Stone Cold Killers: the Tributes of District 2

The Best Fighter

          “Looks like we're at an even 29-29 score, next throw to land takes all!” Clove barked, grinning through her teeth. It was past training hours and they were going to be late for supper. The cold evening air circulated through the large gymnasium- like room that was filled with training dummys and various weapons.

          She held her favorite throwing knife up, ready for a perfect stick into the dummy 15-30 yards in front of her. Cato pulled his spear with ease out of a near by training dummy.

“Alright, winner gets an extra power bar, and bragging rights over the rest of the team.” He ran his hand through his hair, moist with sweat. They had been training since 6 am.

“One,” Cato breathed in, glancing at Clove to his right. She was perfectly focoused.

“Two,” Clove narrowed her eyes, not giving Cato the satisfaction of her attention.

“Three!” They shouted in perfect sync. But before the spear left Cato's hand, Clove had him doubled over on his knees under her grip, his calf under her boot.

“Damn it Clove!” He shouted, annoyed that she outsmarted him again. He should have known she wasn't interested in bragging rights over a simple dummy. She enjoyed bringing him pain, and this wasn't the first suprise attack during training. He had the bruises to prove it.

Clove loosened her grip on his wrists, and stepped off the back of his leg.

“Sorry Soldier Boy, I couldn't resist the opportunity!” She laughed. Cato didn't like it when she laughed, it meant she won the fight.

“If you two are done with your flirting, we would like to get some decent training done before the next quarter quell.” A rough voice called from behind. Cato and Clove didn't notice their fellow trainee enter the training room.

“Sorry, didn't see you there Marcus” Cato scratched his neck, “Thought you were a training dummy.”

Clove ran over and jumped on Marcus' back, pretending to strangle him. Cato picked Clove up and placed her on his shoulder.

“Careful Marcus, she's venomous!” he laughed, holding onto her leg. Clove struggled to break his grip.

“Cato put me down!”

“Only if you admit I'm the best fighter here.” He laughed as she struggled over his shoulder.

          The rest of the training group began playfully wrestling with eachother. Clove kneed Cato in the chest with all her weight, and followed up with a punch to the neck, which once again brought him to his knees.

She smiled down at him and chirped playfully.

“Okay, I'm the best fighter here.”

Cato gasped for air, “That's not what I meant-” He said in a hoarse voice, grasping his neck.

“You delinquents make me sick.”

The entire group dropped what they were doing, got into a line, and stood up straight- shoulders back.

          Cato and Clove looked at eachother out of the corners of their eyes, they both knew what was in store for them. The drill instructor paced back and forth before the line of teenagers, eyeing them head to toe with her sharp glare. The woman, about forty years of age wore a silver-grey suit and dark combat boots. She had a long thin scar on her left cheek that suggested her being in a large fight of some sort, years before the trainees were born.

“Playing around when you should be preparing for the battle of your lives, what more could I expect from such a pathetic group of young delinquents.” The lady hissed.