This is for my one-shot challenge, though the oneshot was created by 'Subject Matter'. For the link to my one-shot challenge check out my profile, it's on there. This was prompt number 46 - Passion is for the Weak. I hope you enjoy and review.

Passion Is For the Weak

Passion is for the weak.

No. I feel no passion. No. I feel nothing. Nothing. Just a blank page. Just a clean slate wiped clear of any marks or blemishes. I am clear, I am clean. I do not hold any emotion in here whatsoever. These are the hunger games; you just cannot afford to feel. My heart is as black as coal and as emotionless as frowning stone; the only emotion held is not pity, not anger and certainly not passion. The only emotion held is the bittersweet taste of remorse on my tongue.

Yet as I look at her, as I stare at her sleeping body, I feel a sudden surge of emotion boil through my body, rippling like the seas back home in district four. I try desperately to contain myself yet my heart takes over my soul and I find myself brushing a lone strand of hair out of her face to show her eyes. Those eyes clenched shut as if in a nightmare. Those eyes that usually contain such an avid blue that rivals the very oceans themselves. Those eyes that caught me like a fish on a line and haven't ever been able to let me go since. Those eyes. Her eyes.

I never knew that I could feel so much and yet know so little. I know her name, I know her district. But that is it. I don't know her family, her likes or dislikes. I don't even know her real personality. Yet I feel somehow, deep down, that I know her. I know her more than anyone else. So as a hand, my hand, slowly strokes her cheek, feeling my rough, coarse hand brush against the pure elegance that is her skin, I feel almost giddy with a feeling that does not exist. A feeling that cannot exist. Not here, not now, not with me.

Every second I spend with her the more I am enchanted by her, the way she looks, her tone of voice, even the way her thumb flicks to the left automatically every time she is angry. I have learnt this with my talent, my hunter's instinct. Yet this talent, this gift, has not been used for killing and the taking of life as I have always imagined it, but the foundations for the creation of a new one. Feelings. Yet I have no feelings, I have none, I cannot. Not in the arena where everyone is out to get me, to get her. Only one of us can win so I cannot bear to get attached, it is too high a risk. Yet I think I already have.

I hear it before I feel it, the slight crunching of a boot shifting in the earth around us, and then the sharp whizzing across the air as if the very atmosphere has burnt to a crisp in a sharp streak alone. I know what it is am and what I am going to do before I do it. Suddenly I find myself diving in front of her sleeping body and the arrow impales itself into my back. I barely manage to choke back my emotions and she almost immediately wakes up. But I am too late, too late to see what happens next, what goes on. I am too late because finally I have sunk low to the ground on a final choke, finally my life flashes in the back of my eye sockets, whizzing through my brain. Finally I understand as I draw my last breath.

Passion is for the weak. Passion can cost you your life.