CHAPTER TWO -

Some tributes remain silent, shell shocked; others let out small shrieks of fear;some even burst in to tears. But there is only one thing racing through my mind; I've been given a second chance. I can finally earn my place among the victors. "All of you were revived to have another chance in the games, because you all showed winning potential."

"Can we volunteer?" A blonde haired girl from District One blurts out. And with a small smile, he replies. "Of course, all of the rules remain the same, apart from age range. We have gotten rid of the rule allowing only ages from twelve to eighteen to enter. As some of you have grown up since your last time in the arena." He says smoothly, followed by a wink in her general direction. Ok, he's not only a ass, he's also a pervert. But that doesn't matter now, all that matters is that I can do this. I can finally bring honour to my district.

"The reaping will be held in exactly three hours." Conall says casually. He must not realise how much this is for the reaps to take in. Even I'm finding it hard to comprehend.

"What? You're not even giving us time to prepare!" A boy from District Three exclaims, frantically. But Conall just laughs.

"Prepare, and just how would you do that?" He states coolly. "You will be given three days to brush up on any skills you may have. Just like before." The boy does not look amused, but after all he is a reap and probably does not have any skills what so ever. His luck isn't very good either, with only one other boy revived from district three; the odds are most certainly not in his favour.

"Now go! Get ready. Be here for twelve sharp, or else you will enter the games, no matter your odds." The tributes scatter off in to different directions, heading towards the small friendship groups they had formed over the past few years. I, however, head straight for the door; I've got to get some training done, even if it is only for a couple of hours.

By the time I walk through the door, I have the basis of a strategy planned out in my head. I was my need to torture and torment that put me at a disadvantage last time. This time around I have to be able to kill quickly and move on. It can't be that hard, can it?

I quickly lower my frame until I am lying across the floor. My hand stretches until it is under my bedside table. My fingers uncurl from a fist as I slowly glide my hand across the carpet, until my hand clasps a small metallic box. I gradually pull it out, slowly raising my figure until I kneeling and my posture is upright. I reach up to my neck and yank at a chain, as it breaks the pendent falls in to the palm of my hand. It is a small key. Inserting the key in to the lock and turning it, I flip open the steel lid. Inside are a selection of knives, all different shapes and sizes. I slowly lower my hand down, and pick up a thin kitchen knife by the blade. Technically, revived tributes are not allowed to handle weapons, but if that were completely true knives wouldn't be so easy to steal from the canteen.

I slowly stand, my figure swiftly turning to look behind me and with a sudden flick of my wrist I send the dagger flying towards the wall. It lands dead centre of a dark stain on the pale blue pained wall. A small smile creeps on to my face, as I stand in place, taking in the pleasure of the sport I have been so long off putting.

"Once a knife thrower, always a knife thrower," I hear Cato's voice from behind me. He is leaning against the door frame, staring at me with a small smile.

"Right," I confirm with a soft like tone to my voice. My voice is only soft when I am around the ones I trust and care for. And to be honest, since my mother died, Cato is the only one I have cared for in a long while. It was difficultwhen we were put in to the games together. I had to get rid of the only caring emotions I've ever had towards someone. We've been close friends again for a while now, but Cato will be going back in to the games too, and I can't let emotions draw me back like last time. One of my former psychiatrists thinks I may have taunted Katniss in the open to draw others away from an injured Cato. He suffered from the tracker jackers a lot worse than the rest of us did. I don't believe I would do something as stupid as that, but either way, having loving feelings towards another contestant in a fight to the death is not a good idea. Especially when you're a career.

"Why are you here?" I ask, before processing what I said. He raises an eye brow with a slight smirk. "I mean, shouldn't you be practising for the games?"

His mouth drops open, and his eyes draw wide. "You're going in, again?" It is obvious he is surprised, and I can tell by his reaction, I look surprised too.

"You're not?" I ask, surprise clear in my tone of voice.. How can he not go in again? He was so close to winning, why would he give up the one chance to finally get the most glory a person can in this day and age.

"Of course not!" He replies, as if it was obvious. "We died last time, Clove! What if that happens again?"

"It won't!" I insist.

"How do you know?"

"Maybe because I actually have the skill and intelligence to win! If it wasn't for Katni-"

"Oh it was all Katniss's fault!" He snaps in a high pitch tone of voice. I think he's trying to mimic me. "If you haven't noticed, Katniss didn't kill you Thresh did." I begin to snap back, to say something clever, but he interrupts me. "Haven't you figured it out? Everything they tell us: 'you're destined to win', 'you'll have all you ever want', 'you will be remembered forever.' It's all a lie! They use us for entertainment. We're nothing more than a sick show." He's left me silent. Is that true? No; it's not. It's a show yes, and there will be death. But that is life. It's survival of the fittest. It's cruel, but it's our culture now.

"You're wrong!" I snarl, my anger clearly showing now.

"You know I'm right." He pushes on; he must not know how much this means to me.

"Uh, whatever, do what you want, it's not like I care anyway. With one less idiot in the pack I'll be sure to win!" I growl. I don't think I've ever been this mad at him before.

"Oh yeah, I'm the idiot!" He snaps sarcastically. "I'm not the one who got killed because of their stupidity to stay in the open."

I pause, my eyes flickering to the ground. All the shouting has taken it's toll and now I fear I may crumble in front of him. No. Never show weakness.

"Clove," He says, his tone softening. It's obvious he knows now his words hurt more than sticks and stones

"Get out." I say walking forward towards him; however I refuse to make eye contact.

He stumbles backwards. "Clove," He repeats. I shut the door, and quickly lock it. "Clove, come on let me back in! I didn't mean to bring up the games. I just don't want to see you get killed." I slowly walk over to my bed, sitting on the mess of sheets and pillows as I hold my head in my hands. Anger is still racing through me. I won't get killed. I won't get killed. I repeat it over and over, trying to wash Cato's words from my mind. I squint my eyes tightly to block the tears beginning to form. "Crying is a sign of weakness." I tell myself. I am about to stand and walk over to my box of knives when a small sound makes itself apparent in the silence. I stop dead in my tracks and look around, but it's gone. It was probably nothing. I shake my head, I can't let anything distract me. I have two hours left to train and I will not let them go to waste.