Clove's POV
Everything has been a blur because—I think—I've lost a lot of blood. As my vision clears on and off, I can see the cloudless sky above me dim into the colors of dusk. Heated reds that cool into purple-azures. In my ears, the muffled cries of what seems like pain barely register in my brain. My head lulls weakly to the side and I would jump out of surprise if I weren't so weak. A brown stone rolls in a trail of blood a few feet away from me, but it doesn't take me long to realize it is not a stone.
It's Thresh's head. A cannon confirms what my blurry vision could barely make out.
I try to prop myself up again to see Cato kneel down and prop me up, pulling me away from the dismembered body. We must have to be a certain distance away from it for the hovercraft to remove the body from the arena. By the lake, I watch, leaning against Cato's chest as the hovercraft comes and two claws emerge from the doors below, one snatches up Thresh's head, the other, the body, still clutching the club until it falls out of the grasp and lands in the dirt and blood
"We did it, Clove," Cato whispers weakly into my ear. "We won. They're going to take us home now."
I crane my neck to smile at him
"You're right," I say. "We get to go home."
We share a smile of relief and utter bliss and then after a while, we notice something strange. No one has come to get us. In the past Games, it doesn't take a long time for the Victor's hovercraft to retrieve the winner. In this case winners. Our smiles turn into confused frowns and we look up, listening for the engine of the hovercraft, but there is none. Just the low chirp of some bird in the distance.
"Where are they?" I ask. "Shouldn't they be-"
A loud boom of a speaker causes both of us to jump and then Claudius Templesmith's voice erupts the silence of the arena.
"Greetings to the final contestants of the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games."
I feel a bit of relief. There they are. Now get us out of here!
"The earlier revision has been revoked."
Cato and I catch each other's eyes in sheer horror and listen for more.
"Closer examination of the rule book has disclosed that only one winner may be allowed. Good luck and may the odds be ever in your favor!"
A burst of static leaves an annoying ring in my ears and then the bird I heard earlier resumes its lonely song. Cato's jaw is dropped to his chest in disbelief. I'm sure I look similar.
"Wh-what?" he breathes. "They—what?"
Confused and angry tears start to fill my eyes, but I'm almost too weak to cry.
"They can't do this!" I choke, gripping Cato's arm. "Can they?"
Cato's expression contorts to pure rage and he screams at the sky, "This is utter bull shit! You can't do this to us! We've come so far!" He pauses. "And since when have the Games had a rule book!"
That's true. The only rules really are survive and there's that one guideline about not eating eachother.I nearly shiver.
Cato buries his face in my hair and groans out more profanities. The tears spill over my grime covered cheeks and I hug his neck, wanting the pain in my stomach to go away and the rest of this confusion to just stop.
Wait, my stomach. I pull away from Cato and stare down at my torso where Thresh's club got me. Whatever had clotted up has been ripped open again and blood trickles out down my belly and waist.
"C-Cato," I mumble, holding his hand. "I think I'm dying."
"No!" he protests. "You're not dying. You're getting out of here."
"You're?" I say. "We, Cato. We're getting out of here."
Cato takes a struggled breath and moves his arm that had been tucked under his other arm pit the whole time. Then I see it. A massive gash tearing down his shoulder and side; I can see his ribs and the blood has been pooling behind us the whole time. Thresh's club.
"No," I say. "Cato, we promised we'd both get out of here together. Neither of us are dying."
Cato gives a weak apologetic smile and then slumps over from fatigue, supported only by my shoulder. I shake him but he's out. I place two fingers against his throat, feeling for a pulse. A faint thrum drums against my fingertips, but only faint. My hand slides down to his shirt and grips it tightly. More tears spill over.
"No," I say. "You can't leave me. We've gone so far; you can't just die on me now!"
I think hard with all the clouds that fog my brain right now. If he dies, I'll win and all this will have been for nothing to me. If I die, it will be the same for him. We can't both win…but can we both lose?
No! We can't. The Games needs a winner. We're both dying and that can't be good if we both go at relatively the same time. But Cato is defiantly going faster than me, the warm blood seeping beneath me.
Instinctively, my hand weakly fumbles through my jacket to retrieve my last knife. It's not edged like most of the knives I got at the Cornucopia. It's a sleek, smooth, silver double edged dagger with the Capitol seal molded into the end of the handle. I grip it in my right hand and try to sit up as best as I can, resituating Cato so his head lays in my lap. I gently wipe the sweat soaked hair from his face and then look up at the sky to initiate my plan. I raise the knife for all the cameras to see and then make exaggerated movements so everyone knows what I'm about to do. I bring down the knife onto my left wrist and then dig the tip right below my palm, grit my teeth and then swiftly drag the blade down until I've made a long neat slash right up to my elbow. Blood gushes out and the familiar copper scent fills my nostrils, awakening me for a short second. I give it a pause, waiting to see if the Gamemakers will make a move. A burst of static comes on again and Templesmith is speaking.
"Wait! Stop! You're our victor!"
Liar. Ther hasn't been a cannon.
I ignore him and move onto the other wrist with my left hand. This cut is a lot more painful and less neat since I use my right hand more, but the cut is efficient and I am bleeding profusely from both arms. I hold Cato's hand and wait for the onset of death to creep into my eyes.
"Someone do something!" I can hear murmurs of other voices behind the microphone echoing through the forest. They must be at complete chaos because of what I did that they forgot to turn off the mircophone.
"Someone get-" Claudius stops for a moment, and then clears his throat. I barely hear the next words because the world is starting to darken.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to present the victors of the Seventy-forth Hunger Games, Clover Ewood and Cato Halberd! I give you-erm- the tributes of District Two!"
The last thing I hear is the voice of a Gamemaker ordering someone to "get them out of there, now."
Cato's POV
Beep, beep, beep.
The familiar sound of EKG monitors fill my ears and I figure I'm either dead of back in District 2.
When a nurse with bright orange hair comes in I realize I was wrong about both.
I'm in the Capitol.
The Capitol! Not the arena! Clove! Did she get out?
My eyes fly open wide with sudden awareness. I try to sit up but there are restraints on my wrists and ankles.
"Oh, I am so sorry," says the nurse. "We must have forgotten to remove those."
She presses a button and the straps disappear into the hospital bed. The air smells sharply of disinfectant and other fluids, like the ones flowing from tubes into my bloodstream. The nurse pushes another button and an Avox brings in a tray of food, placing it on my lap. I grab the Avox and pull him close.
"Where is Clove?" I demand. "Is she alright? Did they get her out of the arena?"
The Avox's eyes widen with fear and he rapidly nods. The nurse comes over and separates us and explains what happened.
"She slit her wrists?" I say, jaw dropped. The nurse continues to say as soon as I eat, I might get to see her. As soon as the Avox adjusts my bed into a sitting position, I scarf down the serving of chicken broth and water, but then feel it coming back up and I lean over to the side. An opening in the floor appears and I vomit right into it.
That was convenient.
The nurse cautions me to take it easy on eating because my stomach has shrunk in the arena. I growl and lean back, noticing there is another restraint around my waist.
"Can I see her now?" I ask.
"I said might," the nurse replies. "That was to get you to eat."
I want to punch her square in the face, but before I can wriggle out of the strap, the nurse adds some new liquid into my IV and I'm out before I can curse her out.
The next time I wake up, Uncle Curry is sitting with another one of the past District 2 Victors, Enobaria. What the hell is she doing here? She must notice my confusion because she smiles, her sharp golden embedded teeth gleaming in the fluorescents above us.
"Good morning my little killer," she says in a deep sensual voice. Damn, I can see why she was popular. I narrow my eyes at her and then turn to Curry.
"What is she doing here?" I ask.
"To congratulate you," Enobaria answers. "I've already seen Clove. She's in much better shape than before. Those nasty scars on her arms are gone."
Curry smiles proudly and leans forward, patting my shoulder which doesn't hurt anymore.
"You did great boy," he says. "I'm so proud of you."
I nod, but continue, "Where is Clove? I want to see her."
"You'll get to see her at the recap of the Games," says Enobaria. "I overheard Caesar Flickerman saying how they wanted your reunion on live television. Something about it being romantic." She shrugs. "But I wouldn't know so I didn't question it."
I lean back again. How much longer must we be kept apart?
I keep staring at Curry who seems extremely bothered about something, and I wonder where Prica is. He and Emobaria exchange a few looks through the silence, but none of them are smiles or casual jokes.
Something is wrong.
A/N: Hey guys, so since my AU ending has them winning, how do you think the next one would take place? Would it be like Catching Fire? Mockingjay? Tell me, what's your opinion? What would you predict?