Ok so it's my first ever fanfiction and my first ever properly written out story... so don't expect much. xD
Credit to Hana Munton (Clover's-Secret) for the Cover Image and having the final edit on the chapter.
Now, as Toby Turner has said many times, Peace off. BOOP!
CHAPTER ONE -
I've got her. My knife against her throat, my powerful figure weighing her down. I've got her. I am panting hysterically and covered in blood, but I've got her. My head cocks to the side slightly and with my usual mocking tone as I ask "Where's your boyfriend district 12?" My voice is reverberant and distorted; it must be to do with the adrenalin from the fight. "Still hanging on?" I say, in a seemingly caring tone, although my sarcasm is exceedingly obvious. "He's out there now, hunting Cato." Anger boils from the pit of my stomach. "Peeta!" She squeals for her district partner, but I lash out, jamming my fist in to her throat, cutting off her pathetic screams. "Liar!" I snarl, with a devilish grin. "I may have lost the battle last time, but now, I am going to kill you, and your precious little 'star crossed lover' can't do anything about it." I break in to a small chuckle, my sadistic smirk clearly striking her with fear. My hand fumbles down to the back of my jeans and I quickly take out a knife, it's small, but sharper than any other. I press it gently against the side of her cheek, as I tilt my head to the side, this will, in no way, be quick. I intend to make her death… entertaining - for both the audience's sake, and mine. I raise the knife above my head, about to slam it in to the side of her face when the piercing sound of the mandatory alarm clock on my bed-side table sends my eyes flickering open.
It was only a dream, like always.
I attempt to sit up, but my head is spinning. Inhaling and exhaling slowly, I slip my legs out of the bed sheets and prop myself up with my hands. I am covered in sweat and shaking like mad, but there is no serious damage. Whenever I dream so vividly, there are always side effects, but they tend to be minor.
Forcing myself to stand, I begin to make my way to the bathroom. I put the shower on and, with a half-hearted attempt, begin to comb through my tangled mess of hair. Soon enough, I am showered, dressed and ready for the day. I stare in to my bathroom mirror, the dirt, finger prints and condensation on it making it hard to see my figure.
It has been exactly one year.
It has been exactly one year since I volunteered to be sent to my death.
The bell signalling that it is ten minutes until nine o'clock rings, telling me I should be at the centre by now, as every "revived tribute" should be. In total, there are thirty three of us. We do not know why the capitol saved us and not the others, but I am not naïve like most, and know it must only be beneficial for them. I look down at the sink; various different tablets in multi-coloured containers fill the bowl. I have been to psychiatrist after psychiatrist, each one trying to shove a new drug down my throat to make me feel better about myself for another hour. But I don't want to forget the moment I spent my whole life training for. I don't want to forget the victim's screams as I shoved a knife in to their flesh. I don't want to forget, it was Katniss Everdeen, who put me here. And I don't want to forget, that if it's the last thing I do, I will kill her.
I let my eyes slowly flicker down from the mirror to the ground as I let my mind wander. It is only until the second bell, telling us to hurry up, goes off I am drawn out of this trance. I don't want to see anybody today, but I will have to. They gather all of us every Sunday to make sure we are all still well and functioning, just as a farmer would, checking on his livestock.
An irritated growl escapes me as I turn to walk towards the door of my compartment. I slowly open it, my eyes drawn back to my bed, the only place I want to be right now, but I gather up every piece of strength I can master and step out of the door, slowly shutting it behind me as I look from left to right. No one is around; they're all probably there by now. Beginning the short journey to the centre, I let my mind drift again; I've been doing that a lot lately. I can't help but wonder what my life would be like if I had killed her, if I had won. Maybe I wouldn't be stuck in this prison. I haven't seen daylight in a year, and I still don't know where I am. There are no windows, no gardens; I never thought I'd miss something as simple as fresh air.
I am half way through my train of thought when a loud and powerful voice shocks my back in to reality.
"Late again, Clove?" I look behind me to see that our advisor, Conall, has been following my steps, no doubt he's also on his way to the centre. Here, it's different to the Capitol, they have different rules, different life styles and different instructions (The advisers being one of them). There is one advisor per District, but no matter how ridiculous their fashion sense is and how over-the-top they are, most are caring enough; but not Conall. He stands around six feet tall, has short caramel brown hair, and there's a certain something about him that instantly makes you intimidated, and it would me too, if I couldn't tackle him to the ground in a heartbeat.
"Yes, I was sleeping in. You should try it sometime; it would give you a chance to catch up on some clearly missed beauty sleep." I say, in my usual mocking like tone of voice.
"Funny." He says bluntly. I can't help but smirk a little, but if only it were true. Almost every girl is obsessed with him. I have no idea if it's the fact he's young, powerful or just cruel but it gets the girl excited. I really don't see it, though. "If only you were as good at throwing knives are you were humorous, and then maybe you would've won your games." A shock wave of anger jolts through me as his words sink in. I want to rip in to him like a wolf would to a deer carcass, but he's from the Capitol, and I'd defiantly get punished for that, no matter what he does to me. I can't afford to be locked in confinement again. So I have to settle for silence instead of another quick witted remark, no matter how clever my comebacks are.
Soon enough the narrow corridor ends, replaced with a large steel, circular door. I place my hand on a small plastic tab and a dim blue line of light runs down the screen, scanning my finger prints. In a matter of seconds the two halves of the door slip in to hiding, and the way is revealed. "Welcome Clove of District Two." A robotic voice states, as I walk through the gateway, leaving Conall behind me. The door reveals a wide open room, much like the training centre in the Capitol, although instead of various weapons and targets, there is a stage and some chairs and tables scattered around the room. Standing in order of district and gender are the rest of the revived tributes. But this isn't usual. There's a kind of tension in the air, it's almost nerve racking. Slowly, I draw myself to a halt, standing behind another girl from my district, if I recall, her name is Lilith. She also volunteered for the games, but unlike me, she died very early on in the games. From what I remember she's not the smartest of people.
"Well I see you all made it down here." The loud voice of Conall sends at least half of the reaps, (that's what a lot of the capitol and wealthy districts call reaped tributes) stumbling forward with surprise as he makes his way across the hall. As I look over I notice he is now staring at a small computer tablet, which tells him who has signed in, and all our basic information. Normally the compound instructor gives us the announcements of the week; I wonder why he's been replaced. "So, let's get down to business." He pauses for a moment, placing the screen on the stage. "As some of the more observant ones of you may have noticed, this week is the week the week that the victors of the 74thannual Hunger Games were announced." My eyes narrow as he looks towards me; I am starting to think he wants to annoy the hell out of me. What a ass. He knows I think I've brought shame to my district, and he's not helping by rubbing it in. His eyes fall to mine, so I look to my right, in attempt to ignore him. In the corner of my eye I spot Cato, he's looking directly at me. He was my district partner in the games, and not only that, he was my lifelong friend. We were in the games by accident together, and ever since we haven't been the same. We've grown apart. I guess you'd have to if you were certain to have to kill each other. Most locals of your District probably expected us to grow up and marry each other, we were that close. Maybe if I didn't spend eight hours a day practising knife throwing, I would have liked him as more than a friend, but my life revolved around my training. It still does.
I have to turn almost fully around to face him.'You OK?' he mouths, and I give a small nod, he knows how fragile the subject of the Hunger Games is for me, but since I've wound up here, it's all I've been thinking about. "And this year, is the Quarter Quell." Conall Continues. "This year, as we do every Quarter Quell, we are going to add a twist to our games. We are going to hold the Hunger Games, featuring some of you." The different tributes exchange confused looks, but my eyes are fixed looking ahead as he goes on. "We are going to reap one male and one female per district from the pool of revived tributes. And this time... don't expect to be saved." As it begins to sink in, I begin to understand. I can go in to the Games again.