Cato and Clove (EXTREMELY SLOW UPDATES)

An Unexpected Volunteer

I was in the crowd of girls that didn't really care if their name was picked. They know someone will volunteer for them. They might not think it will be me but I will be the one.

I just think, maybe winning will give me a sense of accomplishment, a sense of belonging. I've always felt outnumbered to the rest of the world. Maybe winning the games will give me happiness.

So when the name is called I step out of the crowd of girls and say firmly and calmly, "I volunteer." They ask me my name and in the same voice I say, "Clove Kentwell."

I see my mom in the crowd, crying, next to my dad who didn't seem to notice his child had volunteered for the Hunger Games. He didn't care. I was sailing towards my own death. If I win the games will either repair me or they will break me even more. District 2 is not what the other districts think we are. We are scared, just like anyone else would be. We just decide not to let it show.

When the name of the boy tribute is called I'm not surprised when I hear someone volunteer. It was who volunteered that was surprising.

Cato. Cato Hadley.

I know his voice quite well. Who doesn't? Everyone wants to be exactly like him. He is a huge role model for kids her. He's kind, helpful, caring but he can be the exact opposite when he wants to. He can be fierce, heartless, and merciless. He's like this when he is training but the second he is done he is back to his sweet self. If he chooses to be happy why has he chosen to participate in the games.

His little brother, Ashton, looked terrified but he didn't say anything. He was only twelve and I knew that face would haunt Cato through the games. I guess that's why he didn't look at him.

When it's time for us to shake hands I look right into his icy blue eyes. I hesitate but I do shake his hand.

Before I know it I am being escorted to a tiny room where i get to say my farewells to people who would care to show up.

My mothers walks in and I think she's suffocating because she's crying very hard and I can tell you that it's not pretty. I think she's choking. Every word she says is barely audible. It's like their drowning in her own tears.

"I'm so" *cough* *cough* "so sorry" *very loud sob* "I--I" *very deep breath* "love" *cough* "you" *sob*.

I stare at her, refusing to make the slightest movement.

"I wish I" *cough* "could stop" *sob* "you" *voice crack* "It's all my" *sob sob sob* "my fault!" She started to sob very loud but I felt no sympathy, no tenderness, and not the slightest impulse to forgive her.

"I know," I say without moving from my position and keeping my face as hard as stone. "You could've helped me. This is your fault."

Next my father comes in and nausea hits me like one of those fancy capitol trains. I really don't want to talk to him but I keep my expression neutral.

My father doesn't look a lot like me. I mostly look like my mother. My father has hair, mustache, and beard. He is exactly what the other districts think district 2 is like. It seems like he's horrible just for fun. Merciless. That only makes him worse. His eyes are a dark brown but look like they are on solid color. They stare angrily. Only angrily. The only expression he has is anger. Never happy, sad, understanding, only angry. This made him hard to put up with or understand, let alone love. I would never love him because he never loved me.

"So I guess this is goodbye," he stated flagrantly. He said it as if I wasn't his daughter. I was just someone he'd met before. An acquaintance, not someone he lives with.

"I've been waiting for this day for so long," he says. "The day you finally gather your things and leave."

"I'm not leaving," I say without as little emotion I can muster. If you listened closely you could hear the sadness in my voice. "I volunteered to win."

"Perhaps but we all know that someone as weak as you cannot win The Hunger Games," he says, walking a circle around me but his burning stare does not leave my eyes. "It might be a game for children but the children all die. You are foolish Clove. Remember that when your cannon goes off. People might be disgusted, sad, or angry but there will be a smile on my face."

He stops circling me and just faces me for a moment, unmoving. He's eyes just look at means for a moment I am scared. Then he turns around and walks out of the room. He didn't say anything, he just walked away.

I sit on the couch for a while, waiting for the Peacekeepers to tell me that time is up and we have to board the train to the Capitol.

I think of what it will be like in the Capitol until I see a masked person in white uniform, holding a large gun, walk into the room and tell me in a monotone voice, "Time is up."

I am escorted by the Peacekeepers to a car that will take us tho the train. Inside the car is Rystella, the District 2 escort.

I hate the name Rystella. She looks like an alien, too. Her skin is pale blue, her cheeks are magenta, her eyelids are green, her eyelashes are dark blue, her eyes are purple, the designs on her skin are silver, and her hair is yellow and in some very complicated up do that made my head hurt.

If you're going to tell me it's the person that matters, not their looks, I don't like her as a person either. She is a narcissistic, spoiled snob that is obsessed with her appearance and any sort of gossip. She is rude, self-centered, and has not shown even the teensiest bit of modesty.

For the entire ride she blabs about how she got this super good discount on some beauty product at some super expensive place. Now she's talking about how much it costs there to get piercings.

The entire time, I could not think of anything but how much I'd love her to be my new knife-throwing target.

This is going to be a long ride.