THE 150th HUNGER GAMES

The Training Center (Day 2)

Centorn Abash's (District 5) P.O.V:

"Centorn Abash," a monotone voice speaks. I stand from my place on the cold, metal bench and walk softly toward the steel doors that lead to the training center, where I will be having my private session with the Gamemakers. They will be critiquing me and my level of skill to judge my chances of survival in the arena. They will most likely come to the conclusion that those odds are pretty good. The doors automatically slide open, and I step inside. I look back, and they seal shut. There's no going back.

Why does that make me nervous? I know I'm going to do fine.

I glance nervously at the critics before making my way over to the set of throwing knives. I'm really hoping I will be awarded with a decent score if I use them. I'm rather skilled with knives. I've practiced enough that my aim is so accurate I never miss.

I carefully pick up the first silvery blade, admiring its quality craftsmanship and elaborate carving on the handle. It's much nicer than the knives I used to use back in District 5, created only for their use and not the way they look. And even those blades were rather blunt. But this...this is a dangerous thing, I'm holding. Even with its superfluous designs, it's so sharp even lightly tapping the tip will draw blood.

Remembering all the practice I've ever done, I hold the blade loosely in my hand. In one fluid motion, I bring the knife back and launch it forward toward the target, using all my strength. I exhale as I let go, releasing it. The knife soars through the air toward the target and embeds itself in the very center.

I manage to hit the direct middle of four more targets with the knives and then move on to my next skill. I arm myself with a sturdy looking axe and swing it at a dummy forcefully. The plastic head is split from the rest of the mahican and rolls away.

I whip around to a second dummy and thrust the axe into its stomach. Pulling it out, I quickly send the weapon hurtling over my shoulder, where it sticks upside-down in the head of a third. I turn to the judges, bow, and turn to leave.

I silently congratulate myself on a job well done.