Hello again to all of my amazing readers! So, I decided to write a story based off of an already existing character for the first time! This will also be a sort of expirement because of the fact that I've never written an present-tense before.

Anyway, this is an idea that started nagging at me a few weeks back, and I just had to write it. Clove is one of my favorite Hunger Games characters. I always wondered what made her into the sadistic murderer that she is. No one is born bloodthirsty. So, without further ado, my version of Clove's early life, from toddler to tribute!

It's my first memory. Looking back, I can still see it with a crystal-sharp clarity, despite all of the years that have passed.

I am standing amidst the assembled throng of District Two citizens, the air palpably charged with excitement. It is late summer, and the faint breeze carries the tantalizing hint of autumn. For the first time in nearly a month, the air does not scorch my skin upon contact. I bounce up and down of the balls of my feet, straining to see over the shoulders of the people towering above me. I've always been small for my age. Although I am three, my height makes me look closer to a one-year-old.

I feel myself flying upward as a pair of strong hands clasps around my waist. Twisting my head back, I see the laughing face of my older brother, Brier, as he lifts me to his shoulders. I giggle, giddy with joy, and turn to face the platform just as the train pulls into the station.

The silence in the crowd is absolute. We wait with bated breath, hardly daring to breathe. And then-oh! The smooth doors of the train slide open and I just manage to catch a glimpse of the luxurious interior, though the majority of the vision is obscured by the figure exiting the car.

We erupt in rapturous cheers as she comes into view-Enobaria, the victor of the sixty-second annual Hunger Games. She steps out onto the platform and her lips curve upward in a self-assured, arrogant smile as she surveys the assembled masses. She racks a large hand through her messy hair. Her blue eyes glitter in a dangerous combination of malice and pride.

"Someday, that's going to be me," Brier whispers in my ear. "You'd be proud of your brother then, Clove, wouldn't you?"

I study him; his unruly hair, a shade darker than my own, and his smiling chocolate eyes. He may be only eleven, but he exists with the maturity of someone much older. "Of course," I respond. I lean forward and hug my arms tightly around his face.

Eventually, the crowd disperses, and Enobaria disappears into the Victor's Village.

I run alongside my lanky brother, struggling to keep up with his long strides. "When you win," I begin, pausing for a moment to gasp for air, "Will you let me keep the house they give you?"

Brier pauses, turning to face me. "Oh, I don't know, Clove." a mischievous smile plays along his lips. "Maybe I'll keep that one, and let you have ours."

"But I don't like our house," I pout.

"Oh, don't be silly," Brier grins as he scoops me into his arms. I squeal with excitement. "I only turned eleven a few months ago, Clove, and I won't volunteer until I'm eighteen."

"But that's so far away!"

"Which leaves me with plenty of time to train."

I nod. "Okay."

Brier paused, thinking. "Victor of the seventieth Hunger Games has a nice ring to it, don't you think?"

"Yeah."

"Now, mother asked us to pick up some food before heading home, remember?"

"Yeah. Can we get cake?"

Brier laughs, though I don't find my comment to be all that funny. "Maybe another day, Clove."

"Fine," I sigh dramatically. "What about tomorrow, then?"

"I make no promises."

I shake my head, allowing my dark pigtails to whip around my face. "Race you to the market," I call out on impulse, taking off like a bullet. I feel the pale green fabric of my dress fluttering behind me as I run.

I notice a Peacekeeper watching me, laughing, and my mood instantly sours. Primly, I slow to a walk and toss my nose into the air. Brier catches up with me almost instantly.

I can tell he too is laughing, and it irks me. I try to outdistance him, but my short legs cannot carry me fast enough.

I trip, sprawling on the dusty street. I feel my lower lip beginning to tremble, and I struggle to contain the sob threatening to emerge. I inspect the stinging palms of my hands to find them raw and scraped. I truly cannot contain it anymore; a wail rises out of my mouth and fills the semi-silent air.

My brother is instantly at my side, lifting me up into his arms. "Shh, Clove, it's okay," he murmurs soothingly in my ear. "You're okay."

I lean back and nod as silent tears continue to trickle down my face. Brier takes off again in the direction of the market.

Five minutes later, when we arrive, Brier puts me down. I reach up, straining, and entwine my fingers with his.

We walk quickly into the market, where Brier picks out a basketful of onions, potatoes, flour, nuts, oats, and lentils. Next, he stops by the stall of a tiny, withered woman to purchase a plump gray-feathered chicken.

I stifle a giggle as I watch the ash-colored, clumsy bird flutter in my brother's grasp. I volunteer to carry the overflowing basket, even though it truly is too heavy for my thin arms. Together, Brier and I walk the two miles to the train station. From there, we ride for a half hour to reach our tiny home, lying somewhere in the northern reaches of District Two.

Mother is glad to receive our groceries, claiming that the food available in our tiny villa simply cannot compare with the fare found in the district's central city. She leans in to kiss my forehead. She smells of freshly baked tesserae bread and sunlight. It's a comforting smell. I study my mother. She is of slim build, like me, but tall, with luxurious blonde hair that I envy.

"Where's dad?" questions Brier, leaning against the doorframe.

"Out," mother responds vaguely. "Somewhere."

"Of course he is," Brier mutters. "I'm going out."

"But you just got here!"

"I know. But I'm going back to training in two days, and they'll kill me if I haven't practiced."

"Don't be long!" exclaims my mother, but Brier is already in his room. "And Clove, darling, why don't we go and get you some clean clothes. You look as if you were rolling in the dirt!"

She picks me up and drags me into my small room. Sighing, she washes my face and arms with lukewarm water and pulls a clean, if somewhat ratty, cotton dress over my shoulders.

"Now, come and help mommy make dinner," she instructs me.

She sits me down and asks me to stir the bowl that simmers over the fire. I do, until my arms tire and the heat rises to my face.

Sighing, I wipe the sweat from my face with the back of my hand. "Mommy, can I go?" I question her.

She exhales slowly, slender shoulders drooping. "Yes," she concedes. "Go tell your brother that dinner is almost ready."

I nod and scamper out of the house. I glance back once as I reach the field five yards away. It's small, made of chipped gray stone, lined with colorful flowers and a halfhearted attempt at a vegetable garden. The windows each contain one small, precious panel of cloudy glass. It's not much, but it is certainly better off than the slums one sees in the outlying villages.

I find my brother wrestling the air, breathing heavily as he throws punch after punch into the wind. I stand still, watching him. I've seen Brier in every emotion from joy to fury before, but I've never seen him like this. Fighting the air, with his teeth clenched and eyes narrowed, he frightens me.

"Dinner's ready," I finally manage to venture.

Brier stops, whirling around to face me. "Clove," he pants.

"Come on, let's eat," I urge him.

"Fine, sure," he gasps, wiping moisture from his face.

We rush into the house and wash up.

Mother places two bowls of an unidentifiable mush in front of us. I stare at the slush- oats mixed with flour, thinly sliced potatoes, and onions, it looks like.

"Yum," Brier mutters sarcastically, stuffing the slush into his mouth.

I nibble at it experimentally. It's not great, I'll admit, but it could be much worse. With the limited supplies we get here, it really is not so bad. I wonder if the rest of the food we bought will be put to better use, but I decide not to ask after noticing her sour expression. Instead, I wolf down my meal forcefully.

I struggle not to choke as the mush travels down my throat. For all her wonderful qualities, my mother has never been a good cook.

"I'm done," Brier announces suddenly.

"Are you sure?" my mother questions him. "I could get you something else if you want."

"No, it's fine. I figure I should go to sleep now."

"But it's not even dark yet!"

"I don't care," he exclaims, stalking out of the room.

"Clove, I suppose it's time for you to sleep as well," my mother tells me.

I want to retort angrily, but decide against it at the last moment. "Okay," I respond, jumping up and running to my room. I dig though the mussed sheets to find my rumpled nightdress.

I brush my teeth clumsily and struggle with the fabric, finally managing to pull it over my head.

My mother turns out the faint light in my room. I lay in semi-darkness, watching the sunset fade into shades of gray and blue. Eventually, my eyelids flutter, and I drift into sleep.

When I wake up, the sun is just beginning to rise. On silent, bare feet, I make my way to my window.

I see a faint silhouette leaning against the trees, facing south. Stifling a gasp, I exit the house with as much sound as a shadow.

"Where are you going?" I demand of my brother.

"Clove! What are you doing out here?" he exclaims.

"I saw you," I respond with simple toddler logic.

Brier sighs, pulling his hands through his black-brown hair. "I'm going back to the training center," he tells me.

"Why? You said you had a few days left!"

"Yes, I did, but…"

"Then stay!"

Brier pulls me into a tight hug and holds me there. "Clove, I have to go," he says. "I'll see you in a month, during our free days."

"I'll miss you,"

Brier nods tightly, his eyes already searching the south for signs of the approaching train. "I'll miss you two, Clove. Be good to mom now, you hear?"

"Yes."

Brier hugs me once again before letting go. I watch as his figure disappears down the dusty street, heading off to the training center. And suddenly, I have a crazy thought.

"Brier, wait!" I call, racing after him. "Wait!"

He turns around, face twisted with impatience. I shy away upon noticing his expression. "I…nothing," I mumble, eyes on the ground.

"Well, head back then," he replies.

I nod, and Brier once again departs.

I plop down into the ground and refuse to move, watching as he fades from my sight, and I allow the silent tears to come.

My mother finds me like that, five minutes or an hour later, I really do not know. Hugging me tight to her slim body, she pulls me back into my room and lays me down.

"I knew you were too young to go yesterday…" she murmurs, tucking me in. "Sleep now, my little Clove. It's been a long day."

So, I know that this is not up to my usual standards, but it's much harder than I expected, this writting from a three-year old's perspective. And Clove might seem a little OCC, (out-of-character-character), but I figured that she'd still be an innocent child before she began training.

I promise to make the next chapter more intriguing!