Enemies to what? (Clato)

Chapter 4

Disclaimer: The Hunger Games belong to Suzanne Collins, and the characters and locations in this story belong to her as well. Except for my own original characters of course.

Since he moved away from me when he laughed, I make a last minute decision. Opening my mouth as if I am about to speak, I bolt. Straight into the woods.

The moon above is bright, but because of the large trees overhead, my figure goes unseen hurriedly traveling through the forest.

Years of training have made me a nimble but quick runner, allowing me to move silently in the vast forest. Luckily Cato is not one to focus on the agility courses, and I immediately hear his loud footsteps following me. Knowing that he will use sound and sight to locate me, I venture quietly into the darker part of the forest.

I have another key allowing me to escape from Cato. He has never ventured far into the woods like I have. Hunting is not something the 'upper class' must do, because with a snap of their fingers they have a meal that would feed hundreds.

Me? I have to go hunting usually at least once or twice a week. You might be wondering why I go hunting in the rich side woods, but they have the best game over here, so what choice do I have?

Some days I can get away with stealing good stuff like bread, or find some things that people have dropped or left behind in the market. Most people don't really care if a loaf of bread is missing, or some other bland food, because I steal from the rich side.

There is nothing to steal from where I live, even though my situation is usually worse than others.

Like I said before, we have a rich side, and a poor side. But in these sides, you have richer people and poorer people. Take Cato for the richer side, and me for the poorer side. I'm only allowed to go to training because our districts want the highest chances of winning the games.

Sure they rig the reaping, but sometimes things get messed up, and they want all children to be prepared for the arena.

Anyway, i know these woods real well, and there is no way I can get lost, even in the dark, though it is a bit harder to find my marking spots.

As my eyes squint in the light, I can just make out a thin oak tree with a dent in it the size of a golf ball. As I come in contact with the rough surface of the bark, I decide to take a rest.

My hands reach down to where my bag is at my waist, but instead of feeling the old worn leather, they come in contact with air.

My eyes widen as I come into realization of what just happened. My bag must have fallen off of me when I was being pushed around by Cato.

My breath speeds up, and I begin to twitch slightly as I clench my fists. I force myself to uncurl my fingers, and grip the rough bark as I calm down.

Small panic attacks have been a side effect of losing my parents at a young age, and being forced to care for myself, though they have been happening less often. I still receive them time to time, though I make sure that people either never notice, or are never around when they happen.

Forcing myself to get up, I take deep breaths, turning myself in the direction of the alleyway I call home.

Time Skip

As I reach the dark moist cardboard box in the corner of the alleyway, I look up at the sky. Sighing, I realize that I will only receive a few hours of sleep tonight due to early morning training.

Usually I will be able to get home earlier, but with the events that happened earlier that night, I got home a bit later than expected.

I open up the side of the cardboard box and snuggle myself deep inside. Pushing myself up against the side next to the wall, I hear my stomach grumble. Oh yeah, I didn't get the chance to eat again.

Not that it isn't surprising, this happens to me a lot, but years of problems, have given me a chance to become prepared for things to happen, and have taken away every bit of fear and empathy I have. At least when it comes to the people at the training center.

Crawling to the other end of the box, I grab one of my spare knives, and clutch it in my hands. Pressing the cold metal against my cheek I begin to get drowsy and let my mind take me into the pattern of sleep.

As I drift off, my fingers stay tightly wrapped around the knife, because hey, you never know what could happen.