Gladiators -- Clato

-Clove Kentwell-

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District Two is a land of no forgiveness. The children born within the crests of our mountains grow up learning the ways of battle. Our people are strong, impassioned warriors. This is the place where I grew up.

I grew up being shown no mercy, so I show no mercy. My district is made of stone, and so am I. My heart is as sharp as the knives I throw, and my mind just as.

I stand now, In the main square of our largest city. The peacekeepers have spent weeks setting up the giant screens all around the District. It's so large, really, anyone who isn't in the reaping pool has the option to stay back and watch the procession elsewhere. They stand now on the stage, testing the microphones, setting the glass balls on the wooden tables. The weather is overcast, as it usually is, and I smell rain in the air. However, the forecast could be off less interest to me.

The only thing on my mind now is the games, and how I will volunteer. The huge stage is empty save for the painted Capitol fool that parades around in her silly outfit. She hobbles around on her hoofs here and there, muttering indistinctly.

I'm located near the stage, within the handful of Academy students that gaze expectedly up to the stage. These kids don't have that quivering, pitiful demeanor about them you would usually see at a reaping. No, these are the people who have been trained since their youths for the sole purpose of volunteering. Fear does not belong to them.

I am one of these rare few. Although, I'm too young to volunteer, really. My trainer has specifically advised me not to, but, oh well. We'll see what happens when the card is drawn.

I throw a glance over my shoulder, trying to spot my sister on the outlines of the reaping pool. Instead, I see all the workers' children, huddled together in fear. Most of them are forced to come down from the mountains and quarrys just for the reaping, so the atmosphere is unfamiliar and threatening alike.

I don't feel surprise at the absence of my sister. She's probably off somewhere, screwing some shrink for her mind-numbing drugs that seem to keep her so happy.

Thankfully, I don't have to think about it for too long before the Capitol-made mini-movie starts to play on the screen. Describing the dark days, rebellion, Hunger Games, yada yada. Same shit we see each year. I sigh in distaste. Frankly, someone ought to climb up on stage and stick a knife through the screen.

Finally, it's over. The kids around me chat with their friends, trying to decide who will volunteer this year as our escort begins her idioitic speech.

"Hello, District two!" she starts cheerily. "I hope you are all having a wonderful day..." I block her out in order to hear the words of a girl to my left.

"Santhe's been training really hard lately. Zetta too. Although..." the girl in front of me trails off. "Clove's a candidate. But she's younger than them. It would be stupid for her to volunteer."

I seethe in silence. Baubelle Flatdust is nothing but a nasty gossip. I pay no attention to her words. That girl is useless. She showed absolutely no talent in weaponry throughout our initiation and was eventually weeded out of the program. Brat.

"I see this year's selection is looking very strong! Brilliant. I am so proud to be here in Two." The Capitol Woman, whose name is Plumeria or something along those lines, gives a happy little chirp, and I roll my eyes. 

"Oh, but...Cato's definitely going this year," she murmurs to her friend. "Have you seen him training? Oh, wow..."

This girl is really starting to piss me off. Cato? Ugh. District Two's favorite son. It's not much of a surprise. He comes from Two's largest training tycoon, his father owning a large percentage of the Academy's funds. His Great Grandfather, Aurelius Hadly, had won the Twenty-third games, after which he had put his fortune into District 2's Academy.

"Happy Hunger Games!" our escort announces in her ugly Capitol accent, snapping me out of my thoghts. "We will now draw the name for our female tribute."

I stand rigid in the crowd. It doesn't matter who gets picked now. I suppose that's one bit of reassurance the regular citizens of two get. Whoever they are, there's someone waiting to take their place in an instant.

Plumeria fishes the slip of paper out of the fishbowl, and holds it up to her eyes. "Aldera Hardstar," she says loudly.

I have no idea who the girl is or what she looks like, but the words fly out of my mouth just as I've rehearsed. "I volunteer!"

The crowd parts to let me walk towards the huge throng of teenagers, but as I ready to begin walking to the stage, I hear another voice.

"Hey! I volunteer as well!" comes the sharp, dreaded shriek, of none other than Zetta Reemer. She waves her hand way over the crowd, rushing to the front to take my place.

"Back off!" I yell. "I volunteered first."

"You're really going to let this little worm volunteer?" Zetta cackles, looking up at Plumeria, who looks at as undecidedly. It's not uncommon for multiple people to volunteer, but it's no question that I'm the rightful tribute.

"Little Clove, Little Clove," she taunts, pushing her horseish face up to mine. "You need to eat more. Look at you!"

I feel dread as the rest of the crowd laughs lightly along with her. But as well as dread, I feel something else brewing in me. Rage.

"Aww, nothing to say? Too bad. When I win, I'll be sure to-"

Before she can finish her sentence, I swing my arm around and sock her right in the nose. The crowd gasps in shock, but I'm not done. She's stumbled back from me a few steps, bleeding from her nose. I launch myself at her and we go down onto the rough ground together.

"Who's laughing now, huh?" I take her by the hair and pull her head back, and she cries out as I send a flurry of punches square into her jaw. "Come on, laugh!" I punch her again, and Zetta just lets out a moan of pain.

I stare into her face and feel nothing. She kicks her legs upwards and sends them into my stomach, but this only infuriates me further. With all my strength, I pull her left arm back over her head until she screams.

I'm surprised no one's stepped in to separate us yet. I guess it's entertaining.

She stops fighting back after a while, her face completely ruined by my attack. I stand up, looking down at her body, and then look back out at the crowd. They're looking back at me in stunned silence. I say nothing.

"Alright then, we have our worthy tribute!" Plumeria announces warley. "What's your name, then?"

"Clove Kentwell," I say firmly.