Are The Odds In Our Favour?

Chapter 4

Katniss' POV:
Images flash through my mind...
I see him. Demolishing dummies without a second thought, how could it be that easy? If they were people would he also be so carless about taking their heads off?

I knew he was dangerous, not just about how he looked or the attitude composed from within; but the look in his eyes. Looking at Peeta like he's a flimsy piece of paper, ready to tear him into minuet shreds and dance in the Peeta-confetti that remained.

Deadliness and poison burn within his eyes, seeping out death glares at whoever looked his way-they were one if his most dangerous weapons. One look into those bad boys and you're dead. As if he was a descendant of Medussa.
But when I saw him look worried for that split- second I could only think that maybe Cato wasn't as tough and confident as he let on, could be have doubts? Or do his two brain cells not understand fear?

***

"Katniss? Katniss" Peeta nudges his elbow against my side, awaking me from my clouded thoughts.
Peeta and I are at the camouflaged station where I am desperately trying to paint myself to look like a bed of flowers, whilst Peeta transforms himself into a tree bark. The only difference is that whereas Peeta is excelling in this, I am failing.

As his eyes squint to carefully paint his arm, allowing each stroke to be precise and perfect. Peeta cracks a wide smile exposing his newly-polished teeth. If only you could win the games by painting yourself... Peeta isn't a violent person; he's a good natured human.
It's heartbreaking to think that when someone so kind, caring and warm is put into a death match against someone like Cato: a cold, cruel and menacing being. The odds would never be in his favour.

Speaking of the devil. "Where's my knife? Did you take my knife?!" Cato grabs the collar of the male District 3 tribute, lifting him high up from the ground. Despite his yelps and crys Cato remained to keep him airborne.

He doesn't feel. Why do I expect more from someone who doesn't posses one ounce of emotion or compassion what-so-ever?

Behind the large cylinder pillar I see a small shadow. Rue. Why would she be hiding? Only if she had... The knife.
I see the evil object held tightly in her tiny hands. That should never belong there. By simply holding that death-trap she was losing her childhood born innocence, and it was wrong.
That's what theses games are for aren't they? To take innocent children and mould them into a perfect Capitol image, before sending them into an arena for their inevitable deaths.

With force I train my eyes away from Rue, just incase anyone would follow my gaze and hurt her.

I couldn't let that happen.
Not when she reminded me of my sister, Prim, who cries in the middle of the night when she hears a loud noise.

Or when I come home late after hunting. She would be stood there, looking helpless as she ran into my arms.

I promised her: That I would try to win with every fibre in my being, to come back home to her.

***

The day goes by and I sit uncomfortably in my bed, the plush pillows are like heaven to the head, the mattress dips to the touch and the duvet makes me feel safe and protected.

Some false hope, huh?

I could die tomorrow. I might literally be dead in a few hours.

A tear escapes my eye and I stand up, my movements slow and worthless. As my feet take me out of the room...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Right. Well, look, here's the deal...
I need to be honest as an author right?
I honestly am losing interest with this book, story and the ship.
Please don't hurt me *crys in corner*
But I realised that would be unfair on you guys, so I will continue with this.
By the way, I did write more chapters ages ago but guess what? They didn't save! *facepalm*
-Heidihoney