Cato and Clove: Scared

by Katniss4444

Cato and Clove are not villains. They were just trying to survive the Games like everyone else. After all, they were scared too. Scared of dying. Scared of letting their friends and family down. Scared of letting their district down. But most of all, scared of loosing each other. This is the story of the real star-crossed lovers.

5. Chapter 5

Cato pov:

I'm just so happy. I'm engaged to the love of my life, and our freedom starts tomorrow, after the Reaping. I feel so optimistic about our future. Neither of us are planning to volunteer, and if one of us is Reaped, someone else will volunteer, because most people in district 2 put money before sense. Absolutely nothing can get in the way of Clove and I. Nothing. As I make my way back home, I feel light as a feather. This must be the happiest I've ever felt in my whole life. I practically skip the whole way home, and leap into bed, even though I know that my happy restlessness will make sleep elude me. So instead of sleeping, I just lie in bed and think of Clove. I love her so much. More than anyone or anything else. I wonder what my life would be like if I never met her. Would I be preparing to volunteer for the Games tomorrow? I don't want to think about that. I know that without Clove, my life would be a lot worse than it is now. I can't live without her. That's why I'd volunteer if she did. Because I couldn't bear to be alone. But she's not going to volunteer, so I don't have to worry about that. There isn't a single doubt in my mind that she won't.

Clove was so worried about being reaped that there's no way she'd volunteer. And I'm glad about that. I'm glad that unlike so many children in Panem, we actually have a shot at a future. And for the first time in my life, I have hope for my future. And for once, I feel glad that I live in District 2, because Clove and I could have children and not have to worry about them being reaped, because someone would volunteer. We wouldn't pressure them into volunteering like everybody else in 2 seems to do with their children. They and we could just live normal, happy, carefree lives. A glimpse of what could be my future flashes in my mind. Clove and I getting married, her looking beautiful in a wedding dress, me putting the wedding ring on her finger, us swearing our undying love for each other. Us getting our own house. Clove with a swollen belly, carrying my child. A baby, a mix of Clove and I, me carrying a toddler on my shoulders. Watching our children grow up and become their own people, with no barriers in their way. I feel a pang of happiness and love in my heart. Love for Clove, love for our future children, and love for the infinite possibilities we have. The pang of love is the last thing I feel as I fall asleep.

As soon as I wake up, I practically jump out of bed. Today is the day two kids from each district are going to be sent to an almost certain death. But neither Clove nor I are going to be one of those kids. What we are going to be is free. I've slept in without realising, and just as I'm about to open my door, my mother bursts in, yelling that it's time for me to get ready for the Reaping, and not even noticing that I'm already out of bed. Then she does, notice, and says

"Finally! You need to get ready! We don't want you going to the Capitol looking like a tramp from district 12!"

My mother speaks like I've agreed to volunteer. Even though I haven't. I don't get why people care what the tributes look like when they go, because 23 of them will come back looking like a corpse. Then again, it's hard not to look like a corpse when you are a corpse. But I don't try telling my mother that I'm not volunteering, because every time I do, she goes on about how it's 'such a waste of talent and strength.' My father agrees with her. But I don't because the Hunger Games themselves are a massive waste of lives. Not that I could ever say that out loud. Because to say that out loud is a death sentence. So instead I stay silent as I get dressed in my best clothes, and then my mother yells at me to brush my hair. I can't find the brush, so by the time I finally manage to brush my hair, it's time for the Reaping. My stomach churns in nervous anticipation. Even though I know there's no chance of Clove or I going into the Games, the thought of the Reaping still makes me nauseous.

My parents escort me to the square of district 2, and then I sign in. I go to the 18 year old section, and look around the whole crowd to try and spot Clove. I can't see her. It can't be that she hasn't arrived yet, because the Reaping is going to start any minute now. And just as that thought enters my mind, the mayor of district 2 steps up to the microphone and begins to tell the story of how the Hunger Games came to be. He talks about how the country we live in now used to be a place called North America, and how the country was plagued with disaster after disaster. Many people died and suffered, and the land was plunged into war. Hardly anything survived the war, and the remaining people of North America worked hard to restore their country, and once they succeeded, Panem was born. One Capitol and thirteen districts. But then came the Dark Days, and the uprising of the districts against the Capitol. District 13 was destroyed, and the other 12 districts were defeated by the Capitol. Said Capitol created the Treaty of Treason, which brought new laws. One of those laws was that each year, as a reminder never to repeat the rebellion of the past, each of the 12 districts would offer one boy and one girl to fight to the death. This is how the Hunger Games were created.

The Mayor then reads the list of past district 2 Victors. It's quite a long list, and as he speaks, I continue to look around, searching for Clove's face. But I just can't see her. Once the mayor has finally finished reading the extremely long list of names, he stands back and introduces district 2's Capitol escort, Merwyn Dankworth. And then it's time for the names to be pulled out. The part that is supposed to be the moment of truth, but nobody really cares anyway, because they know that somebody is going to volunteer. Merwyn Dankworth strides over to the bowl with the girls names inside and dips her hand in. She scrambles around for a moment before pulling out a slip of paper and reading it out in a clear, sharp voice.

"Astrid Sinclair!"

Immediately a voice shouts out "I volunteer!" For a moment, I'm unfazed. Then my heart stops in my chest, because I recognize her voice. It's the same voice of the girl I love, the girl I'm engaged to. And as the realisation of what has just happened hits me full throttle, I can only think one coherent thought.

The love of my life has just volunteered for the Hunger Games.