Cato One Shots

I Will Win

I glare at the screen as Katniss Everdeen's bitchy face flashes across it. Ceaser's voice rings out across the room as Clove, Brutus, Enobaria, and myself sit on the red couch, waiting for her score. I put on a smirk, there's now way she'll get more than a five. I've been watching her in training and she's nothing. Weak, pathetic, no talent what-so-ever. She's not even close to being a threat. Clove thinks we shouldn't underestimate her. I roll my eyes. Please. Don't make me laugh.

Ceaser's voice is slowly announcing her score, dragging it out. I lean forward in my seat, curious as to what she earned. And then I see the number. My blood turns to ice. Eleven. Girl on fire got a fucking eleven. Clove is watching me, waiting to see my reaction. I'm shaking in pure fury.

Why did they give her an eleven?! She's got nothing to show them. Unless, she kept a secret skill hidden. That's the only reason I can think of. I storm out of the room, heading for the stairs. "Cato! Wait a sec." I flip around to see Clove following. My gaze softens briefly. "Don't. Not now." I hurry down the stairs, leaving Clove behind, watching me.

I head into the training center, looking around briefly. I'm alone. Good. I head straight for the swords, knowing I need to hit something to release my anger.

I swing my sword, decapitating dummies over and over again. I'm angry. Mad, furious, pissed as hell, whatever you want to call it. I twirl my sword and dig it deep into a dummy's gut. I yank it back out with a jerk, growling. Why did she get an eleven?! What did she do to deserve a fucking e-l-e-v-e-n?! Its ...not right. Not fair. She's never done anything worth that high of a score when we've been training. What could she possibly have done??

I throw my sword, uttering an angry yell. WHACK. I turn to see its landed deep inside a dummy's back. If that was a tribute, if that was Katniss, I'd be very happy. But it looks like I'll just have to wait and kill her in the Games. I glance up at the clock on the west wall. I have to get back to my floor. We leave for the arena in ten minutes. I pop my knuckles and leave the sword in the dummy's back. One thing's for sure. No matter what score she got, it doesn't make her better than me. I'm a better fighter, better hunter. I'm better than her period. She won't win. I will.