Behind Those Violet Eyes ▸ Hunger Games

Chapter Eight: Alia Fletson

Chapter Eight:

Alia's POV

-- 

Eleven point five.

I stared at the screen in disbelief.

"She's not even a Career!" Cato spat under his breath.

She's not even that good. Sure, she can throw knives and do flips. So can I.... but I can also shoot with spears and bows and arrows from thirty yards away... I'm good with swords and hand-to-hand combat, strategy and evasion. Strategy and evasion! That's the one thing I didn't show the Gamemakers! But how could I? That's only useful in the arena, where it really mattered.

Although I repeated the same thoughts in my head over and over, I couldn't seem to calm myself down – and I rarely got angry.

I was the opposite of Cato; I was calm and composed.... but there were few things that could easily change that.

Any type of failure. That's what sent me over the edge more than anything else. I was always the type of person who had to be the best at everything I did... no matter what it was.

Ever since I was five, I had been the type of person who was overly competitve, constantly striving for perfection. And when someone else did better than me.... I could pull a Cato on the whole District...

Even though I'd never had much of a temper, I could feel the anger boiling up inside me.

I tightened my grip on Cato's hand as the anger continued to rise.

"Alia?"

"Alia?"

"ALIA!?" Cato's voice rang in my head.

"Yeah?"

"My. Hand. Is. Purple."

I immediately let go once I realized that I had been cutting off the circulation.

"Sorry," I muttered.

Cato laughed. "It's fine. You know, Alia. If you're mad at that stupid fish girl, then just wait 'till the arena and get your revenge."

As much as the idea intrigued me... no, absolutely not. I wasn't going to kill someone because they somehow managed to get a higher score than me. I was more humane than that.

"No.... but, I will give her a piece of my mind...." I trailed off, as I made my way over to her, Cato following shortly behind me.

She gave me a strange look and then said, "Oh, look, if it isn't the District Two maniacs...."

I snorted. "That's the best you can do, fish girl?"

She smirked, her violet eyes glimmering with amusement. "Maybe so. And my name's Cyra, by the way."

"Does it look like I care?"

"Well, not really. The only thing Careers like yourself care about is slaughtering everyone in the arena."

Who did she think she was insulting me?! She had no clue what I was like – or what I was capable of.

"You know," Cato said, "Luck won't get you anything in the arena.... except a slow, painful death...."

"Wow... I was right about you... you're completely insane," Cyra snarled.

"And you're a worthless fish girl who's good at throwing knives. Glad to know we've accomplished that," Cato retorted.

"I don't think a 'worthless fish girl' would get an eleven point five... do you? Honestly, I'm surprised that you got a ten point five after throwing a knife through a Gamemaker's hand... but, whatever. It's not my problem."