𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐎𝐜𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐄𝐲𝐞𝐬 ➜ 𝗙𝗶𝗻𝗻𝗶𝗰𝗸 𝗢𝗱𝗮𝗶𝗿

Chapter One - The Decision

I have no time to react as a knife plummets towards me, scrapes my ear, and crashes into the concrete wall, clattering at my feet. I spin around in shock, anger bubbling at whoever has such a lousy throw. My irritation dissipates when I turn to face the perpetrator. Miriam.

'Sorry, Naia!' she giggles, covering her mouth, her emerald green eyes wide in shock.
'You could've killed me!' I shout back, a smile fighting against my frown.
Miriam is incredible at every aspect of combat, weaponry and fighting. Except knife throwing.

'Miriam! Your free period's up! Weapons need to go away! And I suggest you head to class - Delphine won't be happy if you're late!' My trainer, Pearl, screams.
Miriam fleets away, her long, golden hair trailing behind her like a fire-bolt.

Since us Juniors finished our school year early due to exams, we have more time to train. This is essential, as we're now at volunteering age, and as much practice is needed before Selection. Miriam, my cousin, is in her last year of middle school, therefore she won't finish until July 3rd: the day before the Reaping.

We train in the Training Centre at the heart of our school campus. It has every weapon that's ever been featured in a Hunger Game, with detailed instructions at the designated station. There's also stations with survival skills, including rope tying, poisonous plant quizzes and fire making. These generally go unused, because most trainees forget that not only brute force will get you a victory in the Games.

We each have a personal trainer, whom is either a victor and former mentor, or a failed trainee. Sessions with a PT happen in the Gym (a private extension of the Training Centre) at various times every day. We train separately from others the same age. Everyone wants to be selected to fight and become victorious, but the majority won't. This causes extreme competition and jealously between trainees, and has led to many bloody fights in the past. Not being able to know if our fellow trainees are succeeding or struggling limits conflicts. However, we are still kept together for lessons, and people tend to show off in the public Training Centre, which causes frictions.

We can use the Training Centre at all times of the day, so if we have a free period, are on recess, or have finished the year early (like me), then we have free reign to practice as much or as little as possible, unsupervised by PTs. Yet, we still have a few trainers on watch to stop/prevent any brawls or incidents with the weapons. That's why my PT, Pearl, is on watch now.

I walk over to my favourite station, and pick up the cold, thin handle of a knife. Upon release, I transfer my body weight off of my back foot onto my front foot, using the momentum to carry my knife to the centre of the target. Warmth floods my body. I love the power of causing a lethal object to connect with whatever and whomever I desire it to. I pick up another and another, repeating this motion, until all of the knives on the table have found homes inside centres of various targets.

I'm unwillingly pulled from my euphoric abyss by Pearl's fast, excited claps.
'Woo! So good!' she cries.
I suddenly become aware of multiple eyes on me. Almost everyone in the vast Training Centre has shocked expressions of either awe or anger.

All of the girls my age look even more furious with me than usual. I've struggled to be friends with any girls in my year, because I've always been so good at combat. Always top in my class without trying. The only friends I've ever had in my whole school experience is my trainer - Pearl, my cousin - Miriam, and my ex best friend - Finn. He doesn't talk to me anymore. Not since he returned from his Games. I try to stop myself from thinking about it. Denial is the best treatment for emotional turmoil.

I was scouted at only 9 years old by Pearl. I'd stolen a trident from a fisherman, and was practicing. Back then, I watched my mother's Games daily, and I used to pretend to be her - fighting to save my father, instead of failing and watching him die.