This is a Clato fanfic that me and my best friend are writing. All characters and settings belong to the Hunger Games, but as there isn't that much about District 2 in the book we had to invent a few places and characters. ~Tigercub22

Cato. Cato.

They say that before you die your whole life flashes before your eyes; and yet as I lie dying in the grass all I can see is his face. Pain has obliterated the arena around me; my entire world shrinks to one word. Cato. I long to let go; to stop fighting and let myself drown in these endless waves of pain, and yet I can't bear to die without hearing his voice just once more. So I hold on and wish with all the strength I have left that'll he'll get to me in time.

I'm not afraid to die.

I'm afraid of never seeing Cato again.

It wasn't love at first sight. Far from it. In fact, during our first year at Fortis Academy we were rivals. The rivalry between us began in our very first lesson together, a knife skills class. I was confident that knife skills would be my best class, as I'd practiced throwing my brothers dagger at crows flying over our back garden. I could hit them nine times out of ten. As our instructor demonstrated the correct technique, I was the only member of the class not paying rapt attention to her. Instead I took the chance to glance around the room and observe my classmates, or as I saw them: my competition. Most were watching wide eyed as the instructor tossed her dagger lazily into the air and caught it with effortless grace, only one person was paying as little attention as me. A boy, with messy, sandy blond hair and dark eyes. He was quite stocky, as he hadn't yet grown into his strength, and his angular features still retained some of the roundness of childhood. Like me, he was eyeing up the rest of the class, with a distinctly cocky and disdainful expression on his annoyingly cute face. Our eyes met for a second; he grinned and I quickly looked back at the instructor and pretended to be extremely interested in the instructions she was giving.

'Now, I want everyone to get into pairs. There's only one target per pair' she said, gesturing towards a row of circular targets along the back wall of the training room, 'so you'll have to take turns. I'm not expecting anyone to manage to hit it today' – She was cut off by a burst of laughter from the blond boy. She fixed her gaze on him, eyebrows raised.

'Is there something amusing about that? Perhaps you'd like to share it with the rest of the class.'

The boy shook his head, looking down to hide his slight grin. After a longer pause than was necessary the instructor continued: 'As I was saying, it's doubtful that any of you will hit a target today. Just try not to hit each other and you'll be off to a great start. Now pair up!'

Instead of looking for a partner, I headed straight for daggers and selected what looked like the sharpest one. I ran a finger lightly along its edge, turning it over in my hand, getting a feel for its weight and balance. Happy with my choice, I then went and stood in front of the nearest target. I was just about to throw the dagger when a voice behind me said 'You're aiming wrong.'
I whipped around and found myself face to face with the blond boy. He still had that same smirk on his face. I glared at him.

'Oh really? And how would you know?'

His smirk widened. 'Please. I've been throwing knives for years. I can hit a flying crow out of the sky every time.'

I gave him my best sceptical look. 'Sure. I'll believe that when I see it.'

His expression hardened. He seized my arm roughly and turned me to face the target. 'See that target? I can hit it easily. Watch.'

He aimed, then hurled the dagger towards the target. He'd put a lot of weight behind the throw but his aim was slightly off; the dagger struck the edge of the target and went spinning off to the side before hitting the floor with a clatter. I let out a peal of derisive laughter. 'The only way a crow would be in danger from you is if you were aiming for the one next to it.'

He turned to me and snarled 'You hit the target then. Go on.

'With pleasure.'

I positioned myself in front of the target. With a practiced eye I assessed the distance, then whipped my arm forward and flung the dagger. I'd misjudged slightly; the dagger hit the target just off the centre and stuck there, quivering slightly. I turned to the boy and smiled smugly. He stalked off to join another pair, muttering angrily to himself and shooting evil glances back at me.

I retrieved the dagger and prepared to throw it again, confident that I'd hit the centre of the target this time now that I had a feel for the distance. A prickling sensation at the back of my neck told me I was being watched, and out of the corner of my eye I noticed the blond boy and two others staring at me. I felt my cheeks grow hot, but I did my best to appear unaffected. Conscious that they were watching me, I took aim and threw the dagger a second time. It was an awful throw; the dagger didn't even make it to the target.

'Not so high and mighty now are you?' the blond boy called out from across the room, while his companions fell apart laughing. My cheeks burning, eyes stinging with tears of frustration; I turned and ran from the room with their laughter ringing in my ears.