The Only Thing Real

A short Hunger Games fanfiction. Includes a full short story.

About four years ago I was a small author on Figment. There was a contest where you would write a short story about a scene from your favorite book from the perspective of a different character. At the time, Hunger Games was all the rage and I, naturally, wrote my own little piece about it...from Cato's perspective.

Short Story

At first, I don't hear Claudius's voice when he announces the feast.

I am still busy thinking about what he had said yesterday. Two could come out. From the same district. Me and Clove. We're both from District 2. 22, not 23, would die. Two, not 1, would come out.

It takes Clove a few tries to get my attention.

"Cato. Cato! Did you hear Claudius? He said there's going to be a feast."

I blink. What? Oh, the feast. "Yeah."

"We need to think of a plan."

I nod, but my mind is not really on the subject.

Clove sighs and shakes her head. "Why don't I go in and you cover for me?"

"Ok, fine."

Clove looks me straight in the eye so I am forced to pay her complete attention. "If you let me have Katniss, I promise to give the audience a good show."

Disappointment strikes through me like a bolt of lightning. I've been waiting to get her all Games, to finally finish off the girl on fire.

But Clove seems so serious, so ready to do this. Her glare runs deep into me, telling me that her request is sincere, that she really wants Katniss dead at her own hands.

Slowly, I nod. "Yeah, you can. Just promise its going to be long."

Her grin is evil, showing off the Clove only a few haven't seen. "Don't worry, it will be long alright." Her smile then drops. "So, then that makes us, Thresh, 5, and Lover Boy."

I scowled. Peeta was the last thing on my mind at the moment. He was the only Tribute in the arena I couldn't stand hearing about I snarl, "He's as good as dead, I told you that already."

Clove recoils, and I'm suddenly sorry for snapping out at her. "Then let's go."

We begin to travel in the direction of the Cornucopia. We soon find ourselves looking upon the ruined site of our last camp. The supplies lay in a burnt black heap behind the golden horn. Clove is right in front of me, slowly pulling out a long, cruel knife. She held it up for me. "I'll kill her with this one."

I narrow my eyes. "Yeah, make it count."

What am I doing? What is happening to me? I am encouraging death in cold blood? I think back to the beginning, when I volunteered. I had done it to bring pride to my family and my district.

But it's different now.

I had signed up to kill people.

With no reason.

When Peeta turned against me and I had cut his leg in retaliation, I never really thought about the impact it would have on me. When I held that sword, stained red with his blood, I had felt a strange, alien emotion. I didn't like it. It was like sadness and regret at the same time. Only later did I realize what it was.

Pity.

I feel it again. He is somewhere out there, dying, losing all of his blood, because I had decided to wound him when I was angry. I don't see the sanity in it.

Every day, I know that my sanity is slipping, the little sanity I have left.

Madness is like a weapon, striking at me, over and over again. It hurts and I sometimes feel my resistance fading.

But there is still a shield to block the sword. And it isn't anything in my mind.

It's Clove.

Everything else seems silly, made-up, unrealistic. But she is real. The only thing real.

We see the flash of red hair and the girl from five is suddenly running up the hill with her green backpack. Clove starts, but then freezes. Because we see her. Katniss.

"Go," I whisper.

She nods and shoots off in pursuit. I sit down and watch as the knife slices across Katniss's forehead. Clove tackles her and, suddenly, I feel it again.

Pity.

Tears come to my eyes and I look away, unable to see what is to come next. I wait for the cannon, for it to be over.

Then I hear the scream.

Clove's scream.

I'm up and running before I know it. She's screaming my name, so I yell back to her, to let her know I'm coming, so everyone knows.

"Clove!"

I break through the barrier of the trees and my heart drops in my stomach. Katniss is running in one direction, Thresh in the other. I notice that there are two backpacks with him, not one. My eyes fall on Clove and almost immediately, the tears begin.

She's lying on the ground, moaning feebly, twitching slightly. I don't know what's wrong with her. There's no blood, so she isn't dying.

"Clove!"

I reach her and drop to my knees. My eyes are refusing to go anywhere excpet her face. Shock is running through me. I feel the tears before they break out of my eyes. There's a rock laying a little ways away and her forehead seems caved in. Thresh must have hit her with the rock.

"Clove, no, stay with me! Don't die!"

Tears are spilling down my cheeks now, falling into her hair and the grass. Her eyelids are fluttering shut. Before she leaves the world, she manages to utter one last word.

"Win."

I grab onto her hand and squeeze it hard. I'm shaking now, though it is still rather warm out and the sun is blazing overhead. She's slipping away and I know there's no way I can hold her now.

I wait a few agonizing seconds before I hear Clove's cannon.

Everything is in slow motion. The world revolves around me. The sun is going black. The grass is dying.

Because Clove is dead.

There are some wounds, physical and mental, that goes to deep and will never heal.

This is one of those wounds, scourging deep into me. Just looking at her body, I know my sanity is lost. I don't feel pity, not remorse, not love. Just bitter hatred, fury, and anguish.

I sense the tantrum welling up before it bursts out of me. My hand grabs the knife that lies next to her hand and chuck it as hard as I could, the blade sinking into the Cornucopia. I scream to the sky, voicing my agony with all the strength I can bear.

Thresh is going to die. Katniss will die. Peeta can go die on his own. I don't care about him anymore. I am going to win.

For Clove.

I am going to win.

My hand is already reaching for my sword. Pulling it out. Feeling the sharp blade. Ready to end the lives of the Tributes. All of them.

Because they took her from me.

The only thing real.