As I fall to the ground from the Cornucopia, I see my life flash before my eyes.
When I was younger, I didn't want to be a Career. My parents didn't give me, or my older sister Tammy, a choice. But Tammy was made for the Hunger Games. She started training when she was four. She knew what she wanted in life. She wanted the fame and glory, even if she had to risk her life for it. When I started training at age six, I didn't want any of it. I just wanted to pass through eligibility and not take any chances. But I still had to go through training. And as more time passed, the harder my heart got. By the time I was eligible to be picked, I was anticipating the reaping day and watching the guts and gore on our television. I waited for my parents to tell me what year I could volunteer, and they finally said, "Wait until you are eighteen. You will be at the height of your game and utterly unstoppable." The same rules applied for my sister.
When I was thirteen, I watched my older sister volunteer for the Hunger Games. I watched her be the leader of the Careers. I watched her make it to the final ten. I watched her betray the living Careers the living Careers by slitting their throats while they were sleeping. I watched her make the final kill. I watched her win. The last thing she said in the arena before getting on that helicopter was, "Your turn, Cato!" The huge smile she had on her face made me want to be a victor more than anything else.
But that dream is gone. Well, not entirely. If I can kill these mutts and climb back up the Cornucopia, I could kill off district twelve with my sword or my own bloody hands. But even if I got up their, the girl would just shoot me with an arrow. But I have enough will left in me to think positive. By now the mutts are trying to rip off my armor. Actually, it was Thresh's armor. I inherited it when I killed him. The pain is minor while I get out my sword. The mutts don't bother to go for my face, right now they are trying to chew up my legs and torso. Idiots.
As I sit up to make my first kill of these mutts, I notice a giant tear in the armor on my left leg. A mutt that looks like the boy from five notices it a moment after I do, and immediately tears into my flesh. The pain searing through my leg is agony, and soon the same pain can be felt in my right leg. I start screaming my head off, trying to stab the mutts with my sword, but soon I can't defend myself because my hands are gone. And the pain, oh the pain, is torture. How can people love watching people suffer like this? And then it hits me. A flashback of me, laughing my evil laugh when I had killed someone. I enjoyed watching them suffer. And now I am suffering. I wonder if they are laughing right now, saying the same thing my sister said before she left the arena. "Your turn, Cato." Only it's not my turn to win. It's my turn to die. And there is nothing I can do about it. The mutts start in on the left side of my face; the right side is rolled onto the ground in a last minute attempt to save a little bit of my face. I can't scream anymore, just quietly moan as the mutts do what they were made for. Kill.
Once again I have a flashback, remembering when my family came to see me after the reaping. Not a single tear made it into the room. My family wasn't made of wimps. My father told me what he had lectured me on at least once a week, as if I would forget.
"Get a spear and a sword. Those are your weapons. Hunt down the deadliest tributes first." Before he could continue, I sarcastically said, "You want me to hunt down myself? Well, I guess I will. Whatever you say, father." Tammy butted in.
"Don't get to cocky, Cato. Arrogance doesn't build you up, it brings you down. I would know. It almost got me killed."
I remembered that. Once she killed a person, and thinking she was alone, she started to celebrate. The lone Career that refused to team up with the others tackled her and almost stuck a knife into her heart. He was stupid enough to not pin down her arms, and two knives's and a sword were in his back a split second later. Tammy's son, my little nephew, only three years old, started talking.
"You listen to my mommy," he said. "And you come home. Come home, Uncle Cato!"
Carin was pretty stern for a three year old. I wonder if he is watching me right now. Probably, but I'm guessing he can't comprehend that 'Uncle Cato' isn't coming back. Tammy and her husband want to turn Carin into a fighter, just like me. Except they want him to win. They don't want him to be a bloody, scratched-up, almost dead Career with a mutt gouging out his left eye.
The mutts are now dragging me into the Cornucopia. The last hours of my life are terrifying. By the time I can see the sun with my lightly scratched right-eye, I am so numb that it is scary. It is a miracle that I haven't died from blood loss. Bad miracle. I can feel something coming out of my ears. Not blood. I look to my right side and I see a lumpy, gray substance coming out of my ear. Since my district specializes in doctors and medicines, I know that this is my brain.
I see some movement on the Cornucopia. Then I see that girl, peering over the edge with a loaded bow in her hand. She hesitates to shoot, though, and I'm guessing she can't see any of my body in all of the blood. I moan slightly, and she points the arrow straight at my head. The arrow comes down so fast, landing into the center of my forehead, going into my skull and ripping up what is left of my brain. The Games are over, and I was the final kill. My last thought is, "I am free", before the darkness took over me and stole my soul.