The Defeated

My hand found the smooth hilt of the blade. In the frigid air, leather felt exceedingly hot on my bare

hands. I unsheathed the beautiful weapon on my waist, as I concentrated on embedding the intricately

designed piece of metal into the cloth bulls-eye, 50 meters out, that I had placed earlier. With one quick

notion, I inhaled, coiled my left arm, and released, watching the blur of silver and black spin through the

snowy, forested landscape. The knife landed with a dull shing!, dead center in the target. A smile creeps

onto my face, starting to pale from the cold. How can I not win, I assure myself, when I get results like

this? No one can possibly kill me. Not now, and certainly not in The Games. I walk to retrieve my weapon

as I continue to get lost in my thoughts. No one can train as mercilessly as me, I continue to remind

myself. I sighed. No use in boasting just yet, The Games aren't for another 4 months. As I mull over my

training strategies for what seems like the millionth time, I decide to examine the knife embedded in the

target. It had been a gift from my mother, she was a blacksmith, illegal, by our country's rules. Citizens

of District 7 aren't allowed to create weapons, we have to use those provided by the government.

Anyone found in possession of a unique weapon would be shot wherever they stood, as was the case

with my mother. I have to stifle a sob, because I can almost hear her voice: Vyra, my daughter, tears

mean weakness, and you must never, EVER, show weakness in your enemy's eyes. I clutch the hilt of the

knife, trying to repress the memory. I try to distract myself with further examination of the machete.

The blade of my weapon isn't smooth at all… Instead, there are thousands of tiny, intricate, etchings,

completely covering both sides of the metal, from hilt to tip. Impossible to see any one design, only a

maze of chaos that somehow still looks sophisticated in the grand scheme. I snap out of it, and clear my

thoughts. Exactly how long was I standing here? An hour? Two? I start to shuffle my way back inside,

knowing that I'll get frostbite for staying out much longer. It's a good thing I do, too. As I near the wooden

cabin that I call "home", I can see my Aunt Catherine pacing, nervous. "Hey", I said to her, to disrupt the

awkward silence. "Thank god!" She answers."I know how important your training is, but you been out

there for HOURS. Anyways, you have a visitor" She gestures to the door, where there's a girl waiting,

one who I'm more than familiar with. My face breaks into a genuine smile, something that is extremely

rare from me, as I greet her. "Hey, Johanna".