The 139th Hunger Games

Chapter 2: Blade and Hera

                                                                                 Blade

Grinning, I fight the other boy. I could win right now, but what would be the fun in that? I let him escape me, and land a feeble punch on my jaw, then strike. I punch him hard in his stomach. Clutching his belly, he tries to throw another punch in my direction. I dodge this easily, but this sets him off balance. I kick him in the ribs. He lets a gasp of pain, and falls to the ground. We survey each other. He has blood coming out of his mouth, and a few bruises here and there. I have a bruise in my arm from where he tripped me earlier. I make my way to where he is sprawled on the ground, preparing to punch him again. He shields his face with his hands and gives up. I smirk. No one else dared challenge me to a fight, when I just defeated the strongest boy in our Training Center. No one, except for one girl. I smirk again. This is going to be too easy.

I try to cover my face with my hands, to hide the numerous bruises and broken nose. I feel more humiliated then I have in my entire life. I don't want to admit it, but when she was threatening me, I was scared. More scared than I have ever been in my entire life. That girl beat me, and she escaped with no injuries or marks whatsoever. This doesn't change a thing, though. I'm eighteen, so this is my last year to volunteer. I want to go into the games. Not just for the fame and glory, but for the fun in it. The announcer calls the girl's name, and someone is quick to volunteer. A girl, with long, dark red hair tied in a simple braid, with blue eyes. She's tall and thin, with light skin and freckles. I recognize her. She, Hera Stone, is the girl who beat me today. 

When the announcer calls for volunteers from the males, I don't waste my chance. Confidently, I walk to the stage and shake hands with the girl. There's a challenging grin on her face. I smirk back. First chance I get, I'm going to make her pay.

                                                                              Hera

I'm so  tired. My life feels like just a constant test. I have to prove my self to everyone, twice as much as I had to if I were a boy. The never take their training seriously, and I bet that I am three times more skilled than at least half of them. My trainer said that I have the most potential to win out of anyone he has ever trained. That's part of the reason why I challanged that boy in training today. Smirking, I remember his face when he saw that I had won.

Everyone looked baffled when I stepped up to challenge him, but I was confident I could win. I had studied the way he moved, so I knew when he was about to reach and hit me. I dodged quickly. This took him by surprise. At this advantage, I punched him hard in the jaw. I thought hard about him. He was strong, but heavy. I, on the other hand, was lean and fast. Moving in zigzags, I ducked and swiped, and occasionaly hit. Then acting like I was exhausted, I stood there panting. He made a move to punch me in the stomach, but I anticipated it and moved to the side. He lost balance, and I used this opportunity to punch him in the stomach. He falls flat on his face. I can tell his nose is broken. By the way he clutches his stomach and moans, I know I've hit him hard. 

I don't waste an advantage. I kick and punch, barely stopping for breath. He groans as I hit him. Finally, I'm exhausted. Walking towards him, I decide to do one more thing to make my victory memorable. Holding his arm, I whisper in his ear, "Say that I am better than you or I'll break your arm." "Hera is better than me," he says, barely audiable. Twisting his arm until he moans, I hiss, "Louder." There is genuine fear in his eyes. "Hera is better than me," he declared loudly. I have wounded both him and his pride. Barely keeping my satisfaction in, I watch him head out, head hung in shame, as the crowd cheers for me.

It's time for the Reaping. I don't waste time as I get into a green gown and tie my hair back in a simple braid. Hurrying down the district, I get checked in with the other seventeen-year-olds. When the announcer calls out the name and asks for volunteers, I notice that a girl is preparing to volunteer. Before she can say anything, I hit her in the back of her head, effectively knocking her out cold. I call out my name, and step on the stage. The boy I fought earlier is there. I recognize his black hair and toned body. He is looking at me with quiet menace. I return with a challenging grin, and he smirks back. This will be fun. I'm prepared to win by any means neccessary.