Most people with little sisters wish they'd just fall off the face of the earth sometimes. Okay, I won't deny I felt that way once or twice (or maybe more times), but not many people who thought such a thing would know what it would feel like if your little sis really did fall off the face of the earth. Not going to lie, I do know what that feels like. It's horrible, but you have to first understand the events leading up to it…
I'm not really a lot older than Clove. I was two when she was born. Clove Elizabeth was born in River Hospital of District Two, which was three whole training enters away from ours. The drive was long, I was young, and in case you can't tell, long drives and little girls don't mix well. I didn't even want a little sister. Of course, nobody in their right mind would, to tell you the truth, but that's a different story entirely.
It seems her early years just flew by fast. By the time she was about one and a half, she was walking and generally becoming a little nuisance. Getting into my stuff, trying to knock me over, stealing my food, yeah, she wasn't anything short of annoying. Not extremely long after that whole type of annoying started, a new type of annoying was learned: talking. She'd cry for hours in her crib, screaming and babbling and fussing and annoying the absolute hell out of the rest of us. Before she even turned three we were all just done with her, especially me,
Bad things do end, however. Her training days started at five. When we took her to the training center, she had a variety of weapons laid in front of her on a table. She had a spear, throwing knife, sword, bow and arrow, and a dagger to pick as her weapon of choice "Pick one Clove," Dad said, and she instantly picked the throwing knife. "Mine." Clove said, and Dad smiled.
When she was seven, she asked me to race in front of all my friends. "Clemmy, race! Let's race! Clemmy!" she urged, pulling at the cuff of my jacket. My friends taunted me with my rather embarrassing nickname 'Clemmy.' "Race her, Clemmy!" they cheered. I scowled and gave into my pesky sister. I ended up winning the race.
Ever since that race, she insisted I participate in every one of her stupid contests. She competed with me in training-type contests like spear throws and timed dummy slices, but also irrelevant things like pulling weeds and tying shoes. I won practically every event. Clove was extremely competitive, male no mistake, which unfortunately meant that after every contest I happened to win, a whole bunch of shouts, hisses, and knives to the legs would happen.
Nearing ten, she started acquiring her own friends to annoy. None of them were found outside of training (since training was her favorite part of the day). Her friends were exactly like her, ruthless, unhinged, annoying (slightly), and proud. She made extremely good friends with this one boy and another girl, which thankfully both kept her busy enough to not annoy me for a while.
The friends kept her busy for only half of the time, though. It really sucked since that other half was now spent envying me and my friends and my life. She'd fight with me about my friends. She'd argue about my clothes. She'd whine about how she's not as cool as me. She'd beg to tag along to every movie at the theatre and every little event. I'd give the same old answer each time: 'No! Go find something else to do, twerp!"
One time when she was twelve, she got so fed up with me she locked me in the hall closet. I was stuck in there for hours until Mom came home from work. When she came up to take off her uniform, she saw a lock on the door which raised questions. "Clove Elizabeth! Why is there a lock on this door?" I took it as my time to make as much noise as possible to be heard. "Mom! Mom! Let me out! I'm in here!" I yelled over and over again. She forced Clove to unlock the door, let me out, and go to her room.
When she was fourteen, two years later, the exact opposite happened. I saw nothing of her. She'd yell, "I'm going here!" or "I'm going there!" and be gone the rest of the day. It was like she disappeared. I feel weird to admit this, but I actually missed her company, as annoying it may have seemed. I regretted the mean things I said that year when she wanted nothing to do with me.
Fifteen had finally come for her. She was looking forward to the freedom as long as I can remember. She was still kind of exploring though, unsure of where she would step. One thing she was sure of was the increase in training time. You see, her old time was 10:00 to 5:00, but now that she was fifteen she had to go from 7:00 in the morning to 7:00 at night. It was rough on her, that's also for sure. She was very good looking at that time, which probably helped contribute to the amount of scars she got from her peers. Every day she'd come home with new scars from where she got roughed up by a boy, or where a girl had become envious with her and surely called her a "little bitch."
When the reaping came that year, we became shell-shocked. Nobody volunteered for her. It was someone's year; I was sure, but that someone probably became a wuss and decided no. She was reaped out of turn. Nobody to save her. She was still my little girl to me! I remembered when she ran around the house with pots on her head, now she could be running away from a spear to the head.
I got to visit her in 'tribute jail' that night. Locked up with nothing in her cell, I just looked at her. She looked back at me with those sad amber eyes I knew so well. It couldn't be sadder. "Clove, I just want you to win, even if it means killing every tribute." I said. "Clementine, I just want you to cheer me on every night at home. Be my number one fan." She said and tried to reach through the bars. "You meant Clemmy." I said. She smiled. "Yeah. I'm sorry for locking you in the hall closet when I was twelve." "You're fine. I still love you. You're my lovely Clove." I said. We smiled harmoniously. I didn't get to visit her ever again.
I watched the Games every night. Every night, I cheered, booed, hissed, and kept my promise to be her number one fan. All of a sudden, I realized how she meant the world to me. I only wanted her to get out, to see me, to annoy me again.
I saw her die. Right in front of me, on a screen, I saw my little sister die. She screamed for the boy, he came, and did everything he could. I cried watching her in so much pain. She cried and cried, and I swear she whispered, "Clemmy, I want you here." I wished I was there. I wanted to see her before she left. It couldn't happen though, and I was left watching my sister go. Gone forever. I then really related to the old saying that you don't miss something until it's gone. And I did.