A Career's Eye: Green With Bloodlust

Chapter 1

I was awoken by the rare melodic chime of a flock of mockingjays sailing homeward across a cloudy grey sky. I groaned in exasperation as I turned onto my side to observe these rotten excuses for birds flit past my window until only their squawky irritating song remained. I reflexively readied my delicate yet brutal knife I had appointed especially for bringing down airborne nuisances but after some unexpected hesitation on my part, I decided against making the kill. Let them fly onwards to the rest of District 2 and continue to the other districts so they can rouse other potential tributes and give them the same disadvantage I had just been given. I let an audible grunt of contempt escape my lips as I realised those stinking mockingjays had just cost me precious sleep on my big day.

My big day. My sleep-deprived face lit up into a glow of enthusiasm as it dawned on me that today was no ordinary day. It was the day I had been working up to my whole life. Every intensive extra hour I had spent after training ensuring my accuracy was as up to scratch as it could be, every bite of food I eagerly gobbled up to build up muscle, every squirrel’s heart I had stopped in its tracks with my treacherous knife depended upon this moment. It had been a long wait and I had found it increasingly difficult to hold myself back from volunteering for the past few years, but this was my year. I could feel it. If I didn’t go for it now, I would never be at the same peak in fitness ever again and I would live to regret it. The pride and honour of District 2 would lie in my hands, yet I knew deep down that there could not be a better person to take this burden. I now trembled with exhilaration as I came to realise that today I would finally meet my destiny. It was the day of the reaping.

My newfound energy caused me to spring out of bed and slip into a dark camouflaged outfit. Nobody else in my district owned one, but my dad pulled out all the stops to allow me to indulge in owning one. He saved a generous amount of his quarry wages in a small tin with its pale yellow paint peeling off until it contained enough money to purchase the astronomically-priced materials required to camouflage the outfit. My parents are extremely protective of me, and rightly so. Why shouldn’t they? After all, in their eyes, I’m single-handedly their only hope of bringing the same pride and glory into the house that was present two generations ago when my late grandmother won the Games. Yes, that’s right; my grandmother was a past victor. But that didn’t intimidate me in the least. In fact, this only solidified my confidence that I will undoubtedly return to my district standing tall with a victorious smile and an honour that nobody could ever take away from me. I will be the victor of the 74th annual Hunger Games. I felt my body tremble at the prospect.

My mother is very skilled with the needle and her eyes lit up with enthusiasm the day I arrived home from the small street market hosted outside the Justice Building every week with an array of sheets of assorted dark coloured acrylic. Within a few days, my camouflaged suit was ready for use. However, when I say use, I don’t mean in training where the envious eyes of my peers, brimming with jealousy and contempt blatantly directed towards me, may pry on me. This outfit was designed for a special purpose. This outfit was made for the time I spend in my special place.

I reached inside my jacket to contact the wide selection of lethal knives I could rely on being there. I could not help but give a smug smirk of pride and satisfaction as I let my hand slide down the smooth metallic surfaces of the knives. Unfortunately, as there were only so many tailor made compartments my mother could make for my knives, only my favourites made it inside my jacket.

I ran down the stairs, not caring who I roused as I was now in my hunting mode. The slight reassuring clinking noise of the knives inside my jacket that was so faint that it could only possibly be audible to me. It thrilled me and gave me an inexplicable feeling that nobody would ever truly understand but me. It was an exclusive feeling that I never planned on letting anyone else be part of. It caused a sudden burst of vibrant energy to sweep through me that always directed me to the same place; my special place. It gave me the fiery desire to drive a dagger through every beating heart that is unfortunate enough to be nearby. At that moment, as I stood over the rigid lifeless body of a helpless creature I had just victimised, a wave of extreme pleasure and satisfaction swept through me and this addictive vibe made me want more and more. The scent of the blood gargling from its stiff defunct carcass exhilarated me to the point where I felt like I was standing on the highest point of Panem, grinning smugly down at the mediocre inferior nation that existed beneath me. To sum it up yet severely underrate it, I would call this urgent feeling bloodlust.