of the crowd roaring our names, and into the Justice Building. We have a hour for good-byes. No one comes for me. I knew that was coming, there is no one close to me. No caring mom, no siblings, no friends. I was always a bitch to whoever tried to get close to me. I'm not a people person. Honestly, I blame my dad for that, I know it's shallow, but he inflicted more than pain on me skin, it seemed to go deeper than that. Time seems to dread on longer than I had expected, a usual hour of training had passed twice and a half by the time the Peacekeepers come again, escorting me to the train. Sitting next to Cato, I think about how me might be the toughest opponent that enters the arena with me, which is why he has to be my best friend in the next two weeks.

As the train pulls away from the District, I have no one to wave to except for faces with no names.

- - -

I didn't sleep at all, I rested. It's almost like when you give someone a numbing-shot before they get worked on. Like it's going to relax you but you still have some consciousness. My thoughts were changing and as voices trailed through the train, I could only guess who they belonged to. The escort, Cato, Brutus, Enobaria. The escort was only there to tell us where to be and when to be there. Cato... he was there for the same reason I was. Brutus and Enobaria would be my mentors, specifically Enobaria, a previous District Two female tribute. But, the glass was too thick for me to make out any words. Surely no more than a hour had passed when I decided to get up and eat. I'm not sure whether the train is going really slow or really fast, but I can't feel it moving. When I look out the window I realize it's stopped, we're probably getting fuel. My legs tread through cart-to-cart until I find everyone, they're all picking at foods or sipping something. They come up with clever (emphasis on clever) remarks about a bat coming out of it's cave or something. I giggle because I like the attention.

I walk over to where chocolate cake is sitting on a white, circular tray. Crumbs dabble on the edges of the brown cake with snow-white frosting. I'm not sure why I do it - perhaps the fact that I know I might never eat cake again - but I grab a piece of the spongy treat with my left hand (because I'm a lefty) and shove it in my mouth. My mouth is stuffed and I can barely chew any of it. I turn around to find them staring at me, crumbs leaving my mouth as I attempt to chow down the cake. I can't help but turn back around to finish the cake. Suddenly, I don't find it funny, I am embarrassed. I come here because I'm about to be forced into an arena to fight and kill twenty-three other kids. The odds are not in my favor. I turn back around to apologize, but no one is looking at me anymore. Grabbing a chair next to Enobaria, I ask her "What's the plan?" I didn't realize how long I had gone without talking until my words came out croaky, but I'm sure they're audible.