A/N

Disclaimer: DarkeningTurquoise does not own the Hunger Games. Neither does she own Alaska. (sorry, bad pun)

Okay, don't read this if you have a weak heart. Honestly, it scares me too...

~Have you ever thought of a Career's childhood, their time in the training dome? What if...what if it was a happy memory for them?~

I remember wanting not to be a Career.

When I was eight, just starting my training, I was so nervous on my first day. The training dome was so big, all the weapons so sharp, the trainees so lethal.

I was scared. On my first killing lesson, I threw up. The sight of seeing those blades sink into human-shaped dummies and drawing fake blood was too much. The first knife I held - a small, soft thing, half the size of the ones I wield nowadays - felt so dangerous - so untamed.

I cried and cried; I didn't want to go back there.

Of course I had to.

Taking baby steps;

Stretching. Gymnastics.

Taking another step;

Running. Climbing.

Trying out a stride.

Throwing a knife.

After a few weeks, the training dome seemed familiar. I tried throwing the knife as my instructor taught me - holding the grip, snapping my wrist and sending the knife spiraling gracefully into the dummy.

I felt glee. It felt good.

Strike one.

Hitting a bull's eye.

Strike two.

Learning not to be afraid of gore.

Strike three.

Succeeding techniques with which to rip apart tributes.

I could throw a knife with ease and hit the target. With closed eyes, using my ears. Twisting and throwing. Lying down. Hanging from a rope. Running. Tackling. Crouching.

I learned to enjoy it. The training dome was more than familiar - it was my second home, my school, my nook. I looked forward to the training sessions, learning ways to kill. Developing skills, toughening my nerves, beating myself into shape. (oh, and friends help too - we help each other, really. We're friends, after all. Have you ever known a friend that does everything, dangerous things, with you? You'll know, oh, you'll know, then.)

And how I love it.

How I love the knife's silent swish as it flies through the air. The satisfying thwack as the blade buries itself into the straw and fluff that is my target.

It's beautiful.

Now, you must understand this.

I don't enjoy killing in the ways of a killer - for I am not.

I enjoy it in the beauty of a weapon - the curve of the blade that would slice you into pieces.

I am not a person with enjoys killing in ending another's life painfully.

I am a person who loves the graceful swoop of a knife as it twirls into your heart.

A/N

Scary, huh? I can't believe I wrote that either - it scares me, really.

Anyway, please review! They make me smile. (and it might help this story become a multi-chap of Careers' thoughts)