Winter Nights in District Two

        Clove Kentwell had a scowl on her face.

        If she was honest with herself, Clove was scowling most of the time. She had the tendency to find great annoyance in even trivial things, and the revelry occurring that night in District Two was nothing short of irritating.

        It wasn't that Clove didn't feel pride for her District. She did, and it was ingrained in them every day at the Academy that loyalty to both the District and the Capital were the two most important things in life, and to go against either even indirectly was punishable by flogging, or even death. However, the sixteen year old couldn't stop herself from scowling at the ruckus emanating from every village in the district.

        District Two was quite large, with far too many people in Clove's mind. She liked being alone, and found that most times, others (especially those her own age) pestered her to the point that she saw red. Although, that was also probably attributed to the Academy. They were all constantly competing with one another, after all.

        The District was set up in clusters of people, what they deemed "villages," with the town square nestled in the center. This is where the crop of Peacekeepers that consisted of District Two citizens themselves inflicting public punishments on those that defied any rules. The Town Hall also sat there, a building so ornate that Clove figured architects from the Capital had designed it. It was also completely made of stone, due to the fact the District Two was known for its masonry. They were also the main weapons supplier for the Capital, but the rest of the Districts were withheld from such information. The extreme amounts of loyalty that District Two had for the Capital was the only reason why such responsibilities were delegated onto its citizens, and Clove was especially proud of that fact.

        Then there was the mountain, which stationed a weapons production center, as well as a military hub for the Capital. When Clove was a young child, she used to be unnerved over the strange men in the strange clothes who had their offices in the mountain, as she felt that they were under constant surveillance all of the time. However, now that she had several years at the Academy under her belt, she didn't give a shit.

        Clove didn't give a shit about much at all, in retrospect. Of course, she cared about training at the Academy, and her reputation of being the best knife-thrower in the District. But what she didn't care about were the other unnecessary things in her life, like her parents. Yes, they kept a roof over her head and put food on the table, but they certainly didn't raise her. The training staff at the Academy did, so there was little effort put in by her parents regarding her temperament or her behavior. They weren't affectionate either: Clove couldn't recall a single time that her parents had ever told her that they loved her, except once when a member of the training staff sent Clove home with a letter detailing their plans to select her to eventually volunteer for the Hunger Games.

        The Games were what every child in District Two fantasized about: the glory and riches that were in store for triumphing over the other Districts. It's what Clove dreamed about when she went to sleep, her mind conjuring up about a hundred different possible arenas, and how many ways she could use a simple dagger to inflict pain and suffering upon a tribute.

        The girl knew she was a sadist, and that even the sight of another person's blood spilled gave her an adrenaline rush so great that it defied all aspects of human nature. However, loyalty to the Capital was the root of her desire (and really, everyone's desire) to serve and perform. One had to fulfill whichever was demanded of them, and even though Clove would probably make an excellent Peacekeeper (despite her small frame), she felt it in her bones that she was destined to be a Victor.