This was written for the SoulClan Writing Contest.

Prompt: "Only be afraid of fear itself."

Enjoy xx

Clove knew who the other Careers are in her District, but she never bothered to talk to any of them beyond their shared training. She didn't have any friends among them. After all, there was a possibility that they would be her District partner in the Hunger Games, and she would be forced to kill them.

And, well, one time, a boy had come up to her and tried to make a move on her. Later that day, he was found with his body carved up just like a work of art. He might have accidentally fallen onto Clove's selection of knives.

Clover specialized in making her victims into masterpieces with her knives. Her family whispered that it was disturbing. Her trainers congratulated her on it and called it beauty.

As she grew up, she told herself that she wasn't afraid of anything. Not a thing.

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It was a month before the next Reaping, and the muscled boy was intently staring at her from across the table. She recognized him from training; he was in the year above her. She silently counted down from three before asking, "And what the hell do you want from me?" Clove's hands rested on her knives, and if there was trouble, she would be able to pull them out in an instant.

His eyes were latched onto where her daggers were hidden. "Looking for your weaknesses," he answered, moving his gaze directly to her eyes. Clove raised her eyebrows and gave him a rude gesture.

"I don't have any weaknesses, so good luck with that," she said. "I'm not afraid of you or anything." She really wasn't afraid of this boy. He was all physical and barely any mental, and Clove believed she would be able to overpower him in a fight.

The boy let out a laugh, although it sounded more like a bark. "Everybody's afraid of something," he said.

"Well, not me." She was itching to whip out her knives and slash out the boy's staring eyes.

They were both silent for a few seconds. "If you're going to be afraid of anything, be afraid of fear itself. What's your name, anyway?" he asked, switching the subject.

"Clove. You?"

"Cato."

The two of them returned to their dinners, and Cato had finally stopped staring at her. They didn't speak another word after that.

Clove was glad that their exchange was over, and tried to put the encounter in the back of her mind, but somehow, the boy named Cato and his words about being afraid couldn't ever seem to leave her mind.

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.

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Cato was the other Career who gotten Reaped alongside her. Cato, the boy whose words and too-handsome face she wanted to forget forever. Cato, whose presence she would now have to endure until he was killed in the Games. It would lift a burden off of her shoulders when he would be killed, at least.

"We meet again, Clove," he said once the two of them were on the train. "Still not afraid of anything?"

Clove didn't want to talk. Clove wanted to go carve something up with her knives. Most likely Cato. So she gave him a sharp nod and turned to walk into another compartment.

Before closing the door on him, she turned and saw Cato standing there hunched over, his head resting in his hands. She left before she could think about it too much.

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.

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She knew that her head hurt like hell, but she wasn't certain of much else as she drifted in and out of consciousness. Thresh, the boy from District 10, had caught her off her guard and smashed her head against a tree.

"Clove! Clove!"

Cato was running towards her. Everything else was blurry, but there was no mistaking him.

"CLOVE!"

She realized that she was afraid of something. Like Cato had told her the first time they had talked, she was afraid of fear itself.

She was no longer afraid of loving Cato.

She closed her eyes and everything faded to black.