"You can't get rid of me Clove, never have and never will."
╰┈┈┈┈┈┈┈୨୧ˊˎ₊˚
24 tributes. 12 districts. But only one has two teenagers whose entire lives are dedicated to the games. Clove had burnt her bridges with Cato a long time ago, ending their f...
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The Abnormal
5 years before the 74th Hunger Games
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"Do you think we'll ever enter the games?"
Clove blinked once, twice before sharply laughing. "Of course, we will; what do you think our training has been for?" She turned to her left to stare at Cato, lightly poking his cheek. "Don't be stupid."
"I mean, of course, but—" Clove watched closely, noticing how Cato kept ripping out the grass between them.
Despite the rocky terrain District Two was built on, there were still areas of greenery throughout the land, though most surrounded the edge of the district. However, one day, after chasing each other through rows of houses, they stumbled upon a small but secluded part of vegetation that quickly became their meeting spot. Whenever they were bored and didn't feel like training, they could always find each other there.
"Of course what?" Clove moved her body so she sat on her knees, leaning in close to Cato. "C'mon, spit it out."
For a second, she thought he didn't hear her, but then, Cato turned his head to connect their gaze; Clove tried not to squirm at the new attention.
"I guess I meant to ask, do you want to be in the games?"
The thought was so unbelievably simple that Clove couldn't help but snort. "What kind of question is that?"
"I'm serious Clove," Cato snapped. He had stopped twirling the blades of grass, now grasping his hands tightly together in a way that almost looked painful. "Have you ever thought about doing more than just training for an opportunity we might not even want?"
It wasn't the words as much as much as it was the tone that suddenly made Clove unsure. Even at ten, Clove had already experienced four years of training at the academy. The moment she was able to hold a small knife, she was already getting taught in her classes the best way to slice someone's throat. It was a delicate balance that left the games to be a higher priority over simple subjects such as math and literature. That thought alone only served to make Clove more perplexed; Cato was one year older and knew more about the games than her, so why did he seem so... hesitant? Or was it because—
Clove's eyes narrowed. "You're scared of the arena, aren't you?"
Cato's head snapped so fast in her direction that Clove winced.
"It's not that at all," he growled, "don't say anything like that again."
"Then what else is it!" Clove cried. "We've been training for these games for years, Cato; why willingly give up your talent when you can use it to gain pride instead."
