I have never remembered a time without Cato. We were born two years apart, but I had been living with Cato ever since my father killed my mother in a fit of rage. I still remembered the Peacekeepers dragging away my drunk dad. I didn't feel anything, just that I needed to go to Cato. From that day on, Cato's family took care of me. Cato was like a brother to me.
Cato kept bugging me.
I kept threatening to rip his throat out with her teeth.
That was about as close to friendship you could get with me.
We were both chosen to train in the Tribute Facilities. It was called `TF`, but so many people asked `What is TF?`, that now it's just called `WTF`. I liked to think if you turned it around, the letters are the acronym `for the win`. I was 14, he, 16, and I was going for the win.
Cato had already confirmed that he would go, and the confirmation had stirred up something in me. I already knew I had a family relationship with him, but I felt something more, just between the two of us. It pained me to think of Cato dying. I figured that I couldn't, and wouldn't live without him. So I volunteered. That night, the Claybourn family set out their only son, and their adopted daughter to the highest honor any citizen of District 2 could receive, the Hunger Games.
I thought of the day when I first entered the WTF. Heavy weapons hung from ever wall. Big, strapping boys lunged out at each other, trying to pin the other down. I lifted every weapon, but all of them were heavy for a 4`5 girl. Except for one. It drew her eye. The small weapon fit snugly in her hands. It was lightweight, good for throwing and close combat. That day, I fell in love with the knife. Every day, I threw her knives, stabbed with them, slashed with them. And I never missed. Every target was met with deadly accuracy, lighting fast reactions, fatal strength. Sure I was a little small for her age, but I could fight Cato bare handed, and make it last twenty minutes, long after any other fights he had. I knew that knives were going to help me survive the Games.
