Born to die.
Chapter One: No daughter of mine. Point's of View:
Pairings:
Keeta – Katniss/Peeta
Clato – Clove/Cato
Glato – Glimmer/Cato (BRIEFLY. THE MAIN FIC IS CLATO.)
Characters (Books):
All the tributes in the 74th Hunger Games.
Seneca Crane.
President Snow.
Effie Trinket.
Haymitch Abernathy
Caesar Flickerman.
Claudius Templesmith.
(Mentors) Brutus, Enobaria
Characters (O/C's):
Irene Everett (Clove's sister – 10 years old.)
Ira Everett (Clove's sister – 11 years old.)
Iris Everett (Clove's sister – 7 years old.)
Clove's mother, Lucy Everett/Kaelin (age unspecified.)
Clove's father, Jack Everett (deceased, age unspecified)
Cassidy (Clove's best friend – 16 years old.)
Lily Dawson (Cassidy's former best friend – 14 years old at the time mentioned.)
Kelly – District Four Female.
Jace – District Three Male.
Jake – District Four Male.
Gem Watson – District Two citizen.
Opal Loha – Former reaper (basically, former Effie Trinket.)
Clove's stylists:
Menna (Green hair), Jules (Candyfloss), Alec (Red-and-Black Mohican) (Make-up, hair.)
Rubis (Clothes.)
District Two's escort: Lusa Jamison
Plot:
No one knows much about Clove, the female district from District Two. She can throw knives, has a wicked streak and is a career. But what if there's more to her than that? This is Clove's side of the story, who she was when she left her home of district two to compete in the 74th Hunger Games when she was just 15. MAJOR CLATO. IF REQUESTED, I WILL DO AN AU WHERE SHE SURVIVES.
Disclaimer:
I don't own the Hunger Games. All rights to Suzanne Collins.The sharp knock against my door grabbed my attention – though my response was cowering under the covers. I couldn't be hurt there. I wasn't the disappointment under my warm, thin and scratchy blanket.
"Clove, mama says you can either come down now or meet us at the Justice Building." I breathed a sigh of relief – this wasn't my mother; it was one of my younger sisters, Iris. Today was reaping day – also known as the day my mother hated me the most – I could do without her snide comments and painful glares this morning.
"I'll see you there, Iris." I muttered, running a bony hand through my thick black hair.
"Okay. Mama said you can only have what's labelled in the fridge for breakfast, if you eat anything else you're in trouble." I shrugged – like I care. I'm in trouble for breathing in this house.
"Alright, see you Ir." I called, but I could feel her presence still hovering. "Iris?" She pushed the door slightly open, to reveal her stood before me - black hair in a fishtail plait, grey dress made of silk and cloth flowing around her – and sharp green eyes staring at me intently. Seven years old, yet she looked willing to stab someone in the back; not that she purposely looked this way – it's just the effect District Two has on you.
"G-Good luck, Clove. I hope you get reaped this year," I smiled at her – grateful for what she felt was a compliment. My mother wanted me to go into the games when I was twelve, but I've always been too scared to volunteer. Each year, Iris has wished for me to get reaped – so I can try to fulfil my mother's hopes for me. Though, even if I did get reaped someone else would volunteer - so her wish, in conclusion, was useless.
"Thanks Ir." I winked at her as she scampered off – the thick wooden door slamming behind her.
I think I'm the only person in District Two who hates the reaping. I have the skills – I can through a knife and kill three people within a second – my agility and speed shock many a person, and my punches aren't ones to be messed with – but I fear to use them. I hate having the ability to knock someone unconscious with a pen – knowing that it is a legal requirement I use this ability.
This, in my mother's eyes, makes me weak. She won the Hunger Games when she was Twelve after her father made her volunteer – and, being her oldest, she'd expected the very same from me. But I don't want to be a murderer – I'm no pacifist, but that doesn't mean I want to volunteer to kill other children for entertainment.
Feeling grateful for the hour alone I had before the reaping siren wailed across the District, I showered and changed into a black cotton dress – my yearly reaping outfit.
Shining specs of dust merged with light beckoned me to peer out of the window onto District Two's streets. Peacekeepers swarmed around like flies – but 'somehow' they managed to turn a blind eye to final Hunger Games practice – which everyone; including myself, has done. Although it is technically illegal.
The pavements were clean and houses built sturdy with brick. Houses packed with essentials – working fireplaces, showers, electricity, televisions, beds that weren't ridden with woodlice and kitchens – but I didn't see the glamour.
Along with one and four, we're one of the rich districts - but I've seen photos of the Capitol that make us seem like a dump; districts such as twelve and nine must be disgraceful.
A small chime emerged from my clock – telling me I had fifteen minutes till the reaping. I slipped some shoes on and tied my hair back into a bun before making my way to the fridge.
Food was marked with bright labels;
Clove.
Clove.
Clove.
Only one – Clove.
You dare touch this, Clove, and you're buying the next one –Irene. (Another sister of mine.)
The list went on till eventually I pulled out a carton of milk, marked; only one glass, Clove and drank straight from the carton. Knowing my luck, I'd be in trouble from having a "too-big" glass or something anyway.
I removed three legs of cold turkey that were brought from the butchers, entitled you can have two, Clove and pulled the meat from all three of the bones hungrily; smiling ruefully. Finally I grabbed an orange that was actually marked as my own and ate it wildly on the way to the Justice Building – the reaping siren booming across District Two as I stepped out of the house.
-LineBreaker-
"Wrist." I slammed my wrist lazily against the desk as a capitol woman removed blood from it. Everett, Clove flashed onto a scanner as she examined my blood – dropping a piece from the syringe onto paper before I could move on.
All I could think of was: Another reaping, another year my mother is brutally disappointed by me when my shoulder was tapped vigorously. I turned to see a woman with black hair and green eyes, glaring at me.
"Mother," I addressed – I didn't even care that it was illegal for her to be standing here. If I was lucky; she'd be arrested for it.
"Clove, I didn't get a chance to tell you this before we left. So I'm telling you now. If your name isn't reaped this year, you're moving out." I nearly screamed.
"What!?"
"Ira is twelve next year; she can bring the Everett family pride. You clearly have to desire to," I gasped, my heart racing.
"Look, mum, I know you hate me – I know I'm a disappointment, but...But we're family!"
"No, Clove – we're not. This district is about pride – not fear. If you're fearful about the Hunger Games, then I wish I had known when you were born. I could have requested for you to be shipped off to a District Twelve orphanage," that hit home.
"District Twelve. You, you can't think that low of me mother – to class me as...As one of them." I shuddered.
"You have been trained to the highest physical peak, Clove. I cared for you, helped you improve your skills so that you could master the Hunger Games at age twelve. If you wish to abuse this training, then I want you out of this house by the end of the week. The only reason you've been here so long is because I was hoping you would change your mind – see sense, but now that Ira is almost twelve – I have a new hope. So, yes – you are one of them."
"B-but..."
"Listen to me, Clove! You are of the standards of District Twelve. You are no daughter of mine!"
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