There is no other way. I have to win the games.
Cato moves quickly, slicing each and every object his trainer throws to him. He
had been training ever since he remembers, throwing knives, spears, and
learning how to swing a sword. Swords have always been his preferred weapon,
because the movements were so precise, so fluid and always easily manipulated
unlike spears and bows.
After a half an hour he stops throwing them and the hair on the back of my neck
starts to rise. We never stop training. Not even if I'm breathing so hard that
I can't move, he will switch to something that we can do while I catch my
breath. As soon as I do, it's back to work. I look at him, only to see a
strained expression on his face. I take a deep breath, trying to prepare myself
for what I know comes next. That was always the warning as the door swings
open. A pitied expression and silence.
I love my trainer, though I don't know his name. It wasn't allowed to share
personal information between trainer and tribute. We've been together for nine
years. I'm guessing he's in his thirties, because he still looks young with his
sandy blonde hair and built body. People who don't know me often think he's my
father. I'm just fine with that.
"Cato!" A rough, drunken voice fills my ears making me cringe. People
would think he's clumsier when he's drunk and it would take the edge off his
cruelty but it never does. In fact, it worsens it. I know I shouldn't talk back
to him when he's drunk, just quietly stand there and wait for it all to be
over. But something in his staggering posture and the alcoholic smell that
seems to clog the air whenever he's near frustrates me.
"Yes father?" I spit out the last word like the word itself is
poison. This seems to catch his attention from the rows of weapons his eyes are
poring over hungrily and I involuntarily shudder at the thought he would use
them for.
"Well, son," he replies with as much venom that was in my voice, but
with him seems more dangerous, as if I was challenging him. Selecting a knife
he slowly makes his way to me, and I count each footstep as they echo in the
nearly empty room, except for the weapons lining the wall and the metal
elevator doors from which he came from that lead to the lobby and the various
target and training rooms for any combat purpose I could ask for. "I
wanted to see how you were, out of the kindness of my heart." He sneers, the
comment seeming to be amusing to him as well.
"Well, thanks but I'm fine. Now can we get back to practice?" I
stretch trying to look bored, which only seems to add to his annoyance.
"You seem to be bored, lacking in training" he plays with the knife
in his hand, while my trainer opens his mouth as if he was going to defend me,
or himself. Either way, he shuts his mouth and thinks better of it. "Maybe
I should help with that." He finishes, by hurling the knife straight
between my eyes and I quickly dive to my left. Only I miscalculated the speed
and it cuts into half of my ear leaving me writhing in pain holding my ear.
"Too slow. At least now I know for sure I don't have to worry about
another mouth to feed when you're gone, because I darn bet you won't be coming
back." He chuckles to himself, taking a swig of liquid from the small
canister in his pocket and makes his way out of the room.
"Bastard." My trainer mutters under his breath as the elevator doors
close. He kneels next to me, prying my hand from my ear and looking at the
wound, then presses his watch that instantly signals for a nurse from an
in-practice accident. "C'mon let's get you stitched up" he helps me
to my feet and as soon as I'm up, we're met with a storm of nurses coming from
the same place he came and left.
