AN: So for those of you wondering where my one-shot went, I basically decided to change it into a collection of one-shots! I'm sorry for any inconvenience this causes, but I'm sure it will be easier this way. Nothing will be directly related, and I'll try to just go with the flow I guess. Please review, review, review!

Oh, how something as trivial as love can eat you up.

Perhaps not as brutally as the pain now overtaking my body, but still. Torturous.

As I lie here, surely going to die, surely fading quickly, something has taken me aback. I would be lying if I said I hadn't imagined this moment. I am not so thick-skulled as to think I was invincible, that nothing could have stopped me. Still, whatever thinking ability I have left cannot fully wrap itself around the fact that I am dying. Me. Clove. The vicious knife thrower from District 2. The one who doesn't hesitate to betray you, and surely won't hesitate to kill you.

It appears the tables have turned.

Nothing, not even the ten arduous and painstaking years of training I endured, could have prepared me for that. No trainer could have drilled me, nor could any skills have saved me. The sheer force of the way I was uprooted from the ground was enough to knock all my fighter instincts out of my head.

And just as I was about to kill that bitch, too.

Cato had warned me to make it quick, to just get it over with so we could go win and go home. But no, Clove doesn't kill someone without seeing it in their eyes first. The fear, the panic, everything that made them scream, prey. It almost made up for all the pain I've been through. Almost.

Well, I thought to myself, Cato must surely be having a laugh now.

Deep down though, I know that is far from the truth. How could someone who held me so tightly when we heard we could both go home, who promised me over and over that I'd be the one coming out alive; how could they not care? I'm sure, if I was not already losing my senses, I'd be devastated at our unfortunate turnout. Looks like that faraway dream of going home together was really just that, a dream. However, my heart does register one thing. Love.

And the very thought of that is simply absurd.

The only thing that really matters for us is bringing honour to our district. From such a young age it is drilled into our heads, and presented to us as our only true goal in life. And, it appears, I have failed miserably at that.

Careers are not trained to love. Careers are not fed compassion and care. No one asks if we're okay when we get hurt in training. No one gives a damn if your leg is broken, you're going to run that mile anyways, sweetheart. No. Careers are trained to kill. To kill in the most grotesque ways possible, methods that could only be perceived in the mind of psychopath. And maybe we are all insane. Maybe I am mental, the way I would pretend the training dummies were people, and how I wished the synthetic material being constantly torn apart by my knives was human flesh. Underneath my human exterior, I really am a monster.

Then why did I call out his name?

While it's understandable that being near death can cause some unexpected reactions, and adrenaline can just run wild, I knew that when I yelled out his name, it was only him I wanted to come for me. As the rock that surely has ended me came crashing against my skull and shattered my vision into a billion pieces, only one thing made sense. He has to come for me. He has to. He has to. He has to.

And even now as I lie in my own blood, waiting for the darkness to come take me, the way he yelled my name back gives me hope.

Not hope that I may live, because it is beyond anyone's capabilities to save me now. I refuse to delude myself. However, it gives me hope that maybe I can finally be happy. A release from this world is what I've always been looking for, and what better way to spend then with Cato.

Cato. Do I love him?

Yes I think I do.

Sure, it may not be like the mushy gooey made-up love between those two district 12 brats, but we still love eachother. The late nights at training, volunteering in the hopes of dying near his side, and even the faint illusion of a life back home. But even that has been stolen from us now, leaving nothing but the hope of holding his hand as I finally get to escape my hellish life.

In seconds he is beside me. I can feel his weight next to me, and can detect his fingers tracing my features, gently smearing blood across my pale skin.

"Clove."

Yes that's him. Barely though, I can tell a part of his sanity has already left him. His voice wavers uncharacteristically, and his breath can't seem to find a steady pattern. Don't worry, I want to tell him, You can still win, you can do it. Even without me. Unfortunately, talking has become as difficult as swallowing fire. So for whatever small consolation it gives me, I gently squeeze his hand.

That sends him way over the edge.

"Clove! Clove! Clove, wake up! Clove! Clove come on, we have to win!"

He is screeching hysterically, his hands shaking as he tries to grab a hold of reality. I'm dying, let me go Cato. You can't save me. Let me go.

His screams have become sobs as he buries his head on my chest, and tries to shield himself from the crumbling world. The brutish boy who can snap a neck in seconds is crying. My heart is twisting into knots as I realize how helpless I am. Oh, why can't I just comfort him? Reach out to him and tell him what really should have escaped my lips a long time ago?

And suddenly it hits me, it really hits me.

I love him. More than I love killing. More than I love blood and tears and screams. I really, truly love Cato.

Clove is apparently capable of love. This must be a crazy day for everyone.

This stirs me to do something. Anything. I can't die without him knowing.

Using everything I have left, I raise my fragile hands to his face and wipe the tears from his eyes, leaving a faint trail of blood on his skin. He calms down as I force my glassy eyes to focus on his. Knowing I have but seconds to live, I force the only kind thing I've ever said out of my mouth.

"I love you".

And with that my will to live dissapates, knowing I have finally accomplished something in my life. I close my heavy lids and welcome the warm and sweet smelling darkness that has begun to envelop me. I'll never know if Cato said "I love you" back, nor if he went on to win. All I know is that he finally heard that I loved him, and that was enough to let me die in peace.

I really did love him, I thought as a faint smile crossed my lips, I realize that now.

It seems, however, just a bit too late.