12 April 2012

before you start reading this, you should probably know its a clato story.. clove and cato, the tributes from district two? or am i the only hunger games addict? awkward.. enjoy!:)

[ everybody's waiting, for you to break down everybody's watching for the fallout even when you're sleeping, sleeping keep your eyes open. . . ]

All I can smell is blood.

I feel as though the world's new natural scent is blood because at the moment, it's the only thing I'm able to smell. I might as well be inhaling it, because it coats the air and suddenly I yearn for the sweet and refreshing taste of oxygen. But I am a Career. Blood might as well be what I wear as cologne. It's what runs down my face along with sweat, stained on my clothes, it's almost me. I'm on the verge of choking on the metallic taste of blood, but I can't stop now. They call me brutal and bloody, they expect this of me. Blood is me.

I'm in the desert.

They've chosen the desert for some reason; maybe they're holding onto the hope that most of us die from dehydration. They should know that we Careers aren't going to let something as simple as dehydration take away the bloodlust we all have. I don't know how many of us are left and I have no idea what to do. I don't have any sort of weapon on me; my only advantage is the fact that if anyone tried to come out at me, I'd be able to see them coming from a mile away.

My entire body is glistening with sweat and grime, and I'm starting to stumble. The Gamemakers must be deliberately making the sun bake down on us even more intensely than it should, because I feel as though I may start melting at any point. I'm not weak, but I'm slowly beginning to power down. I need something to show me that I'm not being weak, that I'm not slowly deteriorating at the speed of light in the arena.

And then I see it.

A tribute lying in the middle of a beautiful oasis.

For a moment I believe that I'm just suffering from the heat because it's very possible. Most people only see an oasis when they're fighting to get through the endless desert. But the tribute, that's very very real. It's not a powerful hallucination. They're lying on the ground, completely unaware that I'm stalking them and preparing to murder them.

Do they realize their death is upon them?

I may be weaker than I was a few hours ago, but I'm still strong. I'm without a weapon but I'm fairly positive that it won't take me much to snap the neck of the person and watch them die. Maybe their death will give me the adrenaline surge I need to kill whoever else is left. Maybe, just maybe, I can make it out of this before the night falls and be crowned victor. The oasis is the additional bonus. Water, shade, it's the perfect refuge shelter I need here in this endless deserted hell.

The closer and closer I get to the tribute, the stronger and stronger the scent of blood gets. The desert already reeked of it before, but with every step towards the tribute, there's a fresh heat wave carrying the scent. I can practically taste it. As I get closer, I can see that the tribute isn't just lying there unaware of their surroundings. They're lying there, and I can just barely see their jaw moving. I think that they're breathing, maybe gasping? Or they could be talking. And with the next heat wave that carries the fragrance of human blood, I realize something.

The smell of the blood is coming from wherever the tribute is. So maybe something-or someone, has already gotten to the tribute. I start jogging in the direction of the tribute to see what's going on. I need to know three things at this point-where all the blood is coming from, why this tribute keeps moving their mouth and most important of all, who the tribute is.

As I get closer, the scene that unfolds before my eyes horrifies me. I finally reach the tribute just to see the tiny body of a girl, no older than sixteen. Her dark brown hair is beneath her head as a pillow, matted and dried with something in it. I want to say blood but I'm not going to think of it. Her eyes are opened wide, almost lifeless. There is no spark or gleam in them. She's writhing on the ground, her mouth open but no sound omitting. She's covered in sweat and scars and I want to help her badly. She's so tiny, so familiar, and then I see it. It's Clove, beneath me, begging for me to help her. Her lips keep forming my name, and finally her screams begin to pierce my ears.

They're bloodcurdling, so shrill and high that the hairs on the back of my neck are standing straight up. She's screaming mindlessly, for someone to help her, for me to help her, and I want to badly. But every bone, every joint, every muscle in my body is locked. I can't move. I'm frozen in place as I have to watch the girl on the ground thrash and scream at my feet and do absolutely nothing about it. I don't see any blood anywhere, but then I realize the worst. The lake in this beautiful oasis is where the blood is at. It's a lake of blood.

And then I'm sitting upright in my bed, back at in my room here in the Capitol. It was all a nightmare. I'm sweating and the sheets are tangled between my legs, sticking to me because of the heat. I struggle to catch my breath, and as I lay back down, I hear the screams come from next door. Clove's room.

That was the first night I dreamt to the rhythm of Clove's screams from her own nightmares.

Sometimes during training, I'll let my eyes wander to where she is.

She's lethal, that Clove. Everyone automatically makes two assumptions about Clove. She's tiny and she's weak. Yes, she maybe small in size, but calling her weak is a lie. With every knife she throws, it hits the heart of every dummy. Her aim is spot on, and I'm fairly positive that if someone in training dared to piss her off right about now, she'd aim for their heart.

And kill them.

She hasn't been sane since we got to the Capitol and begun training. To everyone else, she just looks like another one of the demented Careers who has insanity sparkling in their eyes. But to me, her district partner, she looks like the better half of insanity and insomnia has begun to catch up with her. Every night, I have another completely crazy dream thanks to her screaming from her own nightmares next door. And every night, she wakes me up.

Usually, I think it's Lyme that goes in and calms her down; reassuring her that everything is okay quietly. I'll always lie motionless just so I can hear the conversations in hopes to see what hell bent nightmare she keeps having that always ends with the both of us waking because of it, her in screaming fits. But I never do find out. I know that if I dare approach her about it during training, I'll get seriously injured. She's got some sort of ruthless killer look going for her. She wants to make sure everyone knows that she's not kidding around and she's not meant to be messed with. Her size probably leads everyone in the wrong direction, which is why she wants to seem merciless.

I wonder how everyone would take to knowing that the great Clove Laurelwood awoke every night screaming due to a nightmare.

I'm very careful to not bring up the nightmare subject in front of Clove. I don't exactly want to start the Games with my face carved. We're getting closer and closer to the day in which we go into the arena and begin, well, killing each other, and Clove's nightmares must be getting worse. I can hear her in her room every night, her screams so loud that sometimes I think she's right beside me. But I've kept my mouth shut. It's tonight at dinner that everything goes wrong. Horribly horribly wrong.

Lyme and Clove are at the far end of the table, talking about something. I'm guessing it's something along the lines of advice in the arena because the word 'knives', 'Cornucopia', and 'tribute' appear more than they should. Brutus is telling me something, but I'm blatantly ignoring him. He knows that I'm focusing more on Lyme and Clove's conversation, rather than our own.

Looking at her, it almost makes me sick. How can a girl who lies in her bed every night, waking up and screaming because of some horror she's dreamt about go around and put on the world's best poker face and pretend that she's still this ruthless, deadly Career that has no problem with the Hunger Games? God knows how much of what I know about her is all a part of her little act. It's like a slap in the face. Someone give this girl an award, I think.

And the next thing I know, I'm talking. "So Clove, have any more nightmares lately?" I say, smirking. She's ignoring me at this point, stabbing the piece of beef with her knife fairly hard. She looks down, focusing on her plate. Lyme and Brutus seem to be handling my statement differently. Lyme is giving me a look with every warning sign possible, and Brutus has moved on to a bottle of liquor, not bothering with the situation.

I look down at my plate and get another forkful of potatoes before I continue talking. "What happens? Do you dream of getting killed in the Hunger Games or something?" There's more silence and I'm watching as her face contorts. A smart human being would shut up at this point, but I keep going. "Might better stop dreaming about it and start accepting that it's reality."

Clove is furious with me now. Her knuckles are white as they clench the butcher knife tightly. I chuckle as I lay my fork back down on the plate. "Mad are we?" That's enough to throw her over the edge. Before I know it, the butcher knife has left her hand and goes flying directly for my head. I duck down as it flies into the wall near me. I jump up and scowl at her. "Bitch," I mumble.

That's when all hell breaks loose. Clove's face is blood red, and she's shrieking, howling profanity in my language. For someone as tiny as her, she's putting up a really big fight as Lyme grabs her and struggles to pull her off to her room. "CATO HENRY I HOPE THAT SOMEONE ELSE KILLS YOU FIRST BECAUSE I'LL MAKE YOUR DEATH FEEL LIKE HELL ON EARTH!" she screeches as Lyme finally co

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