piece by piece {tom}

I was never much good at trapping. Henri tried to teach me a few simple snares a couple of years ago, but after I was pulled into the air by my ankle in what was supposed to be the most basic trap, we stopped trying. There was something about it, I just couldn't figure out how all the ropes worked together, what was supposed to go where, how any of it was physically possible. I would've never been able to improvise one myself. It would've taken months to teach me even the simplest one, and it just wasn't worth the time.

And yet somehow I've ended up at the trapping station, doing my best to figure out the sharp-edged piece of metal in front of me. It's stupid, really, because why in the world do they think we'll be given this kind of material in the arena? Even from the Cornucopia, they rarely have traps. More often than not the tributes have had to make their own.

Frustration biting at my heels, I pull the jaws of my trap apart, struggling to hold them down. There's only one or two others here, and they seem to be having no trouble figuring it all out. My trainer gave up on me a good twenty minutes ago. Suddenly, the trap snaps together, and I pull back with a gasp of surprise. Metal teeth scrape against each other and I clench my fists in anger.

One more try.

With renewed vigor, I grasp either side of the trap, pull the jaws apart one more time, crouched down to get a better grip.

Snap.

I lose my grip. Teeth fly together, only this time I was too close. They latch around my knee and an exclamation Ma wouldn't be proud of escapes my lungs. I struggle to pull them apart, panicked, unable to get a good grip. One of the trainers rushes over and pushes one of the small metal latches the trap automatically flinging apart. But the metal had already bit into my skin and fresh blood is dripping down my calf.

"Some get a first aid kit." the trainer waves at two others standing by.

"I don't need your help." I snap. I pull myself up, struggling to stand, and shoulder my way past him. I will not have a Capitolite helping me.

"But--"

"I told you to shut your trap!" the insult is thrown over my shoulder, angry, careless. I storm across the station and drop down into one of the seats nearby.

Pain laces up my side and I wince. It's shallow, but it's wide. I tear at the material of my pant leg, pulling it away from the wound and tossing it roughly aside. I have nothing to stop the bleeding, but I certainly don't intend to ask for help.