shot through the heart (marvel, the hunger games)

chapter two; marvel sanford

     "I had thick red blood running down MY CLOTHES."
                                "And a sick, sick look 'cause I LIKE IT THOUGH."

                           ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

   The spear leaves my hand, puncturing the target's bullseye with a dull thud. I should feel a flood of relief at my success, but I don't. This is normal. I should always hit the bullseye. Shoot straight through the heart. After all, it's what I've been trained to do. 

As the air gets warmer, the sessions get longer, harder, blood spatters the floor and whoops of victory are heard. That's how it goes in The Academy. Breaks? Never heard of them. Every single moment that District 1's select few spends inside of these walls is preparation for the games, our entire life's purpose. 

I glance over my shoulder, noting The Academy's highly ranked trainers wandering around the room, keeping an eye on us all. Lace, the head trainer winks at me, which I hope is a good sign. 

To have trained a good 8 years of my life here and to not be chosen for this year's volunteer would be a waste. Imagining the disappointment in my father's gaze is my main drive, I don't want to follow in his footsteps. The thought saddens me. 

Even from a young age, children from District 1 are scouted, and chosen to be entered into The Academy, which's sole reason is to train us for the Annual Hunger Games. There are 10 of us per age group, half boys and half girls. The best of the best, but only 2 of us can be selected to volunteer. 

Jasper Sanford had been chosen, just like me to be a part of The Academy. He became a skilled archer but was constantly outshone by his cousin, my uncle. By the time my uncle wasn't around anymore, having died in the 42nd Hunger Games, Father was too old to be chosen as District 1's male volunteer. I couldn't imagine his pain, the grief he would have felt. 

Nowadays, he spends most of his free time from work on the outskirts of District 1, the oak woods. He'll come back with a rabbit or two, cheeks flushed as he tries to grasp onto any little piece he can remember from his youth. 

I guess his desperation to relive his days in The Academy is why I'm so desperate to be chosen. 

All 10 of us 17-year-olds are desperate, but me more so than the rest. They have no reason to be so needy, except for the fame that comes with volunteering. Sure fame is great, but glory and pride are much, much better. 

I make my way over to the nearest wall, leaning against it for a moment. The cool concrete feels amazing against my hot, sweaty skin, and I'm trying to savour every last minute of it before I have to head back home. 

At the sound of a squeal, I open my eyes, spotting two girls sparring in the far corner. One is on top of the other, and they're both struggling for the upper hand. 

It doesn't take me long to recognize Glimmer Belcourt's blonde curls, as she roughly shoves the other girl back down again. She's definitely a top contender for this year's tribute, and I wonder if she'll be chosen to volunteer. If it comes down to it, we might have to fight against each other during the games. 

I smirk to myself, remembering her fickle shots at a dummy previously this year with a bow and arrow. Her aim doesn't scare me. 

This is my year, I know it. Sure, I'm not 18, but everybody already thinks I am. I guess being tall has its benefits. No point in waiting another year now, I already know I'm ready. All of the trainers know too, half of The Academy's 18-year-olds are useless. They'd be stupid to hold me back. 

Peeling myself away from the wall, I make my way into The Academy's locker room to grab my bag. Once I have it slung over my shoulder, I head over to thank the trainers on duty and sign myself out.