BORN TO DIE | CLATO (THG)

THREE

CLOVE KENTWELL

I wish I was lucky enough to say that I hadn't known my parents very well before they died, so mourning for them wouldn't be so painful.

Unfortunately, however, that was not the case.

My parents were what had shaped my character. Or whatever character I had at the age of eight. They were ... eccentric. At least that was the word people used to describe them, and it never sounded like they meant it in a good way. Even I had always questioned how people like them had ended up in a district like this. They had just never fit into the mould of classic District 2 citizens.

The people of Two were all raised with warrior mindsets. They were hard-hearted, most of them lacking in empathy, and all of them seemed to have this sick obsession of training their children to become exactly like them; ruthless, dangerous killers, who would bring honour and glory to their district. My parents, on the other hand, were an entirely different story.

They were kind, and warm-hearted. They exuded an aura of compassion and care and righteousness wherever they went. They didn't believe in all that "honour and glory to the district nonsense" as they would've phrased it. They believed that pride and merit to Two could be done in other, "more virtuous" ways. Like a person's own talents and values. In simpler terms, they never agreed with the Games.

Some say that's why they died.

FIVE YEARS AGO

I ran my fingers across the cool, deadly sharp blade of my throwing-knife. I breathed in deeply, studying my faded reflection in the metal, willing my mind to focus.

I lifted my arm, straightened my shoulders, poised to throw my knife. And then I threw, letting it fly from my grasp. I heard it whiz through the air and then lodge right in the centre of the target, just the way I wanted it to.

I leaned back, satisfied. I retrieved the knife from the board, and made my way to the back of the line of students. I ran the blade of my knife on the hem of my shirt. It wasn't even dirtied in the slightest. But I took very good care of my knives. Almost like they were my own children. I had to always make sure they were clean, shiny and sharp.

"Hey, you're Clove aren't you?"

I looked up. Standing in front of me was a girl. A very pretty one, at that. She appeared to be a little bit older than me, like everyone in my level was. She had masses of bright red curls that were twisted into two perfect braids down her shoulders. Her grey stare seemed to pierce right through me as she stared down at me. Her name was Tianna La Rue. Everyone knew her because she was pretty and popular, but most importantly, she was one of the most skilled students in the Academy.

For a moment, I was almost intimidated. But I couldn't let it show. I knew that people like her always seemed to feed off of other people's  fear. Classic Career material.

"Yes. Can I help you?" I asked, not even trying to keep the suspicion from my voice.

Her lips curled upward into a grin. Her incisors, which were sharper than an average person's, glinted under the light. I couldn't help but be reminded of a hungry animal. "Oh, you're the girl whose parents died, right?"

My shoulders tensed. I could feel the beginnings of anger beginning to rise to the surface. I looked up at her as calmly as I could. "Mhm. You're a little late if you didn't already know that." I started to polish my knife again.

Tianna snarled. No one had ever acted this way around her; ignoring her presence like I was doing. I knew she wasn't used to this kind of audacity, especially by some scrawny younger girl like me. And I also knew that I would have to pay for it dearly.