CRACK (Cato)
Cato used to feel.
His heart used to be whole, unbroken, human.
He doesn't anymore.
His father's beatings, his mother's yelling, his sister's gradual withdrawal and suicide.
Everything rests on Cato now.
If he feels, he will break.
He knows it.
But when he looks into the girl's eyes, those liquid emerald eyes with sapphire and silver flecks, he feels something stir inside of him.
Cato slowly opens the large metal door, the silver doorknob turning easily. The golden light of the training center lobby spills out into the foreboding, impervious gloom beyond. The soft patter of raindrops threatens to lull him into sleep, aching and tired as he is from intensive practice.
"You leavin'?" the receptionist calls out from behind a polished wood desk. "Be careful out there. Sounds like it's raining missiles." Cato nods and waves with a grin. He's strong and determined, but friendly too.
He steps out, closing the huge door gently and pulling an umbrella out of his training bag. The glow from the training center is gone, and all around there only exists a mass of almost-tangible gray nothingness. It doesn't matter to Cato. He'd know the way from the training center back home blindfolded.
He starts to make his way through the square, careful to avoid plunging into any of the ever-growing puddles dotting the square. On impulse, he looks up from the ground, to his left.
A small silhouette catches his eye. He can barely make it out in the gloom, but it seems to be a young girl. She stumbles across the monochrome landscape, before collapsing against a tree, its craggy branches looming.
Cato feels overwhelming pity for the little girl. He checks inside his training bag, finding a brown paper bag filled with snacks he didn't eat. Two oranges, string cheese, and a plastic container of blueberries.
He begins to make his way towards the tree. He was right; it's a young girl that seems to be about his age. Long straight black hair drenched with rain. Torn, worn, dirty cloth shoes. A rag of a jacket surrounding her thin frame. Even in the darkness he can see tears streaking down her face. He pulls out a cloth and dabs at her eyes.
She jolts and looks up at him. Her eyes are a brilliant green, refractive like emeralds, dotted with sapphire and silver, round and liquid with overwhelming pain, suffering, sadness. He smiles warmly, and drops the bag of food into her lap. Looking over her again, Cato decides to give her his jacket too, and turns around, walking back to his home.
When he arrives at the Wren mansion, he shivers, something chilling him to his very core. He touches the doorknob, cold as ice. As the door swings open, Cato peers in. The place is as dark, darker even, than the smothering, murky fog he just walked through.
Cato trudges up to his room, ready to take a warm, refreshing shower and treat his aching muscles. As he walks up the staircase, he sees his sister's door open, light spilling out.
And screaming. He hears his mother's yells, his sister's screams, the thwack! of his father's stick.
Cato stands frozen in the middle of the stairs as the noises progress. He can barely make out some words. Failure. Disown. Leave. Die.
The screaming stops. Cato begins to move again.
And then, the crack of a gunshot.
Cato stands frozen again, thoughts racing through his mind.
His mother and his father begin yelling and screaming again, this time at each other. Cato takes the opportunity to begin sprinting back up the stairs, almost tripping multiple times, until he manages to rush into his room, and slam to door, collapsing against it.
There's only one explanation for what happened.
But Cato can't bring himself to think it.
That's impossible.
It couldn't have happened.
No.
That wasn't it.
She couldn't have done that.
There is a sharp rap at the door. Cato stands up and opens the door, his face stoic, any trace of emotion gone.
His father, Zeus, towers over him, his dark features twisted into an unreadable expression. Part sadness, part anger, part satisfaction, and wholly evil. His mother, Razi, stands at his side, absolutely expressionless, every part of her prim and proper, no sign of argument, every little gray hair tucked into a perfect bun.
Cato knows what his father is going to say. He stiffens imperceptibly.
"Moira is dead," Zeus spits out.
Cato keeps his face calm and controlled, robotically walking out of his room and into the room next to his.
All he sees is red. Red streaming from the bullet hole in her head, red pooling around her body, staining the carpet, red covering the gun she clasps in one hand.
Cato silently curses himself. He knew this was going to happen. Zeus and Razi had put so much into Moira, training her for the Games, for eternal glory and fame. But she couldn't do it. She couldn't throw a knife, or swing a sword, or shoot an arrow. And she was much too kind, to compassionate to kill anyone.
Except herself.
Zeus' voice, as sharp as a sword, cuts into Cato's concentration.
"It's all up to you now, boy."
That's when something snaps in Cato. He can feel it.
Something shatters in his brain, his heart, his soul.
A single lightning bolt flashes brilliantly outside the window.
A/N: Wow, that took forever. It's just background on Cato. How was it? Review please! :)