A Sister's Turmoil

Prepare

"No! No, it wasn't me!" She screeched. "No! No, I –" Her voice echoes in my head. "Cato! Cato!" She called but he didn't come.

I stop thinking about her. I don't want to think about her at her weakest. She wouldn't want to be remembered as the girl from District 2 that begged for her life. She would want to be remembered as a tribute from District 2. A Career till the end. And a strong competitor. But I will always remember her as my older sister and hero, Clove Crafter.

"Storm focus!" My mentor, Cortex yells as I; once again, lose myself to the images of my sister's death.

"Sorry… again." Again the 200 pound plus male launches himself at me. I hold the daggers in my hands tightly and crouch down. Focus Storm. Get ready. Wait. And…NOW!

I crouch lower, grab his legs and lift them in the air. He rolls off of my back and face-plants it in the ground. An instant rush of accomplishment flows through my body. I quickly force it out. Don't get cocky Storm. I think to myself. He's not dead yet. I think fast, as I was trained to. I jump on him as he turns around on his back. I pull out my favorite curved knife. A personal favorite of my sister's also. I begin to trace the outline of his lips. A rush of emotions flows through me. It is a strange high that I get when I am cutting someone. Torturing people with my knife was like my own personal brand of heroine. And I was addicted.

"Don't start this again. You need to fight you opponent. Not toy with them." Cortex said. I didn't listen to him. I never did. He didn't understand how amazing this felt. "Come on Storm, this same thing that got your sister killed."

Anger. Wrath. Rage. Fury. The need to kill. All kinds of emotions flow through my system. I couldn't believe he brought that up! It wasn't her fault she died! She didn't kill that stupid little girl!

I got off of Cortex. Trying so hard not to just shove my knife down his throat right now. As much as I didn't want to admit it, I needed Cortex. If I wanted to win the 79th annual Hunger Games, than I would have to listen to him. But if he wanted to live, than he would have to stop mentioning Clove.

I walked away from the training room and began to walk home. I wanted nothing to do with him right now!

"Storm!" He yells as he runs after me. "The reaping is tomorrow. You need all the training you can get!"

I didn't care. I was as ready as ever. I didn't need training. I didn't need any more skill building. The pure wrath that I had after my sister was killed is enough of a drive to keep me alive in the Hunger Games. I was going to win. And I was going to win for my sister.

Cortex stopped following me. He finally figured that it was no use. I was too angry to continue with our training. Besides, I needed sleep. The reaping was tomorrow, and I needed all the sleep that I could get. I was going to volunteer myself as the 79th annual female tribute from District 2.

I opened the door to my home. It was a quiet and empty home. It had been this way for five years, after Clove's death.

"Good riddance." I remembered Clove saying after we found out that our father died of self-inflicted alcohol poisoning. "He was weak anyway. Just like Carsh." Carsh was our older brother who died in the 70th Hunger Games. "Selfish bastard. He knows I need a mentor to prepare me for the Hunger Games. Alcohol poisoning. What a stupid way to kill yourself. He should have come to me. I would have given him a hell of a good fight, begging for his life as I force my blade into his skin." Shortly after my father's suicide, Clove and I found our mother face down in the bath tub full of blood and water, her wrists were slit. Clove wasn't too happy about that either. She really wanted to toy with my parents.

Ever since then we lived with our uncle, who was a sick and demented man. He was the main reason why Clove and I are obsessed with knives. Our father taught us how to use them. He said they were the best weapons in the Hunger Games. He would know; he was a victor year's back. But it wasn't until living with our uncle that we experienced the exciting high that you can get out of watching people scream for their life.

Our uncle never believed in non-living targets. Every time he went on one of his "business" trips to District 11 or 12, he would bring us back some poor, starving, and helpless kid to practice on. I didn't care for practicing on live targets, but Clove and my uncle couldn't be happier to hear their screams.

One year Clove was getting restless. She wanted to practice on a live target, and our uncle never had the time to go out and find one. So to shut Clove up, my uncle took her down to the basement. I was sure to follow. I was scared that he was going to hurt her. He did just that. He tied Clove up and began to carve the outline of her lips. Taunting her as he tried to force the knife in her eye.

I was scared. I didn't know what to do. I tackled my uncle and began to cut up his face. As my blade dug into his skin, and as he screamed, I could feel the extraordinary high that flew through my body. I loved this feeling. And I was savoring on it. Clove eventually made me get off of him, so she could finish him off. I let her. She deserved to have some fun too.

After his death, Clove and I moved into a moderately large house together. Everything was great. No parents to tell us what to do. And no uncle to abuse us. We were living in luxury. Until everything changed…

"I don't want you to go!" I pleaded with my sister on the eve of the 74th annual Hunger Games reaping.

"Calm down Storm. When I come back as victor we will be living in a true lavished world. We will live in victor's village, with so many live targets, that we won't know what to do with ourselves."

"But what if you die Clove? What then?"

"I won't die Storm. I know what I am doing. I'm not Carsh."

"Just don't get cocky Clove. The second you do, you're dead."

"I know twerp. You don't have to worry about me."

Those were the last words I said to my sister. The next day, she volunteered herself in the Hunger Games, than, next thing I know…

"No! No, it wasn't me!"

She was dead.

I went into Clove's bedroom. Something that I hadn't done since the day after she was killed. After watching that horrific sight on the television, I curled up in a little ball on her bed, and cried myself to sleep. I didn't leave the room for three entire days.

I curled up in a little ball and tried to fall asleep. Tomorrow was the reaping. Tomorrow was the day my entire life will change. Tomorrow is the day I will avenge my sister's death.