Once again thankyou all for the support and love I've been getting for this. Even if you have reviewed before, keeping reviewing! I especially want to hear what everyone thinks of this chapter and the next, given that it touchs on aspects of Clove I don't think I have really yet to explore. Also... on one final note I have good news and bad news. Good news is that I have the next "chapter" (not quite a full chapter.. you'll see though) ready to post ether later tonight or tomorrow. Bad news is that I won't be able to continue writing the chapter AFTER THAT for another week or so- dead week is next week and finals are the following. So I'm sorry in advance. I wanted to say all of this now so none of the suspense is the upcoming two chapters is tinted by authors notes.
Anyway I won't bore you with more nonsense. Everything belongs to Suzanne!
Can you picture what will be?
So limitless and free?
Desperately in need of some strangers hand
In a desperate land.
Lost in a Roman wilderness of pain.
And all of the children are insane.
All of the children are insane.
- The End, The Doors
7.
Breathe, Peeta, Breathe.
He repeated this to himself like a mantra as he watched Katniss put as much distance between them as she possibly could. It didn't surprise him in the least that she was unhappy with what had just happened. He knew she would be.
But for now, this was good. Haymitch had given him the warning. Now was the only chance he would get to potentially save her life.
Instantly he spotted the Careers. All six of them were cramming onto one of the elevators furthest down from him. He would have to move fast.
Breathe, Breathe.
Hatred was churning painfully inside Clove's abdomen as she stepped into the elevator. For the second time this year, Twelve has managed to show up District Two. It just wasn't right. Every year, across the board, One, Two and Four were almost always evenly matched in everything- attention, scores, sponsors. Why was it that the year of her Hunger Games would be the first and only one where such a lowly district managed to win over the favor of the Capitol before even stepping into the arena? Though technically not her fault, it was bringing shame to her district- she was bringing shame to her district for allowing it to happen.
However, the burden wasn't on her shoulders alone. Cato seemed to be physically steaming as he stepped into the elevator alongside her.
"I can't even believe it- the peasants from Twelve were the stars of the show. Twelve! Has the Capitol gone mad?"
Glimmer was nearly stomping her heels as she spoke.
"Just shut up and press one, Glimmer. It's been fifteen minutes and I'm already sick of hearing about it from you," Marvel snapped from his corner of the elevator. He was nearly up the wall, trying not to touch Marina or Cato.
Clove couldn't agree more. What did it matter anyway? As angry as she was, she couldn't find it in herself to be too upset. After all, the games began tomorrow. In less than twenty hours. There was only one more night to get through and then…
Just as the doors began to roll close, a pair of hands thrust them open. They belonged to, of all people, the boy from District Twelve.
"Sorry," he huffed, looking at them almost indifferently. "I just had to get away from her."
His words were met with silence. None of them seemed to know how to react at first for a multitude of reasons: one being speechlessness from the strange intuitional feeling triggered by having seen someone directly after talking about them, the other was the boys clear apathy in regards to who he had just stepped into the elevator with, and finally what he had said.
After the shock of his mere presence had passed, Clove was still trying to comprehend his boldness. She hadn't even gotten to considering his words by the time Marina piped, "Katniss?"
"Yeah," the boy breathed. "I can't stand her. And she never seems to leave me alone. The girl has the personality of a rock. The fact that Haymitch is having me do this whole song-and-dance with her is just killing me."
What did he just say? Song-and dance? Clove twitched her nose as the rest of them looked from face to face in bewilderment.
"What?" Glimmer snapped.
The raised an eyebrow at her.
"What, you actually believed all that? I guess I was pretty good," he said, almost chuckling to himself.
"What do you mean, 'actually believed that'?" Marvel abruptly hissed. "You just announced it to the entire country!"
And then, the boy narrowed his eyes and twisted his mouth at him, as if Marvel was simple. He was awfully intrepid for a District Twelve tribute, that was for sure.
"Yeah and?" he asked. "I mean, damn I'm surprised. Of all people shouldn't it be you guys who know a thing or two about gaining sponsors?"
Clove had to replay the words in her mind again and again. All of that… was for sponsors? She should have known! No one, not even a tribute from Twelve, could be so pathetic as to proclaim their love on live television for the entire nation to watch, especially when in preparation for something of the Hunger Games' nature. It was so perfectly planned out. Never had a pair of tributes taken that approach before. It was desperate, unfair, but not even she could say it wasn't brilliant. It was almost too brilliant.
The elevator chimed now, signaling their arrival on the first floor. But Glimmer kept her finger on the button.
"You mean to tell me that was all bullshit?" Cato said.
The District Twelve boy shrugged. "Yeah. I just hope someone kills her early in the games so I can get her off my back. I won't be able to do it myself right away as much as I want too. Unless I don't want the sponsors' support anymore."
Then, almost as an afterthought he added to Glimmer, "Why are you holding the door?"
Killing Katniss? A smile crept onto Clove's face as she began to scheme. Well wouldn't that just be a beautiful plan? Lure her in by using the love of her life as bait and then they'd have her. She wouldn't even be able to run. They could ambush her. And then do with her whatever they wanted; break her body into pieces, carve into her flesh and bone. Then once that was done with, kill off the boy.
After just a glance at the rest of them, she knew they were all thinking the same. Especially Cato who wore a grin on his face that spread from cheek to cheek. Glimmer was nodding, Marina and Fish Head didn't seem opposed, Marvel was rolling his eyes.
Finally Cato sneered, "Well then, I have a proposition for you, Lover Boy."
District Twelve lowered his eyebrows.
"What is that?" he asked suspiciously.
"You bring her to us and we won't kill you," Cato said. "Well, not right away, at least."
"Are you asking me to join you?"
"Unfortunately," Marvel sighed.
Twelve actually stood there for a moment and considered this. He was actually thinking about their offer. Maybe he wasn't small, but he defiantly wasn't monster sized like Thresh. Clove narrowed her eyes; the dauntlessness he displayed toward them was completely out of character for a tribute coming from such a weak district.
"Alright," he nodded.
"Wonderful," Marvel instantly clapped with sarcasm. "Now get me off of here."
The door shut behind them and Clove could barely make out Glimmer asking Marvel what had just happened. Clove herself wasn't even sure. Less than two minutes ago the boy was close to being enemy number one. But somehow, someway, he was on their team now, part of the alliance. And while it was a first for a District Twelve tribute to be a part of the Careers, no one could deny their desire to kill Katniss out-weighed the importance of tradition.
Though she couldn't help but wonder what it was about the girl from Twelve that made this boy hate her enough that he wanted his own district partner dead. But she pushed away her senseless curiosity with annoyance before she could ponder the thought. Clove wasn't one to believe in knowing your enemies- the expression alone made her think of a wolf wanting to understand the nature of a hen. It was absolutely ludacris.
Cato was able to turn his body to face Twelve now that they had more room. "Don't think that you'll be able to pull anything funny because of this," he threatened, standing over him. "You're with us so we can kill the girl. The second I notice a change of heart you'll be dead faster than you can say Katniss,"
"We're both doing each other favors here," Twelve said, locking his eyes in with Cato's. He didn't even look frightened, or intimidated. He seemed entirely unfazed. This bothered Clove. Something defiantly wasn't right about this boy and therefore about the alliance they had just formed with him.
But the elevator chimed, signaling their floor.
"See you tomorrow Lover Boy," Cato said as he sauntered out. Clove made sure she kept her foot in the door long enough to give Twelve her own silent warning- that she would be watching him, that she didn't quite trust his act like the rest of them did. But his eyes; a blue somewhere between Marvel's deeper shade and Cato's icy color, betrayed nothing. He shot her with the same indifference he gave to Cato.
Without a word, she turned her back to him and marched away from the elevator, just in time to see Lyme round the corner.
Her mentor looked nice tonight. She wasn't one to wear make up- and she didn't need to given the natural beauty of her unusual facial features. But the pants she wore were sleek and smooth, she was even wearing heels. Though, Clove noticed that she was carrying bags of luggage in her hands.
"Clove," Lyme addressed her with a small smile.
"Was it acceptable?" Clove asked, approaching the already tall woman made even taller from her shoes.
"It was great. I was very proud. And you look absolutely stunning too."
Clove did her best to keep her mouth controlled as a smile threatened to spread across her lips. Lyme put down one of the bags and placed a large warm hand on to her shoulder.
Her eyes flitted to Cato for only a moment, but it was enough to tell him that he wasn't wanted.
As Cato lumbered off, Clove stood in silence, unsure of what to say now. The last encounter she and her mentor had today ended up in Lyme abruptly leaving the room in the most angered state Clove had ever seen her. Perhaps Lyme felt the same way, because when she pulled her hand away, it fell to her side and her expression seemed unsure. However the uncertainty diminished as rapidly as it had appeared.
"This will be the last time I'll be seeing you before the Games," she said, getting to the point in typical Lyme-fashion.
The words ran their course through Clove's body and sedated it. She felt numb and maybe even a little sad. Clearly she cared for her mentor; she could admit that to herself now. But why? Why? She had no real reason to. She had no reason to care for anyone. And she had only known Lyme for a little over a week. Sure, she had been tolerable as a mentor. But other than that she barely knew her. The emotion she felt was so pointless, so stupid…
But still when she opened her mouth to ask how come, the question was heavy enough to fall out and smash onto the floor.
"Well, I'm going to need to head up the Games Headquarters tonight to get all your sponsors lined up," she said. "Me and Brutus both. Faun will see you off tomorrow."
Clove must have made a face, because Lyme released a light chuckle. She couldn't remember ever hearing her mentor laugh. The sound was pleasant. It rolled around the room.
"Listen to me Clove," she said, abruptly serious. "These are my final words of advice to you. First off: Do not under any circumstances trust anyone. Not even your team. Stay diligent at all times. Also, tomorrow, you get into that Cornucopia and get your hands on a set of knives. Make sure you are fast so no one can catch you without them. Then, kill whoever it takes."
"You know I will," Clove said, her focus digging deep into Lyme's dark orbs- orbs just like her own. For what seemed to be a long time, they stayed just like that, standing still and not breaking eye contact. They weren't trying to intimidate one another, nor were they trying to win an argument. For Clove at least, the sensation she felt was one of comfort. Though, comfort from what, she was not sure.
"Remember something," Lyme said in a soft voice. "There are some people who want you to get out of that arena alive."
"The people whose asses were put on the line to get me here?" Clove sneered, echoing Lyme's words from earlier that day.
Something heavy suddenly weighed down the room, Clove could feel it. It was as if an additional thirty pounds of air had been concentrated above their heads.
"Yes," Lyme said. "Win for those people. Win for the district or for the glory or for whatever you want. Just make sure you win."
Clove rolled this over in her mind. Could she promise her that? She couldn't lie- she had too much respect for her mentor to do that. Though she couldn't say she ever thought about winning. But she did owe Lyme something; her mentor had done a lot for her these past few days, after all. And being ranked as a victor's mentor would defiantly make them even, right?
"Okay," Clove said.
Then there was nothing more to say. But despite this Lyme still clasped Clove's shoulder with a light shake and gave her another small smile before taking her bags to the elevator and slipping away behind the silver doors, gone.
Though, Clove couldn't say she was entirely upset by this. Because in that final, wordless exchange, she saw something deep in Lyme's eyes that had managed to suck her in and spit her out a million times over, in a million different ways.
Hours later beneath the dim lights of her bathroom, Clove saw another creature trapped inside her mirror.
This one wasn't beautiful like the last. This thing was an animal. It had angry streaks of black that ran across its gray cheeks. Its face seemed hallow. Its body was naked. It glared at Clove with eyes that burned like fire. Its upper lip was raised. It was snarling at her. One of its hands grabbed another clump of its hair- dark and tangled now, and the other chopped it off with a pair of silver scissors. Like a massive spider still attached to its web, the bundle drifted softly through the air till it landed in the sink before her.
This thing had no need for long tresses. It had no need for beauty.
It continued to grab clumps of hair until black locks touched its shoulders; their angry, gnarled ends twisted this way and that. It smiled at its work.
Clove turned off the light; she couldn't bear to watch the thing in the mirror anymore. The darkness engulfed her. It settled her pounding heart. It entered her mouth as she parted her lips to inhale. It invaded her throat, her lungs. It sloshed into her legs. But it couldn't fill her. She screamed. She pounded her fist into the wall. The pain was immediate but even still, there was nothing.
The emptiness she so often felt had been particularly bad in these past few hours. She could feel the void physically growing as it worked to consume her. Rage, anger, all was absent. Not even a touch of nerves, not even a bit of fatigue.
The lights flicked back on. She wanted to eat the bushes of hair that now stuck to the sink, choke herself on them. Let them strangle her from the inside out so perhaps the breath of death could shake her to back to life. She picked one up, studied it in her hands. Up close, its ends looked like little menacing shards. She threw it to the floor and stormed out of the bathroom.
For an hour she sat on her bed and stared into nothing.
Then- a noise. It came from outside her door. She crossed the room and slipped into the only two articles of clothing she spotted on the ground, a soft shirt and a pair of underwear. And then she followed the sound.
It was footsteps.
They led her to the massive window which looked out over the Capitol. The source of the noise came from an outline that stood with its broad back to her, its shoulders heaving up and down as it breathed or better yet, panted. Of course Cato was awake.
She didn't want to make any noise to alert him. She wanted to watch the shadows that danced across the bare skin of his back until the sun came up. But he sensed her presence.
His head snapped up and he whipped around to face her. Those pale eyes of his, which were opened unusually wide, told her he was in just as manic of a mood as she was. He tilted his head. His lips cracked open to reveal a smile. With the focused movements of a jungle cat, he crept toward her.
"What's wrong, precious?" he purred. "Can't sleep?"
If she hadn't been in such a state, she would have backed away from him. But instead she hovered to the side. A bubble of tension began to form between them. She could feel it. She was feeling something again. The emptiness inside her began to fill. She suddenly felt elated, craving more.
"Not tonight," she said.
His eyes flicked away from hers and his lips curled into a sneer. "Giving yourself a little haircut instead?" he said.
"Have to look pretty for tomorrow, don't I?" she said. Involuntarily, her voice came out as a snarl.
They continued to drift around each other in a wide circle. Energy pulsed through her veins now. It was such a wonderful sensation, especially sense it had been only moments ago that she was nearly suffocated from desperation to close the massive hollow cavity that formed in her body. With animation she sighed and looked longingly out the window.
"I just can't stop thinking," she said, stopping her pace and turning to the Capitol. Instantly Cato was upon her. Before he even made a noise she could feel his presence. Tiny hairs on the back of her neck rose. Her skin became goose flesh. "About tomorrow. About their blood..." She smirked. "About your blood."
His laughter was closer than expected. A pair of large palms hardened from years of handling weaponry slowly moved to her back. Having been unexpected, she jumped away in response. But when they approached her a second time, she allowed them to touch her skin. They started on the small of her back and then trailed around her hips till they met each other across her stomach. Her blood set on fire.
A pair of muscular arms followed, encasing her body in their warmth. Then she felt a chin rest in the curve of her neck, lips touch her ear, eyelashes beat twice against the side of her face. Her entire body was pressed into his now. The lips curved into a smile.
"You know, Brutus was right," he murmured. "Kill the rest of them, save the best for last."
She closed her eyes, allowed herself to sink into him completely. Her senses were alive, tuned into to everything; the heat his bare chest radiated onto her back, his hands whose fingertips seemed to begin making tiny circles on the soft flesh of her flattened belly; the cinnamon smell of his hot breath.
"I look forward to it," she said.
"To dying?" he breathed. "Because when it comes down to us, that'll be the case for you."
His fingers grazed tantalizingly slow across her hip bone now. They made the tiniest of patterns over the thin layer of skin. His chest rose and fell. His entire body seemed to pulse. She had to remind herself to answer.
"No it won't. I'll kill you," she said, trying to control her breathing. On normal occasion she would have said more, would have snarled it even, but this was all she could muster. His fingertips were running across the fabric of the underwear she had forgotten she was wearing up until now.
Another chuckle rumbled into her ear. "I don't think so," he said.
His fingers then clenched around her hips, pulling her further into him. Her breath hitched. She had rendered herself completely vulnerable, he could attack at any moment- but she couldn't bring herself to form a single thought. Her mind only focused on the sensation of his thumb as it slowly slipped beneath the lining of the material, caressing the bare skin. She felt nothing else.
"Why," she barely heard herself asking.
The fabric was then peeled away from just one of her hips with deliberate slowness. She stopped breathing all together.
Against her ear, he said in a low whisper, "I have you."
When she felt the smug smile and the low laughter that followed she was pulled from her trance. Her mouth twisted into a gnarled grin. Two could play at this. She lifted her hand to his face and ran her fingers across his jaw, letting them graze across his lip.
"Is that right?" she asked, trying to mimic the dazed tone her voice held before. Though Cato didn't buy it. His hands removed themselves from her body. But it was too late.
Instantly she jabbed a pair of fingers into the sensitive hallow beneath his chin and then whipped around to face him. She moved one hand to push her fingers down above his collar bone- subclavian, and then pushed her other fingers into the area right before his ear with enough force to leave his body momentarily useless from the striking pain to his sinuses. Before he had time to attack, she had him up against a wall.
Now it was her turn.
With child-like innocence she placed her tiny feet on his large ones and rose to her toes so they were almost eye level. She used one hand to trail her fingers across his jaw, while the other grasped his shoulder for balance. She grazed her lips across the muscles of his chest, up to his throat, over his chin, stopping at his cheek as if she were about it kiss it.
Instead she said, "Because I think I have you."
There was a deep intensity inside his cold eyes, but rather than frighten her, it awoke a similar passion that must have been asleep for fifteen years. His lips parted. The glow of the Capitol illuminated his bare skin. The perfectly carved chest beneath her fingers, the protrusion of his neck, the line of his jaw, everything about him aroused a primordial instinct that fought to take control of her body. It boiled inside of her. It wanted him. It wanted him in a way she couldn't recall herself ever wanting anything.
It caused her to tenderly bring her mouth to his, but rather than kiss it, she bite down on his soft lower lip.
Like a bomb, Cato went off.
Her head was smacking against the wall before she could even understand what was happening. His hands pinned her against it, suspended in the air. His body was pressed against hers. She acted without thought now. Her legs wrapped around his waist. Then their mouths crashed into each other.
They kissed.
It was the first time she had kissed anyone. Only there was nothing sensual or romantic about it. It was hard, aggressive. They're teeth smashed together; they bit hard into each other's lips. They're hands were clawing, grabbing, hurting each other in any way they could in a powerful combination of lust and hatred. But it was wonderful. She couldn't get enough. She only wanted more, more, more. Her fingers entwined in his hair, she pulled herself closer to him. A growl rumbled in his throat. She broke away, running her mouth down his neck, her tongue grazing across skin. And then something happened.
Maybe it was the closeness, maybe it was the intensity of it all. Maybe it was the adrenaline that coursed through her veins; maybe it was her heightened senses. Maybe it was the understanding that come tomorrow they would be thrown in an arena to fight to the death.
Whatever the reason, she suddenly wanted to kill him.
She bit down into the flesh of his neck with as much power as she could. Metallic blood flowed into her mouth. His body jerked. She clenched harder.
Then his hands were knotted into her hair, tearing her head back. The wound on his neck was already purple and black and blood trickled from the deep gash. The taste of it was still in her mouth, she felt it drying around her lips. Now she did whatever she could to bring him pain. Her hands flew to his face, punching it, slapping it. Her nails dug gashes across his back. She snapped at him like an animal.
Finally his hand grabbed a hold of her jaw and compressed it with enough pressure to make it crack, causing her to gasp. His muscles tensed, his breathing became ragged, she even saw his pupils dilate. A smile spread across his lips. And then he threw her to the ground.
Oh how alike they were.
The wind had been knocked out of her and in a second Cato was straddling her legs, his large hands wrapping around her waist and the immense amount of his weight pressing down on her much smaller body. Squeezing her. A raged breath was pulled into her mouth but she could barely breathe. Her hands swung uselessly at his face. She even tried digging one of her fingers into his eye socket. But it did nothing. Like a horse, he deflected her attempt with a buck of his head. Eventually she was unable to use her arms for anything but trying to pry his hands and body away. It was agony like she had never felt before. Her cheeks puffed out as she held back a shout.
"No, scream, I want to hear it," he demanded between clenched teeth. His eyes were ablaze, face red. He was a mad man. Though she couldn't deny that she was one too.
Her mouth clamped shut. She would not let him gain any satisfaction of out this. But she had absolutely no defense. She was trapped.
"You know, flowers like you don't grow where I'm from," he said lightly as if it had been said over a dinner table. And then he pressed down harder. Blood rushed to her face. She was sure the contents of her insides would be dumped onto the floor in moments. The scream she had been holding back was released. Her head whipped back and forth, she wriggled, trying to escape. Every cell of her body screamed along with her in desperation.
He was laughing but she didn't care. She couldn't care about anything.
"Beg me," he snarled, his expression changing almost instantly. "Beg me to let go."
But she wouldn't. Instead she ignored him and continued to thrash around in whatever way she could to escape his iron grasp.
"Beg me."
He could break every bone in her body and she would never give him the gratification. In an act of defiance she glared into his eyes, which were absent again. But when the hands at her sides pushed in further it was all she could do to squeeze her eyes shut and let out another scream. Nether Brutus or Lyme would be coming to her rescue tonight. But she didn't need it. Let Cato kill her- in that moment she wanted nothing more.
But he couldn't even do that.
He unlatched the hands he had locked on her sides and instantly the pain that had been suppressed by shock and pressure flooded throughout her body. She gasped, coughed, choked even, realizing only now how little she had been breathing. Weakness over took her, leaving her unable to move.
Cato leaned his head down. He took her face in his hands and let a finger run across the skin beneath her eye. "Such a sweet little dove," he whispered. "What a shame you'll have to be thrown to slaughter."
In the shadows he was other worldly. A demon, an angel, a god. Something beautiful and intangible. She wondered if he really was sculpted by an artist. She wondered if he was real.
"'I've killed before," he said into her ear. "Do you know what a spine sounds like when it is breaking?"
One shaky hand reached up to clench around his. She was too physically exhausted to question her actions; question why she wasn't fighting back, question why she allowed herself to stay in this state. Her thumb brushed across the skin of his palm again and again. She brought it to her mouth and spoke into it. "No," she said.
His fingers flexed around her eyes, but made no move to injure her any further. Rather they seemed to be feeling her face. "It's like the crunching of metal," he said. "All it takes is a little pressure and it will crush like a can. It's fascinating, really, how easy human bone can be snapped."
Her mind's eye played for her a scene- Cato holding a man's shoulders and kicking hard into his back, molding the body into a sharp angle. Why wasn't he doing the same to her? What he did now was far worse: absolutely nothing. She was lying before him vulnerable, pathetic, and all he did was kiss her jaw. He truly was a monster.
"How many," she asked without thought.
The hand she held to her mouth pushed against her cheek and turned her face to meet his. A light from the window crept slowly down his form, leaving blackness in its wake so she only saw the faint gleam of his white teeth when he answered, "Three."
Without another word, his hands slipped away from her face and his body faded away back into the darkness that now engulfed the room, as if it had only been a part of it from the start.
And then he was gone and she was left to feel nothing again.
For a long time she laid there but eventually she regained enough strength to crawl to the glass window. Until the sun rose above the buildings of the Capitol she stayed there, filling the reopened cavity in her chest with hatred. Hatred for herself, hatred for Cato, hatred for Lyme, for Brutus, for Pallas, for the tributes, for the Capitol, for Panem, for the world.
"What happened to your hair?"
These were the first words Clove's stylist had said to her when she came to retrieve her in the morning. Sleep had not come to her that night. But Faun's sheer presence breathed life into her fatigued body-the silly little woman was the physical embodiment of a reminder for what was to come; one last touch of make-up, one last wardrobe change, all the final preparations that must be made.
Today was the beginning of the Hunger Games.
Insignificant images passed before her eyes as she performed the remedial tasks necessary to bring her closer, step by step, to the podium of the arena. Breakfast barely touched on a plate, the ladder of a hover craft, the silver tracker as it burrowed into the skin of her arm, Faun's red eyelashes. Nothing stayed in focus for more than mere moments until she found herself staring into the blue paneled walls of the launch room.
Faun had her shower. Had her dress in the simple tawny pants and green blouse which she couldn't help but imagine, bloody and torn, on one of the tributes. But she wouldn't have to imagine these things anymore, would she? In less than an hour she would be able to see them for herself. Her heart thudded against her chest, air seemed to clog her throat. She tried to suppress her smiles but anticipation didn't allow her to.
Today she would kill. Today would be everything.
What were the others doing at this moment? Crying? Weaping? Nervously jittering about? Biting their finger nails. District by district she thought of them: Glimmer pulling up her hair, Marvel adjusting his belt, Cato cracking his bones, the girl from Three nervously tapping her pudgy cheeks, the boy from Three pacing the floor, Fish Head jumping up and down, Marina biting her lip, the red-head from Five staring into nothing, the girl from Eight bawling hysterically, the boy from Eleven stoic and expressionless, the little girl from Eleven flitting about the room, Lover Boy's blue eyes wide and helpless, the Girl on Fire… giggling… twirling…
She wasn't pulled from her thoughts until Faun was asking about her token. Clove had none. There wasn't a thing she had wanted from home to travel with her here. She had no fond memories; no objects of sentimental value. No part of her life in District Two belonged in the arena. Her past and any sense of humanity she may have had left would disintegrate into nothing as soon as the gong went off.
She wondered if this would still be the case if her life had gone differently.
Would it be if her mother had embraced her outstretched arms while she wailed as a child? Would it be if their dinners would have been spent with conversation rather than silence? Would it be if her father had once looked her in the eyes? Would it be if they would have hit her, hugged her, yelled at her, beat her mercilessly, just done something, anything, just once?
Would it be if her childhood had not been spent playing with the ghosts in the backyard? Would it be if she had friends outside the white washed walls like the other little children, instead of nurses who asked her to draw pictures for them? Would it be if in those years when she was young, her days were dotted with wonder and fantasy rather than hallucinations and sedation?
Would it be if she spent her time socializing with her peers rather than washing animal blood out of her clothes? Would it be if her nights were spent dreaming of boys rather than lying awake thinking about death? Would it be if her thoughts were beautiful, intellectual, enlightening?
Yes, perhaps then things would be different. But then she would also be weak. Weak like her parents, weak like her peers, weak like her fellow tributes. Life, or lack thereof, had shaped the girl who stood in the launch room, waiting to paint the ground with the blood of other children.
So when Clove looked Faun in the eyes and said, "I had nothing to bring," she meant it.
Then a female said in a monotone voice that it was time to prepare for launch. Faun looked overly pleased.
"Best of luck, you little beast," was all she chirped. When Lyme had mentioned people who would want to see Clove come out alive, she was sure that didn't include Faun.
Suddenly a glass tube was encasing her body and pulling her up. Faun, the launch room, the Capitol and District Two disappeared forever behind a wall on concrete.
Three heartbeats. An intake of breath. Bent fingers.
Sunlight, blinding for a moment. Grass rolling in a breeze. Packs strewn everywhere. Twenty-three individuals standing on their podiums. Blue sky. A golden cornucopia.
A voice.
"Ladies and gentlemen… let the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games begin!"
Numbers in red.
Sixty seconds.