Morning comes earlier than usual and I'm blinded by the sunlight breaking its way through my curtains. A cough erupts from my lips and I curse myself, I still have to train today, sick or not, it only makes it harder. I grab a quick shower before changing into a tank top and tight pants that come below my knees, paired with a sleek pair of training shoes, pulling my hair into a tight ponytail, swinging against my shoulder blades. I stop a moment to attach a band to my upper arm, sliding a small dagger in from the vast collection that hangs on the inside wall of my closet. Another one is attached to my ankle, deadlier than the first, and finally comes a small woven bracelet, a gift from my brother when we were younger. I've hardly worn it before, but now it seems necessary. As I'm running out of the door I grab a bottle full of thick liquid and chug it, desperate for the terrible taste to leave my mouth. We don't get regular food when we train; it's all protein smoothies and pills, lots of pills. I can smell the bacon sizzling on my stove and I fight the urge to steal some, knowing I'll just throw it up later.
The roads are dry and cracking and the heat is insufferable, lately the weather has been changing, going from the coldest, wet temperatures, to tropical rain to blistering heat. Nothing is constant now, but I don't bother to question it, why should I. I'm beating it down the track to the training center, the vast building growing closer and closer. I'm not breaking a sweat; I could run for days and never tire, a skill many admire. Running isn't necessary for training though, why should you learn to run when you can take your enemies on head first. I skid to a halt in front of the door, a heavy door inlaid with the D2 crest in gold and I turn the handle, pushing inwards.
Immediately my ears are filled with war cries and the loud thwacks of practice sword on practice sword and bare skin. I hear a small difference in the air next to my ear and drop to the ground, just in time for a spear to go whizzing over my head. When I hit the ground I notice it isn't a practice spear, it's the real thing. I hear footsteps approach, soft and careful while favoring their left. I swing out my leg and make contact with their right leg, I know this because it buckles and they come crashing down, swearing. I stand and brush off my pants, my breath hasn't faltered and I'm pissed.
There's a young girl with cropped yellow hair lying on the floor and she's clutching her ankle, rolling around like an idiot. I'm prepared to bring a balled up fist down on the cheek facing me but a hand grips my wrist and pulls me back. I'm growling and twisting my hand but it won't come loose. It's my trainer, the one hired especially straight from the Capitol for me by my father. She's my hero in truth, she's the strongest female I've ever known, but she's short and slender, and definitely easy on the eyes. She turns me to face her and removes her hand, brushing the rest of the dirt from my shoulders, fixing my hair. She's more of a mother to me than my own and I know I'll miss her the most when I volunteer in a few years.
"She's new, young too. She made a mistake, easy enough to forgive." Her voice is calm and collected; she's a strong supporter of a Zen mind.
"She almost speared me in the head, with a real spear!" I snap, I'm tired and sick and almost dying isn't helping.
"You probably snapped her ankle, that's payment enough, now let's train." She gestures to the door on the far side of the gym and starts to walk.
"Good." My mood is lifted slightly and I follow her, averting my eyes from everyone else.
"We've got the range to ourselves, most everyone else is taking a breaking, letting the last years get in some alone time before the reaping." I smile, knowing I can practice my knife throwing without any interruptions, which doesn't happen often enough.
Kali, my trainer, unlocks the door with the key dangling from the gold chain around her neck and the lights flicker on. Some targets start their rounds, moving in fast paced circles, others are stationary, and riddled with holes. I have a locker up along the wall and I walk up to it, punch in my code and a tray slides out, knives of all different styles and lengths are laid across and I get giddy just thinking about them. The handles are inlaid with gold and each one carries my initials, C.V, Clove Valhalla. I pull out the holster and sling it around my waist, tightening it and fitting it with my knives. First, we meditate, Kali advises me to keep a clear mind while cutting down my targets, and at first I didn't agree, but now I appreciate the silence.
Soon I'm up and running and knives are flying through the air in great blurs and I'm grinning and sometimes I laugh. Sweat is dripping from my brow when I finally sit down, leaning my head against the wall, my heart pounding in my chest. Kali brings me a towel and I wipe the sweat off my face, catching a look at the clock. I've been here several hours and the heat from outside is seeping its way into the building, making my skin crawl.
As I'm leaning up against the wall with the towel over my face, I hear the door slam open and Kali swears, which is an unusual occurrence. I look up to see Cato and his trainer standing off to the sidelines near the boys lockers. His trainer is a tall, buff man with long jet black hair parted in the middle, again, one of the best trainers. He didn't have to get his dad to get one from the Capitol, oh no, when they were scouting prospective winners of the Games, Cato stuck out and he was given a trainer. On the other hand, I used my dad's power as the mayor to get me a Capitol trainer. What a joke.
There it is, he catches sight of me and a grin breaks out over his face and he approaches me, his trainer yelling at him to come back. I stand and walk to meet him halfway, a smile forcing its way to my lips. He's gripping his sword tight and I wonder what he's thinking, what might be running through that thick head of his. I shuffle my feet and the towel slips from around my shoulders to the ground.
"You're here early." He starts first, thankfully. Lately I've been finder it harder and harder to just talk to him, to just be normal.
"No rest for the wicked." I laugh and my voice shakes.
"I would have been here earlier, but mom needed some help with Leah." He says it so easily, without thought. Like he doesn't realize how great he is under this hardened shell. His little sister is sick, mentally ill, and she is sometimes too much to handle, Cato's mom often needs his help just to preoccupy her.
"Understandable, trying to fit in as much training as you can before the reaping?"
"Of course." He gestures to his trainer, who is yelling at him and fast approaching.
I laugh a small bit and then we part, turning our backs to each other and walking away. I can't be sure but I think I can hear him mumble something. Something about words left unsaid, and I can't help but agree. There aren't enough minutes in a day for the things I want, no need, to say to him before he leaves.