The Reaping

I stood in the training arena, watching as the other people around me trained. Most of us were fantastic with knives and swords. Me, I was an expert with swords. I watched as my girlfriend, Clove, threw knife after knife into headless dummies. I grinned inwardly, then picked up my sword and then headed to the training floor. Within seconds, I had beheaded one dummy and impaled another. Clove caught my eye and grinned. Today was the day that we'd all been waiting for: Reaping Day. Last year I'd been reaped, but a friend of mine had volunteered. He'd made it to the top three, but had been killed by Jaxson, a tribute from District 4 who'd gone on to win the games, despite the cold and snow.

I guess I should tell you a little about me. I'm Cato. I'm sixteen, and I'm an only child. Since I can remember, I've been trained in the art of combat. I could handle a sword as easily as a pencil, and I knew that my strength was also to my advantage. Clove was a "knifer", someone whose specialty was knife-throwing. Last year I finally admitted that I was attracted to the brunette, and we'd been dating since.

"Attention, attention," boomed a voice over the speaker, "All tributes please report to the Reaping Area". I followed Clove out to the reaping area, watching as all the other tributes filed in. As we filed into the Reaping Area, there was an atmosphere of happiness. This is what we all worked for. I kissed Clove on the top of her head, and then told her I'd see her later. I hoped that she would be reaped; I knew that no contestant—other than me—could possibly beat her.

I stood in the midst of the sixteen year olds, watching our escort, Vania Trebli, walk across the stage. She's been the emcee for the Reaping for as long as I can remember. I look around, staring at the faces of my fellow male tributes. There'll all like me: strong, brutal, unmerciful. Vania starts her speech about the war, and I roll my eyes. Let's just get to it, I think, let's get this show on the road!

"Now it is time to choose this year's tributes," she trills. "Ladies first." She reaches into a stone bowl, then pulls out a name.

"Clove Kensha," Vania calls.

I stifle a smirk as Clove flashes the cameras a smile. She waves to the crowd as she walks up to the stage, grinning widely. Most of the other females start up grumbling; no one would dare volunteer to take Clove's place. Not unless they wanted a knife in the back.

"Congratulations, young lady," Vania says to her. "Now for the boys."

Again she reaches into the stone bowl, opening the piece of paper. "Chaz Quinlan!"

Before Chaz can step forward, I do. "I volunteer!" I call out, walking with the Peacekeepers up to the stage. Clove narrows her eyes at me, and I smile at her.

"Very good," Vania says. "Shake hands!"

Clove reaches out first, and I take her hand in mine, wincing as she digs her nails into my palm.

I smile. Let the games begin, I think.

"You ass," Clove yells as she barges into my room on the hovertrain. "What are you thinking, volunteering?"

"Babe, don't worry," I smile. "You and I make one hell of a team. I mean, look at all those other losers. I can't believe that some coal miner's daughter out in twelve volunteered. What chance does she have?"

"That doesn't matter and you know it," she murmurs. This soft side of Clove is one that I hardly get to see. She's always so tough. "What if I have to kill you? Or you me? Then what?"

I kiss the top of her head. "It's not going to come to that. I promise."

Anger flickers in her eyes. "You can't promise that, Cato, and you know it."

"I know," I admit. "But look at the tributes this year. None of them are really competition. And you know that we'll probably team up with those tributes from one to kill all the others."

Clove sighs. "I suppose."

I kiss her again, and she leaves to go unpack. A half hour later, Clove and I sit in one of the train's cars, waiting for our mentor, Darcy Larta. She won the games a few years back. She enters, a tall, willowy blonde. She looks deceptively innocent; but we all know how deadly she is with a knife. The long scar running from her temple to her neck shows that. During her game, one of the tributes had tried to kill her with her own knife. Needless to say, he didn't succeed.

"Cato and Clove," she smiles. "Congratulations."

"Thanks," I smile. "So how do we win?"

She laughs. "So eager! I like that. You win by staying alive. I know as well as you do that you'll probably form an alliance with the tributes from one and four. Hunt at night; it'll be easier to knock out the other tributes. I'd watch out for the girl from Twelve; something tells me that she's a force to be reckoned with."

I scoff. "Please."

"Cato, I wouldn't discount her. I almost made that mistake. Just look at my scar. Anyway, the first thing you do is find shelter. Find a place that you can monitor the whole arena, if it's possible. Like I said, hunt at night. It'll be easier to pick off the other tributes."

"Alright," Clove says. "What else?"

"You and Cato are Careers, which will make it easier for me to get you sponsors," Darcy says.

We continue talking for almost two hours when Clove gasps. "Look!"

I look out the window at the emerging Capital. I grit my teeth. This is it. Here we go, I think, as Clove reaches for my hand. I give her a reassuring squeeze.

I'm going to win, no matter what, I think.