Born to Die (Clato Fanfic)

Chapter 2

I never believed people when they told me throwing knives was not easy. Knives were highly popular in my district, but I always heard girls at school complaining about how they couldn't hit the target. Well, it couldn't be that hard. The first knife I threw was targeted at my father and it grazed his hip. It was obviously pure luck because in my backyard, I rarely even touched the board. My aim was always off and the knives seemed to always swerve to the right. It was frustrating. My palms were ripped, and I couldn't count how many times I hit myself instead of the target. I spent hours screaming in anger and frustration.

Why can't you just go the right way!? I needed to train. I needed to hit the target. I needed to succeed. But no matter what I did, I failed. My dreams were crumbling by the second. Hopes of leaving my father and winning the Games crashed down around me.

After about a week of no success, I was growing impatient. Becoming Panem's next victor was more work than I thought. Any sane person would have just given up and tried something else. Maybe I would have been better with a spear or a bow. What did I do? I increased the practice time and dedicated my entire life toward it. I would wake up every morning, before anyone else and throw. The neighbors snored in the comfort of their homes while I worked.

I would throw until I had to go to school, but school didn't stop me. Eight brutal hours of learning nothing useful was agonizing. Most children went to the Academy where they would be trained for the Hunger Games. Of course the kids who were poor, failures, and too young, were stuck in hell. I found ways to help the days go by faster. I practiced throwing pencils and pens, and studied books on throwing underneath the desk. I did get in trouble, but who were they going to call? My father? He wouldn't care, he probably wouldn't even answer the phone. He had been sober ever since mother's death, but he was always distant. He hovered from room to room, emotionless and dead. He watched me throw every morning from the kitchen table with an untouched mug of coffee in his hands. I would quickly draw the curtains whenever I caught him looking.

But we seemed to tolerate each other. I did most of the cleaning and cooking, but I didn't mind. It reminded me of my mother.
We did have one thing in common. Her absence destroyed us. She was every where I looked and I could tell he felt the same. It's the reason he would never really look at me. She was written all over me, in memories and resemblance. He left me alone, forcing me to survive on my own. I also tried my best to keep him alive, I didn't need two dead parents. We didn't talk besides my occasional reminders of his promise to go to the academy.

To which he replied, "First we need the money." I would just grunt and go back to throwing. I knew we didn't have the money, but I wanted this more than anything. He did manage to get a job. He worked in the mines, mining for copper. It didn't make much, but enough to put food on the table. Certainly not enough for the Academy, but I still begged.

On my tenth birthday he bought me a new set of knives. I wasn't expecting anything so, for the first time in five years, I smiled. Things were getting better, but I was still suffering. There was still no Academy. I was getting doubtful we could ever afford it. I actually deserved it too. I was good. I had been training myself for two years and I was positive out of everyone in District 2, I deserved to go to the most. Who else had seen their parent murdered in front of them and continued to function, trying to live with a ghost of a father? Sometimes the neighbors would even watch me throw, cheering me on as the knives smacked into the board. I rarely missed and I was very fond of the center of the board.

After about another six months of patiently waiting for enough money, my father finally told me that he would never make enough. I had known it of course, but hearing him say the words was like a slap to my face. It stung and forced tears into my eyes, but I pushed away the pain. I silently nodded as he told me he was sorry. I pretended not to care, but inside I was heartbroken.

I went to bed that night glaring at my reflection in the knives blades. Why couldn't I just show them my abilities? Why couldn't I just prove that I was the best? They would be sure to let me in. I kept turning the knife over and over. I couldn't let this slip away from me, especially not after all my hard work. I needed a fresh start, a new life that only the Games could provide. That's when I realized the obvious. I could just show them my skills. I could march over there and show them. I knew I was better than most the kids in there. They would see it, and they would want me there, to bring honor to our District. My brain buzzed with excitement, but I knew I had to wait until morning. I decided that by tomorrow night, my life would be turned around.

I threw the blankets off just as the sun began to rise. I shoved my legs through the dark clingy fabric and threw on a loose gray top. The Academy was about five miles away and I had to be there before it opened. My short legs carried me through the streets of District 2, unnoticed. The Academy opened at 9:00 and a had about an hour. My breathing was rapid and my legs burned, but I kept sprinting. By the time I got there, the sun was bright and hot. The heat brought glistening sweat and burning lungs. I slumped up against the wall and tried to catch my breath.

I had my plan well thought out, but my stomach was tumbling. I nervously stood up and ran over to the nearest window. I was almost positive it wouldn't be locked because it hardly ever was. If it was, my whole plan would just be embarrassing. Thankfully, it wasn't and I hauled myself over the ledge. My feet slapped against the concrete as I hit the Academy floors. My mouth instantly dropped. It was like a toy store. Rows and rows of knives, darts, swords, spears, and arrows lined the walls. There were hundreds of different kind of targets, and dummies. The floors were covered in mats, and different types of obstacle courses. My footsteps echoed around the room as I weaved through all the stations. It was beautiful.

Suddenly, I remembered why I was here and rushed over to the knives. It would open any second. I picked up the first knife and was relieved to see they were similar to the ones at home. I grabbed about ten more and picked a human sized dummy with red paint near the heart. My hands were sweating when I reached for the first knife.

It's just practice, come on Clove.

I took a deep breath and chucked the knife toward the target. My face spread into a wide grin as I realized I was only about an inch from center. Not bad for my first throw. As I was reaching for the next knife, I heard a small click. Someone was unlocking the door. My eyes widened in fear as I glanced at the entrance. The owner and head trainer walked through the doors. I avoided eye contact and instead threw another knife. It pierced the stomach but I was barely paying attention.

"What are you doing here!" he shouted from the doorway. I nervously bit my lip but picked up another knife. "Hey! I'm talking to you!" The knife skimmed the dummy's head. "Little girl! This is only for Academy members! Do I have to call the Peacekeepers!?"

"I'm good, I promise." I stammered. This wasn't exactly going according to plan. He just needed to see me throw.

"I don't care! Get out of here!"

"Just watch! I can't afford the membership, but I know I'm better than all of your students!" Okay, that was a lie. I had never seen them train before.

"Get out of here before I call the Peacekeepers!"

I was on the verge of crying. This was not how it was supposed to go. He was just going to let me in once he saw my skills, easy as that. Wow, I was stupid. I wasn't going to let this stop me. I was not giving up. I calmly grabbed another blade as he screamed at me. I didn't care, I deserved this chance. I raised the knife and threw. It spiraled threw the air, beautifly. Quickly, I picked up three more, and threw them at nearby targets, each flying perfectly and landing with a thud. The screaming stopped as the knives pressed into the center of the red circles. I had done it. I whipped around to see groups of students looking awestruck. I smirked and turned to the owner. He glared at me and didn't stop even as another trainer came to whisper in his ear.

" Tessa, she isn't even paying. We can't just let her in!"

"But Ryker, she's better than our throwers," the women said crossing her arms. I noticed a lot of the students had begun to whisper among each other. I quickly pretended to become interested in the floor design as Tessa and Ryker argued. After what seemed like forever, Ryker called me over.

"What's your name," he grunted as he folded his arms against his large chest.

"Clove Sevina, sir." I muttered, feeling the sir was appropriate.

"Welcome to the academy Clove," Tessa said with a warm smile.

I had done it.