I patiently listened for the sound of a heavy thud, releasing the knife from my hand. In seconds, I was satisfied with this noise. I shot a stare at my target, thick, wooden, with a hole almost completely through the bull's eye. My knife landed perfectly in the center of the inner dot, a perfect throw. This was not unusual for me. In fact, it was unusual for my throw not to be perfect.

Quickly, I heard sarcastic laughter and a slow clap coming from behind me. I reached into my sheath, grabbing the next knife with the hope that I could use it. I spun around, looking up at the silky brown hair and capable green eyes of Emerald- my older sister.

"What do you want?" I asked, ducking my head down immediately.

"Father asked me to call you in for dinner." she said, taking pleasure in observing my knife throwing techniques. "Practicing for the Games, huh?" she asked, already knowing my answer.

"Someone's got to." I whispered. "Yes. The Reaping is tomorrow. I don't have time to waste with a social life." I explained.

"That's because you have no social life. You ever wonder why everyone is friends with me and they all ignore you?" she asked.

"I don't really care but I have a feeling you're gonna tell me." I replied sarcastically, not giving her a chance to finish.

"It's because you're so intense and cruel." She said. Emerald was probably expecting some sort of hurt reply or look even. However, I've trained myself to take her insults as a compliment… Or to just ignore them altogether. "Besides, I'm winning the Games this year. I'll get in that Arena one way or another." she said.

"But Emerald, you have no skills. No specialties. How do you expect to make it past training?" I asked.

"I have skills." She snapped back quickly.

"You're a terrible swordsman, you can't throw a knife to save your life, you can't aim, you've never climbed a tree, you can barely swim, shall I continue?" I asked.

"Just come in for dinner." She said. In that moment, I knew I had won the argument and that she was out of stuff to complain about. I couldn't help but grin.

I walked forward and pulled my knife from the wooden target. I then slid it back into my sheath and placed the sheath in my boot. It's impossible to steal something in my boot without me stopping you. Then I turned around and walked into my house for dinner.

Father was sitting at the table in his usual spot. He always sat the closest to the head of the table on the left side.

Emerald then walked into the dining hall. Her perfect hair was curled over her shoulders and down her back, creating spirals all along her upper body.

"There's my tribute." said Father. "Eighteen years old and bringing honor to our district in the Hunger Games!" he chanted on.

In seconds, I had my head hung down slightly and was picking at my food. Father had never been excited about me. He never even acknowledges me unless it involves Emerald or food.

Then, something caught my eye. At the head of the table, I noticed streaks of long brown hair… impossibly perfect long brown hair. I shot my head up to see Emerald sitting there. I then stood up angrily. "That's Mom's seat!" I complained.

"You realize she's dead right?" Emerald said. "It's been six years, Clove." she stated.

"That's her seat Emerald! It's the only thing we kept." I whined. "Just don't sit there." I said.

"Clove! Don't yell at your sister. She's got a huge day tomorrow so let her do what she wants. You, on the other hand, can skip dinner and stay in your room for the night." Father ordered.

"Whatever." I muttered. I walked upstairs and into my room. Not only was it smaller than Emerald's, but I wasn't allowed to do anything with it. I had a bed and a small nightstand for water and such.

I looked outside through my window. It was still light out, but only barely. The sun was going down and it wouldn't be out for much longer. I threw on my jacket, a solid black, lightweight, leather jacket and opened the window.

Effortlessly, I leaped into the outside world, landing on the roof of our house. I attempted to make my steps silent and I slid to the edge of the roof. Next to the edge, was a tree, somewhat small but capable of holding my weight. I walked along the first branch, holding the one above it for balance. I then shimmied down the trunk of the tree until I was firmly on ground.

I took off running, ducking my head whenever a window was near. I made it to my target, on the other side of the yard. I swiped my sheath from my boot and placed it in my pocket for easy knife access. I then began to throw knives again, making nearly perfect shots every time. With this skill, I was ready for the Games, whether it was this year, or next.