A~N

Edited this chapter :)

A song I was listening to while writing this chapter was Missing by Flyleaf. Look it up!

I'm actually planning on doing sort of a series type of thing with this story and a few others I have started typing up. The full explanation is on my profile!

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I can't remember how many times I wake up screaming.

I scream for a few minutes then I pass out. Eventually, it stops which I find odd but I'm thankful for it.

When I finally wake up feeling mostly normal, I find a tray of food over my lap holding a small portion of oatmeal and applesauce. I eat slowly and look around where I am.

After the hover craft came and got me from the Arena, they took me to the hospital under the Training Center. They hooked me up to some IV's and that's the last thing I remember.

I look at my arms. The IV trails into one and wires into another. The lights aren't too bright or dim and everything is white. Well except for me.

My skin is perfect. My nails are neatly trimmed and my hair is soft and a lot longer than I remember it being.

But I can count my ribs and my legs and arms are like sticks. My fingers look so bony it's slightly creepy. Surprisingly, I feel good- ready to get out of here. After I finish eating I pass out again.

The next time I wake up I feel sore and tired. There is a tray of food on my lap as before. I reach for the spoon but I notice something is very wrong.

My hips are filled out and my chest is a lot larger. My arms are not sticks and my legs are really… filled in.

I never really was shaped like that before and I was ok with it. But now the Capitol has decided otherwise. I frown. Why did they do this? This could only be for their gain. What do they want from me?

I eat and pass out again. By now I know it's the IV that's doing it to me.

Now when I wake up, I feel good. Like before the surgery. I see the IV and wires are gone. There is an opening in the wall; I figure it's time for me to leave here.

I would rather stay.

I put on the clothes that were on the foot of my bed- which revolt me a little at first- because they are the same kind that I wore into the Arena.

The Arena.

The gong sounds, long and loud. I have already spotted the belt with the knives and start sprinting up the hill towards it. I know the two tributes on either side of me have run into the grass already. I look for other potential threats, but no one is as far as I am to the Cornucopia. Quickly grabbing the belt and snapping it on, I start flinging knives. I know enough not to hit any of my fellow Careers unless I want a brutal death.

I think one of the reasons I like knives is they're quick. I don't think I am an insane murderer, I don't enjoy killing in the slightest; this is just how life is. My parents put me in the training program back in Two, which costs a lot of money unless you can prove you really stand a chance in the program.

I didn't really have a chance at first or a choice at all.

I tried telling my parents that I didn't want to do it. I tried calming explaining my reasons. I tried yelling and screaming at them that they were terrible people and didn't deserve to have a child. They just told me I would understand one day.

I don't and I am not planning on ever 'understanding'.

At the Training Center I refused to acknowledge anybody. Then on the second day the instructors (who are all past victors) strapped me to an upright board and told the class that I would be the target for the day.

I stayed there with assorted weapons flying pass me. I knew and they knew that none them had the guts to hit me.

Did I mention we were 10 years old?

That was a lesson for everybody that day. For the rest of them it was no mercy. I was the example of fearlessness of pain and death that they all should have. I wasn't fearless; I just knew that they weren't going to kill me.

They told all of us that if we didn't feel like being here, they would make sure we were picked the year we were eligible, gain no sponsors and die a brutal death via the other Careers.

That scared me so much I became the hardest working in the group. I had seen a lot of the gruesome deaths and I was scared of pain.

They taught all of us all of the weapons and the fighting styles, but we had to pick which two we wanted to refine into our own. That was when we were 13.

That was when really bad things started to happen.

I absolutely hated my parents and their cold, plastic faces. Which coupled with the fact that I was now training hardcore with knives was bound to turn out badly. I was training with knife fighting rather than throwing, which I would do later.

The dummies in the Centre bled like humans would when you cut them in various places. My fighting got more and more aggressive. I loved seeing the blood pour out of the dummies, it became an addiction. The other kids were so afraid of me they wouldn't fight me and would avoid me whenever possible.

A new crop of kids were coming in and the instructors decided to scare the crap out of them by having us older kids fight them. Not with weapons, just hand to hand. At the time, I wondered what the point of that was.

Everyone got left alone with their partner in the training area, to intimidate the little kids more, to make them think we were actually going to kill them I figured.

I was paired with a little scrap of a boy who shook like a leaf in the wind even before I was chosen as his partner.

He looked like I could be his big sister. We both had brown hair and brown eyes, same kind of face shape I guess.

When it was our turn we went onto the portion of the area that was covered in mats for wresting and hand to hand. He was still shaking violently but all I could think of was how I could probably make him pee his pants, although I don't think he was that far off.

We stood fairly far away from each other.

"GO!" I yelled.

In two seconds I had him on the ground with my hands around his neck.

He became white as a sheet and started wailing and crying, "Don't kill me! Don't kill me!"

It was then something inside me snapped, or rather healed together. Suddenly, I was hugging him then stroking his hair.

"It's ok, it's ok. You're not gonna die. It's ok."

And instead of freaking out more, he relaxed. I let him go and kneeled by him.

"I- I'm sorry. I haven't really been me lately."

"It's ok" he said. He had stopped crying and had turned a more normal color.

"Thanks, kid."

"My name's Irone."

"My name's Anastasia."

I ruffled his hair. "Let's go."

This kid really could be my brother. I felt an odd need to protect him. And for the first time in a long time, I didn't feel angry.

A~N

Hope the edit helped :)

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