They Call Me a Career-a Clove fanfic

the Games;day 8

Cato and I begin to relax. He lets me fall asleep, and I do. My slumber is filled with peaceful dreams and memories. And even when I wake up, I just lay there. I think about home and my father, and how I am so close to going back home. I want to go back home so badly, I would do anything. I just want to be back where I belong. This is a temporary stay. This is what I was bred to do, but this isn't where I belong by a longshot. I almost belong more in Twel-

No. Someone of my standards does NOT belong in Twelve. That is that. No ifs, ands or buts. I try to think of what I'll say when I get home, how much longer this will be, how long it'll be after I win. I don't want it all to be more than a week.

I remember the flowing greens of the Forest, and the smell of the wind that blew every morning. I remember going to the Institute every day. I won't have to go there anymore. No matter if I do or don't win. The Institute is the reasoning for everyone calling One, Two and Four Careers. We go to school to train. It's a training school. I thought that's what everyone else did. Apparently not so much. I remember mastering my first weapon. Archery. It will always have a dear spot on my heart, because archery was the first piece in me becoming who I am. Then I mastered a lot of other weapons, but knives were always difficult for me. When I was twelve, and first starting at the Institute, I would watch the older kids work the knives. The light glinting off of the spinning blade, propelling itself toward an unsuspecting dummy's heart.

Never was that my thing. Until one day, a guy named Sabriel Parks saw me clumsily throwing knives, and said that his sister threw them. She was good. I never understood how someone could throw knives as gracefully as he could. He told me his sister was better. But he stood by my side and taught me how to throw until he was killed in the Games that year. By then I was a pro. He was going to have me meet his sister that next month. I never did.

I always wonder what she looked like. Whether she had long or short hair. Blond or brown or black or even red. Like the girl from five. I wondered if she was tall, muscular, slight, smiled or scowled.

I guess I'll never know.

"Clove," I hear behind me, "I know you're awake."

I continue to pretend I'm asleep because I know that he'll just leave me alone if I do. I sit there and continue to keep my eyes closed, breathing deeply, trying to let myself fall back into the arms of sleep.

"Clove, Marvel still hasn't come back yet." He says to me.

I don't know if he does this to get me to wake up, but if he did, it worked. I shoot straight up into the air and look aroud me with wide eyes, Cato Knife suddenly in my grasp.

"He definately should have gotten back by now. Even the possible lure of a kill shouldn't have taken him this long. He should have come back at dark. This is completely something Marve would do. This is so stupid of him!" He says.

I shoot him a glare. "You're one to talk. You've gotten your kill! Marvel and I are running dry here, Cato. I know if I would have gone out there I'd have searched until one of us was dead. Me or my prey. So don't go on about how it's not smart that he didn't come back here at night, because I know as well as you do, that neither you or I would have done that in his situation."

Cato looks taken aback. "Why are you defending him so badly?"

"What on earth do you mean?" I ask him accusingly.

"What I mean is," he says to me angrily, "Knowing you, I'd know for a fact that if someone said what I said to you about me, you'd agree with the person one hundred percent. Same thing with Glimmer and Ian. But you seem to have something special for that Marvel kid. Do you like him? Is he your... 'star-crossed-lover'?" He ends with a sneer.