Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, etc. All created by Suzanne Collins.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm waiting for the end to come. And wishing I had the strength to stand..."

I'm a girl. He's a boy. I was eight. He was nine. I weighed a little over sixty pounds. He may as well have weighed one hundred. I was a fierce competitor. He was a bloodthirsty warrior.

The differences must make it obvious. Or, at least the 'I'm a girl, he's a boy' intro. Yep. This kid and I go somewhere. And date back. Back to as long as I can remember clearly, to when I first began training.

Don't get me wrong. I used to be able to remember more; but when this particular boy I'm speaking of has pushed me fifteen feet to the ground, I'm going to forget a few things.

I was never told that bad things could be turned into good things, and this is probably because we were apparently never taught 'bad' things. Obviously teaching children from the age of eight to wield weapons and mercilessly kill somebody isn't bad. Neither is teaching them to glorify the Hunger Games. They tell us it's just a sport.

No, I wasn't eight when I entered the Games. I was fifteen. Now, I'm going to straight out tell you what happened. Enough of this foreplay shit.

I am Clove Sauer.

"Hey, come over here!" That was the first time the brute spoke, well, screamed, at me. I looked over towards him. He had at least a year on me, and fifty pounds. I walked slowly, steadily, trying to seem calm even though I was a nervous wreck. My first 'mock Games.' Pretending we were in the Hunger Games. Role-playing. Fun.

I don't respond; I just lift my eyebrows expectantly. "You're new, aren't you?" I nodded and he examined me like fresh meat. Normally I wouldn't be intimidated by someone acting like him, but the fact that he could swing a sword or snap a neck as easily as someone could zip up pants three sizes too big for them, and only at the age of nine, scared me half to death. But I tried my hardest to stay composed, and most of the time, I still do.

He had a posse, too. Most were nine, but a few were ten. Did this guy honestly have that much power and demanding? And why had he called me over? There wasn't a single girl in his group. But, he apparently had some fan girls, since he would wink at them whenever they passed.

The boy wasn't ugly, but he wasn't amazingly gorgeous at the time, either. Average. Maybe a little above. I was trying to compare him to the hideous beings that followed him and the slutty young girls that stalked him, and I missed his question.

"Hey!" he said, forcefully. I blinked and my eyes were wide. He took a step towards me, but I stood my ground. Hell, I took a step forward.

It was my turn to speak first. "What?" I snapped, my voice demanding. "What did you want?"

"I said," he replied, with as much of a rude demeanor as I had given him, "what's your name, squirt?"

My eyes widened again. Squirt? Squirt? I had to shrug it off, and slowly returned my eyes to their normal openness. I don't want to fight with him, very much. "Clove. Clove Sauer."

He grinned. "Nice to have someone with a good reputation around here." He was referring to my great Aunt, Enobaria. She's won the Games before.

"And you are?" I almost growled at him. He had no reason to judge me.

"Cato Mansfield."

"Brutus Mansfield?" I questioned.

Cato smirked, then gave a cocky nod. "Think you can handle a little alliance for the mock games?"

"I can. But I don't want to." My voice was cold, monotone. We locked eyes. His vicious, icy blue orbs trying to get into my mind, through my dark eyes. "Obviously, you've never been turned down before." I broke contact to lean to the right and acknowledge his 'gang.'

"True story," he stepped over, blocking my view of his... friends? "And I've never asked a girl to be in an alliance."

"So, you thought you'd ask the new girl that would drop dead for you? Sorry, but, I'm not her. But give me her phone number when she arrives, okay?" I smiled politely and walked off.

I stood at my platform in the vast arena; an enclosed pasture with a forest to the right, and a river to the left. They made these mock games way too realistic. The sixty seconds counted down, and I wondered if anyone else could hear my heart beating. To my right, unfortunately, was Cato. On my left, was a tall, lean girl. She must have been in her early teens. Maybe twelve or so.

The gong rang out and I hesitated to run forward; I didn't want Cato on my ass. He got a yard or so from his platform when I ran at an OK pace to the weapons, placed around a small table deemed 'the Cornucopia.'

About half of the 'tributes' were already 'dead.' God, what's with all the quotes? Cato had already gotten the girl on my left out. He got her in a head lock and pretended to snap her neck, which he could've easily done, too. Thank God he hadn't noticed me yet, even though he'd been staring daggers at me on the platforms. I noticed a small girl, a bit smaller, and much weaker, than me, running away from the Cornucopia with a small throwing knife. She probably didn't know it, though. I sprinted towards her, and tackled her unexpectedly. I quickly got a hold on the knife and pretended to open up her throat, slicing the air above it with my new knife. "Dead." I whispered.

Meanwhile, Cato had gotten his hands on a sword, and was making a beeline for me. I think he doubted that I myself knew it was a throwing knife. I locked eyes with him, and in the next moment, my knife was sinking into his right shoulder. He dropped to his knees, and pulled out the knife. A millisecond later, I had kicked him back, and the air was knocked out of him. Since he'd dropped my knife, I picked it back up and pretended to kill him like the other girl.

I heard him curse as I got up from straddling him. I glanced over, and noticed he'd gotten hard. Oh my. This was going to be interesting.

While I wasn't looking, a boy from Cato's posse came up with a small dagger, and sunk it in between my shoulder blades – right to the hilt. I blacked out, watching the world smash into my face before the darkness swallowed me.

I woke up in the training center's infirmary. I was on a hospital bed, and I felt stitches on my back where the knife dug into me. That was a foul. It could've killed me. It probably almost did, too. I looked at my right wrist, my throwing hand, and saw an IV. God, I hate needles. I looked up, too the ceiling, and rolled my eyes.

A flash of blonde and black appeared at my left. I looked over, quickly, but that caused strain on my healing wound. Cato sat, in his black training jumpsuit and a bandage around his arm where my dagger hit him.

"You dumb bitch," he muttered. "You don't know who you're messing with, do you?"

"Oh, so, you had already planned for that kid to try and actually kill me?"

"No, but..." he was lost. I'd outsmarted him. "Never mind it." I softly closed my eyes and exhaled. "What are you doing?"

I waited a minute before replying. "I'm waiting for the end to come."

"The hell...?"

"Aren't you going to just threaten to make my life a living piece of hell?" I retorted.

"Why would I do that to a girl li-" Cato stopped his sentence. I raised an eyebrow, opening my eyes. I looked towards him. His head was down, in defeat, and his face was red, from what I could see.

"Tell me. What's so special about me, compared to those sluts that probably follow you home?" Cato raised his head. He struggled to show no emotion.

"Forget it, Sauer. There's no damn difference. And don't think there is." He stood up to leave.

"I don't think so, Cato. I know it." I wanted to raise a hand and sit him back down. What made me different? Did this ignorant dick have a crush on me? That would actually make my life a living hell.

But little did I know.

I flinched when I felt the wooden end of the spear knock me out of the air.

"You're not an acrobat, Sauer," Cato grinned. Apparently he'd finally noticed that I'd just jumped and flipped off of his back, while he was bent over polishing the spear's head.

"But, dear Cato, you make the perfect vault." I returned the expression. "And, guess what?"

"What?" he asked coldly, focusing once more on his weapon.

"My. Name. Is. Clove." I spoke to him as though he were retarded or something like it.

"And. You. Are. An. Annoying. Bitch." Cato mocked, and I knew he was smiling, even though I couldn't see his face clearly.

We'd become frienemies ever since he nearly admitted something for me in the clinic. But I think we both think the other has forgotten about it. I lay on the ground, and as he stood to leave, he noticed I was still there, on the floor.

He kicked me, and I rolled a bit, but stayed on the floor. "Get up. Let's go get lunch before I want to kill you again."

I had wanted to yell in pain. Not from the kick. It probably didn't even bruise my skin. But, he had kicked a bruise. A bruise that dove into my ribs. I had never told anybody that my father beat me, and I don't think anyone needs to know. But if I had to, I would rather tell Cato – if he asked about it – than one of the girls I would hang out with after school or training. He was like a brother, more than a friend.

"Get up, Sa- I mean, Clove," I smiled at the use of my first name. But the pain was still ringing through my small, eight year old body. "What are you doing?"

"Trying to find the strength to stand." This was a weak thing to say. But, Cato knew that I didn't mean he'd hurt me, or my feelings. He didn't fall for shit like that easily. He could tell there was something behind my statement.

"What do you mean?" He knelt beside me, putting a warm hand on my shoulder nearest him. Cato looked me in the eyes, but I stared at the ceiling. "What happened?" I didn't say anything. I was wondering if he would be the right person to tell. We'd only known each other for six months; not even. "Clove, tell me."

"My dad." I whispered. He bent down close to me, and I felt his breath on my lips, even though his were inches away. "He beats me. You just hit a sore spot. Nothing really..."

"He beats you?" Cato leaned in slightly closer. I nodded, closing my eyes. I knew that if other people saw, they'd think I'm in no way fit for any type of training for the Games. Fortunately, they were all at lunch. Except Cato and I. He rested his forehead on mine, before gently picking me up.

He was officially the strongest nine year old I've ever met. Cato stood me back up, keeping a strong grip on me. "I'll help you stand back up. Always."

And without another word, we went to lunch.

A/N: Well, did ya like it? Please leave reviews. I'm hoping this will escalate to something further. If you know what I mean.