The knife blade dug into my skin but I kept throwing. My aim was always slightly off center which irritated me greatly. If this was the real game, I could've possibly missed the tribute. I growled in frustration and stomped over to the mini bathroom in my cell and rinsed the blood off my hands. I stared at the wall that had hundreds of holes and target marks due to being punctured by my knives. I reached for my small roll of bandaging tape and wrapped the deep cuts indented in my palms. The 77th Hunger Games, or in the Rebel's case, the 1st Capitol Game's Reaping day would be in 2 days and I was determined to whip myself into shape. If I went down, I was going down with a fight for sure. After President Snow's death all hope that the Capitol Game being canceled seemed to die with him. The only upside was that now the Game was going to be official, I was a VIP - very important prisoner.
I walked over to my small wooden table and flipped through the Game manual which contained everything the tribute needed to know. The rules for this year have changed slightly. Because there are no districts in this Game the tributes will be sorted by ranks. During the reaping, Katniss will reap 12 girls and 12 boys in a row, my name being already selected. Then the girls will be sorted to fight each other, boys with boys, the Head Gamekeeper, Katniss Everdeen will rank the tributes 1 being top and 12 being worse by their skill in combat. The remaining living victors will mentor the rank they are given, there are no escorts, and stylists are people that were hand selected by the Gamekeepers. Besides that, the rules remain the same, the last standing tribute is the victor.
I turned to the battered old TV and scrolled through all the tribute profiles of the past 75 Hunger Games. I stopped at Clove Kentwell's file, my favorite 74th Hunger Games tribute. I studied her hand techniques when throwing her knives and realized that the way my hands were positioned was inaccurate. I picked up my knife, securing it in my hand properly and chucked it at a freshly drawn x on the wall, nailing it solidly. I smiled and pitched a few more knives just for the joy of it. The flap to my jail cell door opened and a tray of food slipped in. I rushed over to the food grabbing the warm roll on the tray when I happened to eavesdrop the conversation outside.
"Let me talk to her!" a frustrated voice shouted, a female I believe.
"She has knives in there, I'm afraid of your safety" one of my jail servers whispered.
Katniss scoffed, "She's fourteen".
There was some hustling and the then the door to my jail cell opened Katniss Everdeen stepped in. My eyes narrowed at the sight of her. Despite the fact that she wasn't the one who killed Grandpa I realized I detested her. Granddad would still be here if she didn't exist. I remembered admiring her, braiding my hair like hers, watching every clip of her during the games, but now I thought differently of her now. The innocent girl she portrayed was nothing but a hoax, she was lethal and cunning. The hand containing my knife raised a bit but Katniss simply shook her head sadly and sat down on the floor. She looked me right in the eye and I glared back, we stayed there, still as statues in a stare down contest for a long time before she finally said something.
"You know about the game by now don't you," she asked solemnly.
"Yes," I hissed back to her. I realized I was in danger of crying and gritted my teeth.
Katniss sighed, "I'm sorry" she whispered then stood up and left the room, shutting the door and locking it. I realized I had been clutching the knife so hard the blood had seeped through the bandage.
Sorry? I thought, What was she sorry about? She didn't care, she wanted me to suffer and die a painful torturous death for a crime that I didn't even commit. What does she know? The pain I've gone through, I have never wanted to be the Capitol Darling, its all natural selections fault. If you were truly sorry you wouldn't do this to me, to the innocent capitol children who were brainwashed at young ages into what they are now.
I hate her. I hate everyone. But I hate myself the most.