Knives

I'm Going To Kill Her

When I glance at my reflection in the full-length mirror before me, I'm blinded by the radiance of my outfit. I am dressed as a Greek warrior, pure gold adorning my every limb. I have glistening golden armour and a shining helmet to 'protect' me. Still, I feel like this costume contradicts that fact by suggesting that I have all the protection I need in myself. I'm symbol of ultimate courage, a god of war, somebody who needs to be feared. If you think about it, I'm a paragon of bravery, a paramount example for onlookers an viewers of the Games to relate to. I hope to inspire the yougr generatio. Clove will do that natually, I'm sure. She can make anyone listen if she wants them too. It's one of her special strengths. I just hope I can make an impact like she does.

The chariots are a glossy black, akin to the coats of the countless horses that fill the room. They are innocent, unable to acknowledge their purpose: parading us to our deaths. Well, not Clove and I, that's for certain.

"Dashing, as always," I hear someone say. She's here. I spin around from petting the stallions. Her outfit is similar to mine but in dress form. She wears it much better than I do, and I don't even feel jealous. Maybe that's a show of true love. Then again, what do I know of love? Besides Clove, at least. Fine. I'll call them strong feelings. 

"Beautiful," I tell her, "like a true warrior."

"Really?" she says sincerely, almost blushing even. "Well, I don't need a fancy dress to beat you."

"Oh, how else would you beat me?" I ask, a playful wink accompanying the suggestion. 

"Like this." With that, she grabs my arm and twists it skillfully behind my back. I anticipate this, at least, but not her next move. She thrusts her knee into my back and I fall instantly to the ground upon contact. My face is pressed to the floor and I feel her foot imprinted on my back.

"Ah," I say, "that's how." We both laugh as she continues to hover over me. At this moment, I catch her off guard and sweep my free arm under her legs. She lets go and tumbles graciously to the floor beside me. After stretching, I stand and help Clove to her feet. 

"Perfect?"  I ask. 

"Why yes, I am," she sniggers. We simultaneously peer around. I snort at the sight. Most of the people in the room watch us, far from impressed.  I don't know what right these inferior triutes have to be gawking at us. They're nothing but new targets to me. I am the predator. In a few days, they will be running, not staring. They mean nothing to me, only a way to win the prize.

I am still in the comfortable mode of thinking that both of us will come out of this. Truthfully, I don't know how this will work out. But I try not to dwell on the subject: it only frustrates me more. I will find away for Clove and I to live. I just haven't thought of it yet.

Instead of Veronica meeting us, it's Enobaria. Maybe she's here to give us some advice. After all, it was her who won the Games, not our flouncy escort.

"Don't smile," she says.

"Wasn't planning on it?" I counter and she snarls playfully, her perfectly chiseled teeth on full display. It's enough to make me shiver.

"They're nothing," Clove adds. "The Tributes and the audience."

"Perhaps the Tributes are only obstacles but the Capitol. They are one of the most important aspects of th Games. Gain their love and you're bound to win," shrugs Enobaria, like she knows we won't listen to her anyway. I want to tell her that we are destined to win, with or without the Capitol's support. I know this is true. But she knows that already, I'm guessing, so there has to be a valid reason for her sharing that information.

"We will win, don't worry," Clove tells her. I wasn't going to but at least I am able to hear a reply.

"I don't doubt that," our Mentor says. "But remember not to overestimate yourselves or underestimate the Capitol." With that, she struts away, leaving us to solve the enticing riddle.

"Ready?" Veronica squeals.

"To glare and growl?" I ask. "Always." Veronica chuckles but I can see something bothering her. It's in her eyes. Mother used to get like this when she was upset and trying to hide it. We could read each other like an open book.

A sob catches in my throat and it takes everything I have to keep it down. All I want is for Mother to be proud of me. Have I done that? Have I succeeded in being a good son, one to be immensely happy for? I hope so.

We clamber aboard the chariots, a smooth charcoal black alongside the horses.

"Be bold; be fearless; be you," Veronica chants like it's her new mantra. It's the best thing she's ever said. District 1 leaves and seconds later we do the same, rolling out into the massive crowds and beaming lights.

The majesty of everything is at an incredibly high standard, wildly exceeding my expctations. The audience that surrounds us is a blur of colour and I see the most absurd outfits, some even more extravagant that those seen at the train station. Perhaps that was simply daywear!

I don't hold anybody's gaze. They are not worth my time. Despite what Enobaria says, I hate them. Not for what they do to us because in my eyes, The Hunger Games is a great honour and is the highlight of living in Panem. But no matter how I feel about the Games, training is difficult. And though I enjoy it, I am envious of those in the Capitol who will never experience hard work and determination just like Clove and I have. For me, having any respect at all for these people is beyond unfeasable.

They watch us intently. Surely, it must be the same sort of thing every year with the outfits. Careers are always dressed as warriors, most often historic. But it must be our might, our demeanor that mesmerises them. We are something familiar. Familiar but brilliant.

It is the unfamiliarity that draws their attention backwards. It stayed on the two Career districts for the most part, as it always does, until something else catchs their gaze. Suddenly, we are invisible. I don't want to look weak but I have to know. So I look back.

My eyes need time adjust simply by peering over at them. But by the time the spots are cleansed from my vision, I see the spectacle. Glossy black suits engulfed in flames. How did the do it? It looks spectacular. My eyes widen and I begin to fume. Why don't we look spectacular? It is unusual for the outlying district to put on such a show but shouldn't our stylists at least be prepared for that. There is no excuse for this type of treachery.

The fiery suits are sported by a hefty boy and a slim, average girl. The boy could be strong but the girl looks useless, akin to everyone who isn't a Career. But there is a look in her eyes that is utterly unforgetable. It is not beauty or fearlessness like Clove so clearly radiates. It is hunger, mingled with aspiration. The ambivalence of her expression astonishes me. Vulnerability yet character. She's acting; she knows what she's doing. Instead of cowering and weeping like most of the other tributes, there is an dislikable aura of confidence about her.

And I hate it.

We come to a stop at the end of the parade. I jump off and go to help Clove down. She sneers at me.

"Just being a gentleman," I smile and she does too. But Clove doesnt't need any help. She is fine on her own. It seems odd that I can go from such irritation at Fire Girl - my new pet name for the enemy - to happiness in the blink of an eye. That's what love does, I suppose. And then I scold myself for saying such a thing.  

"Great job," Enobaria congratulates once we've disembarked.

"Yes, beautiful, beautiful work," chirrups Veronica. "Now, we'll get you up to your room. But not after we clean you off." They wipe off our makeup and sort out the majority of our costumes then and there until all the gold has been taken from me and I am left in a brown tunic. Clove is the same.

All this time, I am not concentrating on my clothes. Or Enobaria and Brutus. Or Veronica. Or even Clove. My glare is trained on Fire Girl. She doesn't notice me until the last second before leaving for their living quarters. She seems uncomfortable to be held in my foreboding gaze. Her dull eyes flicker before moving off and leaving.

The image is in my head now. I will let Clove have many things in life but not this opportunity. Fire Girl is mine. I'm going to kill her.

Wow, I haven't published this story for 6 months it seems. I have just been so busy with other publications, majorly away from Wattpad. But I want to keep updating all my stories as often as I can. Keep voting please!

~ Lauren has returned ;)