I'm not special. Nothing about me is special, unless you count surviving for sixteen years in utter poverty special. But I do have a story, and I might as well get it out while I'm alive.
I was born on a freezing day in February (which isn't saying much, as every day is freezing in District 2) and given the stupidest name in existence: Clove Amaranth Anstice. What compelled my parents to name me that, I don't know, but I've been stuck with it my whole life. Three years later, my brother Vick came along. Three years after that came Hanny, and three years after that came Aim. Then, in a twist of irony, four years after that came Alpine, just when we thought we had escaped the "Child every three years" curse. In a way, we had, but that's beside the point.
Anyway, feeding seven people is difficult when you aren't living in a shack in the poorest part of the district, which, of course, we were. So at age 13, just after the birth of little Alpie, I left school and worked full time in the quarries. As the youngest full-time worker, I did menial labor and small jobs, including lighting the dynamite that blew off parts of the rock faces. This was dangerous work, but not as dangerous as working as a stonecutter, when there was a risk of avalanches. But I did eventually work my way up to working in the main quarries, shoveling away rock shards. Here, I was forced to spend every day with the most annoying people in the District: Luca Alani, Parker Rogene, and Cato Blaire.
Now Luca and Parker aren't always annoying; sometime Luca's just immature, and Parker is pretty nice sometimes. But Cato… well, let's just say that, even after being in the arena together for nearly two weeks now, I still want to claw his face off. Yeah. That bad. And when you go three years with him stealing your cookies, you start to resent him. (I mean, come on, he had his own cookies! He didn't need mine!)
In District Two, the Games are everything. Kids train their whole lives for the Hunger Games, choosing a specialty weapon and honing their ability with it until they fight without thinking. The boys did that; a common topic around the Reaping is how prepared they are, what their chances are, and whether or not they'll have to volunteer. That happened this year for Cato: he wasn't chosen, and, being 18, this was his last chance, so he volunteered. Many, however, choose to let fate be on their side. For me, fate has worked both ways. When I was twelve, I had taken out a lot of tessarae to feed my family. So, of course, my name was called. Seeing my horror (and most likely wanting a bit of fame for herself), Valene Scarmand volunteered in my place. She was a strong career, a surefire win, everyone said.
She never came back.
After that, I trained my rear off. Tessarae multiply, so my chances are better every year. Eventually, I found I had a talent for knife throwing. I was never as good as the kids who trained their whole lives, but I was good, and I could win simply by using my built up strength and anger to take out my victim. I've destroyed many a training dummy in my time.
This year, I was lucky, or unlucky depending on how you look at it. My name was drawn, and I never had to volunteer. And yes, I would have volunteered. Winning the Games gives you all the wealth and prosperity you've ever dreamed of. At the rate my family's going, we'll never be better off than we are now. I need to win. I just need to. If I don't, my family would suffer. Vick would go to the quarries, Hanny would in a few years, Aim and Alpine would never get enough food, and to Alpine, I would eventually fade to a hazy memory of someone tall, someone who always smelled like dirt and soot. Not even as a sister. I'm fighting for my family. And now, as I hunt down the Twelve's, I try not to think about the little girl sitting in District Twelve. The one with Hanny's eyes. The one watching us plan her sister's murder.
Because if I did, I'd never get home.