Beginning a few weeks prior to the 73rd annual Hunger Games, this story follows Ava Spencer, a 15 year old from District 2.
"Ava Spencer, you will be training in hand-to-hand combat with Blake Ward this morning. Then, after lunch you will be practicing knife throwing in room 2-06." At the mention of my name, I headed down to room 1-14, where we practiced hand-to-hand fighting. I saw Blake stand up and begin to follow me as Enobaria read off the rest of his itinerary for the day.
District 2 children began training for the Hunger Games at the age of 10, to ensure if they are reaped at age 12, they are at least slightly prepared. Of course, if they are entered that young, they didn't stand much chance. That's why people usually volunteer from 'career districts'. Of course there are times when it doesn't matter how much training we get, sometimes we're too arrogant or, very rarely, we're just not good enough. That's why we train daily; to make sure we are the best. When two of us leave, they want one back. It's a badge of honour, having many victors.
Entering the room I can barely see, all the lights are out and the only source of light is coming from the small window on the far-side of the room. I can just make out a training mat in the centre of the room. I go to stand on it and look up into the room which overlooks the room – the room where the trainers sit. Blake comes to stand beside me, also looking straight up to the room. We can just make out a trainer entering the room; they look male, bald and butch. Their voice is amplified by the microphone they have on, "Spencer, Ava & Ward, Blake. Training session code: 101141208-73. You will be training in a darkened room today, as during the Games, not everything will happen during the day so you'll have to be prepared to fight in the dark."
I walk to the other edge of the mat and face Blake. We wait. Even in the dark I can see his mouth is set in a hard line, his body hunched and knees bent. Our eyes lock and I mirror his position. Whatever friendship we had disappeared the second we walked in the room, now he's my enemy and I'm his. We remain in this stance for what seems like an eternity, never removing our eyes from one another. "You may begin", the voice comes over the speaker. Neither of us move, each of us waiting for the other to make the first move. I feel sweat on my forehead, ridiculous considering I haven't moved.
For a second, Blake's eyes stray to the left, looking to the room where the trainer is still standing. I see my opportunity and I pounce. My body slams in his. He must have seen my coming, though; his hands are out in front of him. He grabs my arms and throws me to the ground. My head hits the mat. I bring my foot to between his legs. As he stumbles backwards, I try to get to my feet. Getting up, I feel him slam into me. My head hits the concrete this time. I cry out in pain as he sits on top of me, trying to pin me down. I do the only thing I can think of. My head makes contact with his, hurting us both. It distracts him just long enough that I can push him off of me. I roll us over, so I'm pinning him. My smaller, weaker frame makes keeping him down difficult. I grab at his throat. He struggles. I release the grip and my fist makes contact with his nose. Blood gushes from it. I lift his head and slam it on the mat. Colour drains from his face as he slips out of consciousness.
The lights come on. My eyes, having adjusted to the darkness hurt because of the brightness. The medics bring in a stretcher and remove Blake from the room, as I wait to be dismissed. I look to the room where the trainer appears to be taking notes. He looks at me and I recognise him. It's Brutus, one of the District 2 Victors. He speaks into the microphone. "You may leave." I turn and head towards the door, not wanting to look back at the blood-covered mat. My neck feels wet. I can't tell if it's blood or sweat, or a mixture of the two. I head to the medic's section of the centre, as is required after any combat.
There is a small room with a desk, a few chairs and about 6 doors – each leading to separate medic's rooms - in this section. I go up to the desk. "Spencer, Ava". I tell the petite woman sat at the computer. She presses a few buttons on the screen and tells me to take a seat. My neck is soaked by this point and I'm sure I feel a lump forming on my forehead. I hear a door open to my left and out steps Cato Parker. He has a black eye and a cut on his cheek that looks like a knife wound. He's walking with a limp and carrying a pot of what appears to be medicine.
"Rough day, huh?" I ask him. He looks at me, clearly not having noticed me prior to me speaking. "Something like that." He reaches up to touch his cheek, wincing at the contact. "You look pretty roughed-up yourself." He smirks at me. "Looks like you've got a medic to see." He tells me as Medic Sophia comes out of one of the rooms.
I get up and head into the room behind the medic. "See ya around, Avy." I hear from behind me. "I told you not to call me that." I say, as I turn around. He's already left the room, but I hear his faint laughter down the hall.