I rubbed the sore spot in my left cheek, it stung like crazy and it was getting uncomfortable now. I am not the one to complain about bruises or injuries ever since I became a trainee for the Training Center, I had been expected to keep a strong stance even though I'm hurting inside. However when I'm alone, I tend to admit to myself that I can't bear every single day of the vigorous training that my trainer, Calla, was putting me through. I do it inside my room mostly or even outside, when I'm away from prying eyes. People here in District Two expect more from me than they did with other teenagers, I was the only daughter of one of the District Victors, Magdalena. She was the pride and joy of District Two when she came home, her Games had been one of the bloodiest. So basically, they expected the same kind of ruthlessness from me, her daughter.
Although I like being known as the Victor's daughter, the pressure was slowly sinking in. I turned sixteen just recently and people expect me to be in the Games this year since my mother won her Games when she too reached this magical age. So I put up a mask, around everyone including my mother, and became just like her in their eyes. I was trained, by my mother then by Calla, with knife-throwing and speed. Since I'm unusually small for my size (again, like my mother), the trainers thought I would do better to be stealthy and quick on my feet. I didn't need to be powerful if I'm fast. When I reached their expectations, they raised the bar even higher. Now, they need me to be hard to break and never shed a tear.
How will they do that you ask? Unlimited fighting against trainees, of course.
Earlier this day, Calla had the bigger and older trainees face our group, the sixteen years olds. I had beaten a few and tried to keep up with some. They were annoyed at my speed but one of them, the blonde they call Cato, managed to get a hold of me even before I could move. He was one of the seventeen year olds and the master of spears and swords. Without his weapons, however, he was still deadly. Cato, big and burly, stood at 6 feet and needed nothing but the pure strength packed in his thick arms. He smirked when he managed to bring me down, then moved on to join in with the laughter of his friends.
I bet they were talking about my greatest weaknesses, my height and weakness with hand to hand combat.
When the training stopped, Calla had scolded me for not thinking quick, she threatened to tell my mother about my recent downfall. I cringed at this, Magdalena the Victor was known for her anger issues - a trait that fortunately, I didn't inherit.
"Clover." A voice came behind me and I scoffed, realizing who it was. I turned my head towards the girls' bathroom door and found Cato leaning on the doorway with a triumphant grin on his face. "Oh, someone made a bruise on the Victor's daughter's face." He teased, giving off a laugh. I narrowed my eyes at him as a reply, Cato rolled his eyes at this, "Rich kids aren't normally the strongest ones out of the bunch." I stared at him, my glare now softening, what did he mean by that?
He lifted his tall from the doorway and looked at me, "See you tomorrow, little Clover." Cato ran his fingers through his messy blonde hair before he left.
Though I was still a little irritated by his comment about me, I couldn't help but wonder what he meant by it. Aside from his name, age and expertise, I don't quite know who Cato is outside the Training Center. Although I made a conclusion that he is well-off because of his muscular stature. I shrugged the thoughts out of my head and walked out of the girl's bathroom.
The moment I stepped inside the first floor of the Career Center, all eyes were on me - most of them were taunting, others were of loathing.
Many of the trainees here are jealous of me one way or another. I know because they let me feel so. Sometimes because of my supposedly easy life and other times because I was rumored to be the Head Trainer's favorite. Was it my fault that I was a Victor's daughter? Or that Ram didn't have discipline problems with me? What the hell is their problem?
I also thought it was stupid; who would want a life like this where you don't have any choice? My life was planned from the start. I was raised to kill or be killed. There was no way out.
My vigor to train each day was not to live up to my mother's expectations or to the other people's but to be able to live my life the way I wanted it to be after I survive my own Games. So this year, I'm going in and hopefully, I'm going to receive my own life before the same year ends.
"Hey Calla, I'm going home early." I shouted to my trainer once I reached the front door, I didn't even wait for her reply. The atmosphere outside was refreshing compared to where I trained, which smells of blood and sweat. District Two is probably one of the richest districts in Panem; right after District One, I thought. Although unlike District One, Two is more quaint like the a town in a kingdom, the kind you see in the old books. Houses, pathways and even benches were made of sturdy blocks of rocks, our District's livelihood. It was untouched by the technology in the Capitol; District Two is simple by sight yet different by nature.
From first glance, people here are rather simple-minded like that woman passing by with her little baby in her arms. You'd think she doesn't know a thing about the Games but when you cross her way, you'd just find out that she knows a thing or two about beheading someone because she went through training. Every kid in Two goes to training by the time they reach ten and when they're not picked to be in the Games, they are either: turned to Trainers; turned to Peacekeepers; or allowed to live their own lives.
Quietly, I follow my usual way to the Victor's Village. I kept my head down, my hands tucked in my baggy pants and my dark hair covering my face. Socializing was not allowed in my mother's book - she says having friends will make you soft and then turning you to a weaker version of yourself because you 'feel'. I have a nagging feeling that I'm missing out so much of my childhood but the thought of being punished would almost always make me think otherwise. Basically, I had no social life which even here in the district is weird for a sixteen year old.
My thoughts stopped running when I caught a glimpse of my mother conversing with Enobaria, our neighbor and the Victor of the 64th Hunger Games.
"Clove, my darling." My mother cooed, a sickeningly sweet smile crosses her features. "Training ended early today," There was a dangerous glint in her eyes, she knew I skipped an hour of training. "Enobaria just got home from the Capitol, she's telling me how excited she was of mentoring this year." My mother was replaced by Enobaria as a mentor when the latter became the recent Victor.
Turning my eyes on Enobaria, I smiled weakly, unable to give her a genuine one because of who she was and what she looked like. I don't think anyone can be truly happy when you're around someone who has altered her teeth after her infamous way of winning. "How is training, Clove?" Enobaria asked, flashing her gold fangs at me. I shuddered unconsciously at it.
"Fine." I said then tilted my head to the side to hide the bruise on my cheek. "Not much competition there." That part was true, I had no competition back in the Center. My aim was simply unattainable by someone who has just started throwing knives when they turned ten.
Not wanting to be pushed away from the conversation, my mother spoke with pride dripping in her voice, "My Clove will be a Victor." She said that almost always whenever she's speaking with her fellow Victors. Her hands found their way on my shoulder and made me face Enobaria. I kept my eyes away from the woman as the two Victors conversed, beguiling one another about the Games they won. I don't listen, Hunger Games meant nothing but freedom to me, in two ways. Dying and winning gets me away from my mother and her ideas. Unlike me, Magdalena thinks very highly of the Capitol. It was disgusting.
When I managed to get away from them, I entered our house and crept up to my room. This house had three occupants, unlike the others which housed only the Victors themselves. My grandmother was the third one but she is hardly alive. She sits by her bedroom window, only leaving when she's hungry or needed to do something. She's gone completely blank ever since my mother won her Games, I had no idea why. There are times, however, that she'd snap out of her trance and talk to me. Whenever she would, she'd tell me all about the family she had and lost, how Magdalena was the only family she had and how I look very much like one of her dead daughters.
I like my grandmother. She's the only one in District Two I genuinely care about. Somehow, I know she genuinely cares for me too. In her own way.
I threw myself on my unmade bed and closed my eyes. When I opened them, I stared at the ceiling and took a deep breath as though trying to compose myself. I scrambled up and stood on top of my bed, reached out and pulled the knife buried deep in the ceiling. When I managed to pull it out, my eyes watched it slowly. It was my first training knife, my mother gave it to me on my sixth birthday. It had a gold handle with my name embossed on it and a sharp curved blade. This knife was my first play thing. People thought it was twisted when my six year old self told them but to me, it was normal.
This knife and what it gave me will be my ticket to my success.
However, my reverie ended when I heard my mother's voice calling me. Out of instinct, I jumped out of my bed and bolt out of my room without another thought. When she calls me, I come immediately. I never make her wait, it wasn't allowed.
My mother was by the last step of the staircase, her eyes in narrow slits. She's upset by something, so I carefully descend down and hid my arms behind me.
"Calla came over." Magdalena spoke silently, "Interesting turn-out, hm my Clover?" I stopped right in front of her and hung my head in shame. "Your arm." She held out a hand and reluctantly, I place my right arm over it. Her free hand pushed my long sleeves back and revealed the long raw cuts on my skin. The cuts was a tally of my mistakes and with every one mistake I make, Magdalena will cut me. "My darling, you will never be a Victor when you don't win. Hunger Games is," She pulled out her knife from her belt, "A survival of the fittest. You will never win by making mistakes." With one quick swipe, I felt pain but struggled to keep my face as neutral as possible.
Showing of vulnerability will earn me another, over the first one. It will be deeper, much more painful.
Now I was more determined than ever. I will have to be in the Games this year. I have to get away from my life. The 74th Hunger Games is mine. No one will get in my way.