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Description
And I heard your voice, as clear as day and you told me I should concentrate. It was all so strange and so surreal that a ghost could be so practical.

***

Darkness, you know, is relative.
To Cato, stumbling around, alone and enveloped in night in the middle of the arena, it was certainly far darker than it had been the previous night. The trees and their branches seemed to reach out, snatching at his jacket viciously, trying to pull him back as the wind screamed around him, whipping his face and making him gasp out loud as he pulled forwards. He didn't know where he was going, or why he had to keep moving but that didn't seem to matter. His feet just kept on moving, hammering the stones beneath them until he could feel the blood stinging on the soles of his feet.
It was almost a relief when the rain came.
Cato stopped where he was, in a small, grassy clearing surrounded by tall pine trees that loomed above him like statues, suddenly illuminated in flashes of lightning that rattled Cato to the ground. His hands curled around hunks of mud and he let his fingers sink into them, gasping for breathes he did not need. Tilting his head up, he let the water run over his face and run down his back, cold, wet and dark. Maybe it would wash him clean.
Slowly, the mud and dirt washed away from his cheeks, leaving them with a chill that made Cato shiver from his very core. But even as the dried blood came away from his skin, there was still something staining him and always would be. The blood of the children would always linger on him, no matter how much soap and water he scrubbed into it. He was tainted forever.
To add to that, he could fell the itch of guilt spreading all over him, crawling like insects through his hair, whispering poison into his skull and dragging his heart further and further into the ground where it belonged. Guilt was a new emotion for Cato; it was bitter, empty and yet all engulfing. In such a short time, it had taken over his body and he could not see it leaving him alone any time soon. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her face flash in front of him and heard her scream echo inside his ears, making his shoulders shake and his eyes snap back open, just so he didn't have to suffer that. He should though. He deserved it, for being a monster.
A movement in the corner of his eye made Cato leap to his feet again and whip his sword out, alert and hyped, ready to kill, his senses tingling, alert and alive. Then he saw something that nearly killed him, standing upright on two feet. In the middle of two soaring trees that seemed to almost reach the sky, stood a small figure, watching him with eyes as cold as the air that had drawn around him. She was dressed simply, in a white t-shirt and beige trousers with combat boots, her dark hair tossed into a ponytail on her slim shoulder. Her skin was glowing white, un-naturally so and she should have been freezing in the night air dressed as she was, but of course, she couldn't be cold.
She was, after all, a ghost.
Cato felt like he had been frozen to the spot, unable to move. The ghost girl did exactly the same, waiting for him to make the first move. Cato licked his dry lips, trying to restore some moisture to them. She'd always had that effect on him, sneaking up when he least expected it. This time though really exceeded all those before.
'Clove,' he mumbled her name, taking a step towards her, his grasp on his sword loosening. She gave an almost unrecognisable shake of her head and, with a flick of her hair over her shoulder, she disappeared into the woods, like a shadow fading in the sunlight.
'No!' Cato took off, sprinting after her, desperation fuelling his bones as he ran again, battering against the rain. He couldn't lose her again, he just couldn't. The first time had just been a careless mistake, one he would regret for eternity, but a second time would be unforgivable, even my his standards. The darkness rushed up to meet him as he pummelled his way through the maze of trees, his eyes blurring with the concentration of trying to keep his eyes where she had been, to not lose her. Tree branches scratched at his cheeks, sending fresh blood dribbling down them and into his mouth as he ran. Disgusted, Cato swiped at his mouth which made him stumbling over a fallen log that lay, carelessly, in his path. He howled as he went down, his hands grazing against the wet bark, smarting as he clutched them to his chest, lying in anguish on the muddy ground. The rain hammered at him, soaking him in a cloak of wet that seeped through his skin and iced over his heart. Cato crawled into a protective shell around himself, letting his head droop onto the floor where it met with cold, wet mud. He'd failed, it was over. She wasn't there. He gave up.
'You can't give up.'
His head shot up, faster than the wind, as the familiar sound of her sharp, critical tongue filled his mind. There she was, standing above him, her face framed by a curtain of light, like a halo around her dark hair, shining in the moonlight. He stared up into her face but the longer he stared the more she seemed to fade into transparency. He blinked, as if she might disappear again but that just made her expression harder and the air cooler.
'Clove?' he muttered again. 'Clove, I'm so, so sorry…'
A blast of cold air that came from nowhere and send a shiver running down Cato's spine hit him in the face, jerking his body back with an un-natural shiver until he hit into the fallen tree trunk again.
'Concentrate,' Clove hissed, her voice so loud echoing into his eardrums that Cato had to clamp his hands over his ears. 'What are you? As weak as Lover Boy? Reduced to a snivelling child when something bad happens? Convinced you can't go on? I thought you were stronger than that. I thought you were a Career.'
Sudden anger burned inside Cato. To be compared to that weakling traitor was the final straw. 'I'm not like him,' he growled. 'Not at all. Don't you dare say that.'
'Maybe if you stopped acting like it I wouldn't have to.'
How could she be so painfully accurate? She was a ghost, she was…dead.
'Listen to me.' The emphasis she put on those words resounded in Cato's mind and he looked back up at her. Her eyes were crystal clear and yet frighteningly dark, staring straight at him. 'You are a Career. You can win this, I know you can. If you just concentrate you can achieve anything. This is what you want. All your life, it's lead up to this.' The ferocity in her face was so strange. Was it possible for a ghost to be this violent? 'Let go of me. Let go of all we had and you can do this. Win. Be the Victor. Don't let Fire Girl take the glory that was meant for us.'
'Take the glory that was meant for us,' Cato repeated, drumming the words into his brain. 'But it isn't us anymore.'
'What does that matter?' she retorted, her voice snapping the air like a foot on a fragile twig. 'That never mattered to you before. It was always about you, Cato. Always.'
'It's different now.' He staggered to his feet. 'I want it to be about us.' Forgetting for a second, he reached for her pale hand.
'Well it's too late for that now, isn't it?' Clove screamed, whirling around. Her hand that Cato had tried to reach for evaporated and he yelped in shock. 'If you had noticed that just three days ago then we wouldn't be in this stupid mess!' Behind them, thunder roared and shook the ground. Fire blazed in Clove's eyes, a fire that had never been seen there before. Cato's heart started thumping harder.
'I'm sorry, Clove, really…'
'No, you're not, Cato. You're selfish, you always have been. Everything always has to be about you, and now it can be, it's not what you want. You're pathetic.'
Cato looked at her. 'So why did you love me?'
'I didn't. I don't.'
'Come on, Clove. You can't lie to me.'
'I'm not! I don't love you!' With a stamp of her ghostly foot, another tremor shook the ground they were standing on.
'So why did you come back?' Cato asked softly.
Silence descended. Cato held his breath, wondering if he'd pushed it too far. The wind whistled through the trees around them, whispering to each other as they watched the scene unfold.
'Because I don't want to see you lose,' Clove replied eventually.
'I knew it.'
'Oh, did you?' her voice rose dangerously. 'I think you've just proved my point. Selfish and completely self-involved. Why anyone would like you is a complete and utter mystery to me.'
'So why do you then?' Cato said, taking a step towards her.
'I don't know,' she murmured, tilting her chin up and closing her eyes. 'Like I said, it's a complete and utter mystery.'
Cato closed his eyes too and tried to picture them together, standing this close, in another time, another place. He imagined putting his hands near hers, sharing their warmth. As the fantasy deepened, he pictured him running his hands down her back and lifting her up into him arms, kissing her in ways she'd never been kissed before, letting his tongue roll into her mouth and explore. He wanted to carry her away and spend the night with her, somewhere that they could be alone and together in a quiet darkness just for the two of them and the monsters inside of them.
'Win for me, Cato.' He jerked, his eyes snapping back open, just to be greeted by an empty space before him.
'No. No, no, no!' He spun, helplessly, scanning the horizon for any glimpse of a girl with raven hair dressed in white but the darkness had closed in and she was nowhere to be seen. 'Clove! CLOVE!'
His only reply was the pitter-patter of the rain against his jacket, tears in the darkest of nights, and the rolls of thunder far in the distance. Cato realised, with a heavy heart, that she hadn't been real. A figment of his delirious imagination, a fantasy like his dream. Clove was dead, and she always would be. For the past ten minutes, the Gamemakers had probably been watching him talk to thin air, a crazy, deluded man who thought his one love was still alive. The mere thought of them laughing at him somewhere in the Capitol brought Cato back to his knees with humiliation.
But it was the thought of her that set his shoulders rocking with sobs. It was the bitter sweet memories that made a howl rise in the back of his throat and erupt into the night. Cato gave into the tears, allowing them to merge with the rain on his face until he could no longer tell one from the other. He knew he would look weak, weaker even than Lover Boy, but he no longer cared. He was alone again and for the moment that was all he could concentrate on.
Looked like darkness wasn't the only thing that could be relative.

Description
And I heard your voice, as clear as day and you told me I should concentrate. It was all so strange and so surreal that a ghost could be so practical.

***

Darkness, you know, is relative.
To Cato, stumbling around, alone and enveloped in night in the middle of the arena, it was certainly far darker than it had been the previous night. The trees and their branches seemed to reach out, snatching at his jacket viciously, trying to pull him back as the wind screamed around him, whipping his face and making him gasp out loud as he pulled forwards. He didn't know where he was going, or why he had to keep moving but that didn't seem to matter. His feet just kept on moving, hammering the stones beneath them until he could feel the blood stinging on the soles of his feet.
It was almost a relief when the rain came.
Cato stopped where he was, in a small, grassy clearing surrounded by tall pine trees that loomed above him like statues, suddenly illuminated in flashes of lightning that rattled Cato to the ground. His hands curled around hunks of mud and he let his fingers sink into them, gasping for breathes he did not need. Tilting his head up, he let the water run over his face and run down his back, cold, wet and dark. Maybe it would wash him clean.
Slowly, the mud and dirt washed away from his cheeks, leaving them with a chill that made Cato shiver from his very core. But even as the dried blood came away from his skin, there was still something staining him and always would be. The blood of the children would always linger on him, no matter how much soap and water he scrubbed into it. He was tainted forever.
To add to that, he could fell the itch of guilt spreading all over him, crawling like insects through his hair, whispering poison into his skull and dragging his heart further and further into the ground where it belonged. Guilt was a new emotion for Cato; it was bitter, empty and yet all engulfing. In such a short time, it had taken over his body and he could not see it leaving him alone any time soon. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her face flash in front of him and heard her scream echo inside his ears, making his shoulders shake and his eyes snap back open, just so he didn't have to suffer that. He should though. He deserved it, for being a monster.
A movement in the corner of his eye made Cato leap to his feet again and whip his sword out, alert and hyped, ready to kill, his senses tingling, alert and alive. Then he saw something that nearly killed him, standing upright on two feet. In the middle of two soaring trees that seemed to almost reach the sky, stood a small figure, watching him with eyes as cold as the air that had drawn around him. She was dressed simply, in a white t-shirt and beige trousers with combat boots, her dark hair tossed into a ponytail on her slim shoulder. Her skin was glowing white, un-naturally so and she should have been freezing in the night air dressed as she was, but of course, she couldn't be cold.
She was, after all, a ghost.
Cato felt like he had been frozen to the spot, unable to move. The ghost girl did exactly the same, waiting for him to make the first move. Cato licked his dry lips, trying to restore some moisture to them. She'd always had that effect on him, sneaking up when he least expected it. This time though really exceeded all those before.
'Clove,' he mumbled her name, taking a step towards her, his grasp on his sword loosening. She gave an almost unrecognisable shake of her head and, with a flick of her hair over her shoulder, she disappeared into the woods, like a shadow fading in the sunlight.
'No!' Cato took off, sprinting after her, desperation fuelling his bones as he ran again, battering against the rain. He couldn't lose her again, he just couldn't. The first time had just been a careless mistake, one he would regret for eternity, but a second time would be unforgivable, even my his standards. The darkness rushed up to meet him as he pummelled his way through the maze of trees, his eyes blurring with the concentration of trying to keep his eyes where she had been, to not lose her. Tree branches scratched at his cheeks, sending fresh blood dribbling down them and into his mouth as he ran. Disgusted, Cato swiped at his mouth which made him stumbling over a fallen log that lay, carelessly, in his path. He howled as he went down, his hands grazing against the wet bark, smarting as he clutched them to his chest, lying in anguish on the muddy ground. The rain hammered at him, soaking him in a cloak of wet that seeped through his skin and iced over his heart. Cato crawled into a protective shell around himself, letting his head droop onto the floor where it met with cold, wet mud. He'd failed, it was over. She wasn't there. He gave up.
'You can't give up.'
His head shot up, faster than the wind, as the familiar sound of her sharp, critical tongue filled his mind. There she was, standing above him, her face framed by a curtain of light, like a halo around her dark hair, shining in the moonlight. He stared up into her face but the longer he stared the more she seemed to fade into transparency. He blinked, as if she might disappear again but that just made her expression harder and the air cooler.
'Clove?' he muttered again. 'Clove, I'm so, so sorry…'
A blast of cold air that came from nowhere and send a shiver running down Cato's spine hit him in the face, jerking his body back with an un-natural shiver until he hit into the fallen tree trunk again.
'Concentrate,' Clove hissed, her voice so loud echoing into his eardrums that Cato had to clamp his hands over his ears. 'What are you? As weak as Lover Boy? Reduced to a snivelling child when something bad happens? Convinced you can't go on? I thought you were stronger than that. I thought you were a Career.'
Sudden anger burned inside Cato. To be compared to that weakling traitor was the final straw. 'I'm not like him,' he growled. 'Not at all. Don't you dare say that.'
'Maybe if you stopped acting like it I wouldn't have to.'
How could she be so painfully accurate? She was a ghost, she was…dead.
'Listen to me.' The emphasis she put on those words resounded in Cato's mind and he looked back up at her. Her eyes were crystal clear and yet frighteningly dark, staring straight at him. 'You are a Career. You can win this, I know you can. If you just concentrate you can achieve anything. This is what you want. All your life, it's lead up to this.' The ferocity in her face was so strange. Was it possible for a ghost to be this violent? 'Let go of me. Let go of all we had and you can do this. Win. Be the Victor. Don't let Fire Girl take the glory that was meant for us.'
'Take the glory that was meant for us,' Cato repeated, drumming the words into his brain. 'But it isn't us anymore.'
'What does that matter?' she retorted, her voice snapping the air like a foot on a fragile twig. 'That never mattered to you before. It was always about you, Cato. Always.'
'It's different now.' He staggered to his feet. 'I want it to be about us.' Forgetting for a second, he reached for her pale hand.
'Well it's too late for that now, isn't it?' Clove screamed, whirling around. Her hand that Cato had tried to reach for evaporated and he yelped in shock. 'If you had noticed that just three days ago then we wouldn't be in this stupid mess!' Behind them, thunder roared and shook the ground. Fire blazed in Clove's eyes, a fire that had never been seen there before. Cato's heart started thumping harder.
'I'm sorry, Clove, really…'
'No, you're not, Cato. You're selfish, you always have been. Everything always has to be about you, and now it can be, it's not what you want. You're pathetic.'
Cato looked at her. 'So why did you love me?'
'I didn't. I don't.'
'Come on, Clove. You can't lie to me.'
'I'm not! I don't love you!' With a stamp of her ghostly foot, another tremor shook the ground they were standing on.
'So why did you come back?' Cato asked softly.
Silence descended. Cato held his breath, wondering if he'd pushed it too far. The wind whistled through the trees around them, whispering to each other as they watched the scene unfold.
'Because I don't want to see you lose,' Clove replied eventually.
'I knew it.'
'Oh, did you?' her voice rose dangerously. 'I think you've just proved my point. Selfish and completely self-involved. Why anyone would like you is a complete and utter mystery to me.'
'So why do you then?' Cato said, taking a step towards her.
'I don't know,' she murmured, tilting her chin up and closing her eyes. 'Like I said, it's a complete and utter mystery.'
Cato closed his eyes too and tried to picture them together, standing this close, in another time, another place. He imagined putting his hands near hers, sharing their warmth. As the fantasy deepened, he pictured him running his hands down her back and lifting her up into him arms, kissing her in ways she'd never been kissed before, letting his tongue roll into her mouth and explore. He wanted to carry her away and spend the night with her, somewhere that they could be alone and together in a quiet darkness just for the two of them and the monsters inside of them.
'Win for me, Cato.' He jerked, his eyes snapping back open, just to be greeted by an empty space before him.
'No. No, no, no!' He spun, helplessly, scanning the horizon for any glimpse of a girl with raven hair dressed in white but the darkness had closed in and she was nowhere to be seen. 'Clove! CLOVE!'
His only reply was the pitter-patter of the rain against his jacket, tears in the darkest of nights, and the rolls of thunder far in the distance. Cato realised, with a heavy heart, that she hadn't been real. A figment of his delirious imagination, a fantasy like his dream. Clove was dead, and she always would be. For the past ten minutes, the Gamemakers had probably been watching him talk to thin air, a crazy, deluded man who thought his one love was still alive. The mere thought of them laughing at him somewhere in the Capitol brought Cato back to his knees with humiliation.
But it was the thought of her that set his shoulders rocking with sobs. It was the bitter sweet memories that made a howl rise in the back of his throat and erupt into the night. Cato gave into the tears, allowing them to merge with the rain on his face until he could no longer tell one from the other. He knew he would look weak, weaker even than Lover Boy, but he no longer cared. He was alone again and for the moment that was all he could concentrate on.
Looked like darkness wasn't the only thing that could be relative.