I sit on my bed and stare at the wall. In just a few hours I will be on the train, and my parents will be proud. But honestly, am I ready?
My instructor tells me I excel in training and that I am prepared and will come home successful.
But when it comes down to it, do I truly have what it takes to become a Victor? The arrogant side of me puts that thought aside. Of course I am ready; I hit the heart every time. I am also a career, and I've been training for this opportunity my entire life. It had been difficult to climb to the top of my class, but finally I had been chosen to be the female volunteer for my district.
It is quite a feat, considering I am only fifteen years of age, but that is what the vulnerable side of me is afraid of. The male volunteer chosen takes the name Cato, and he is extremely powerful. He is the typical district two career. Huge, strong, powerful, fierce, and most importantly, bloodthirsty.
My secret hope is that someone takes him down before it comes between the careers. If not I fear that it will come down to the two of us. No doubt he would kill me in a heartbeat, but possibly with distance between us I could come out instead.
The only catch to being chosen to volunteer as the female tribute is to be ruthless. When I kill, I must put on a show, otherwise if I return I will simply be shunned. I have to show the other districts that two is becoming stronger.
If I succeed, when I return home I will be known as Clove, the cold blooded, unforgiving victor of the seventy fourth Hunger Games. I need that title, more than I need air itself.
I have been raised to believe that if you are not a Victor, you are worthless. Some may call this cruel, but I know no different. Since the age of twelve, I have been tested to see my full potential, and how far I can be pushed. I have witnessed dozens of public executions, so as disturbing as it is, death doesn't bother me.
I suddenly hear an announcement over the loudspeaker. The reaping will begin in half an hour. I leap off my bed, and for good measure, throw one of my best knives at the cement wall. It bends at an unusual angle, but I could not care less. I can't bring it with me to the capitol, and if I return I will be rich beyond belief anyway. Smoothing down my velvet dress, I walk out of my small bedroom, pushing any nerves to the back of my mind.
