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FLASHBACK.

The satisfying noise of my knife making contact with the wall was all I wanted. The only thing I wanted more was him dead. The Peacekeeper. The one that killed my mom.
And he would be. By my hand, my knife. I was sure of it, and I was eager for the moment I could see him take his last breath, as he watched my mother do the same.
I ran down the road, my fathers angry, slurred words repeating in my head.
"Your mom is dead, Clove. One of them damn Peacekeepers."
That was all he said, and stumbled back into his room in a drunken stupor. I heard glass breaking from his room, the room they used to share, the one I would come and sleep in when I heard somebody getting killed somewhere outside. Back when I was afraid of death.
The words filled me with a new feeling, and unfamiliar one. It boiled inside me, overtook my senses. It made me want to run, and slam and break things, and throw things, and punch people. Anything to make somethings else understand. Something words just couldn't do. Only actions.
So I did. I ran to the other end of town, the rich side. The first house I saw, I picked up a potted plant from their front yard and threw it at their window. Glass went everywhere. Somebody inside screamed and I ignored it. I ran some more, did anything I could to rid myself of this anger.
Then I saw him. The Peacekeeper. I knew it. Everything told me it was him, and I had no idea how, but I was sure.
Instinct took over, and I lunged at him. I kicked and punched every inch of him that I could, and hot tears streamed down my face. He was in too much shock to call out. I don't blame him- who would expect a small, frail little girl like me to attack them with such fury?
Then I felt hands pulling me back. My hands were still swinging, my legs still kicking and I screamed.
"Let me kill him! Let me kill him! That bastard killed my mother! Let me go! I have to kill him!"
The hands didn't let me go, however. After a while, I had succumbed to just tears, occasionally begging to be let down. A sense of calm washed over me, and I let the hands spin me around to face their owner.
It was a boy, maybe two or three years older than me. He was insanely muscled for what must be a ten or eleven year old kid. I was only eight and very short and small- no wonder he pulled me off the Peacekeeper so easily.
His eyes were hardened, his jaw set.
"What the hell are you doing?" he asked, still holding my shoulders, leaning down a bit.
I didn't say anything, and he sighed. His eyes became softer.
"Alright, let's start out easier. What's your name?"
"Clove."
"I'm Cato. Where do you live? You need to get home, it's like two in the morning."
"If it's two in the morning, why are you out?" I asked, taking the defensive as usual.
"I was out late at the Training Center. Better than being out trying to kill Peacekeepers."
I stared at him coldly, then decided he wasn't worth my energy. I ignored his comment about the Peacekeeper.
"What's the Training Center?"
His eyebrows scruntched together, then he smiled a bit.
"You're not from this side of town, are you?"
I shook my head.
"How old are you?"
That was a weird question.
"Eight."
"Well then you should know what the Training Center is!" he said, obviously confused.
"But I don't. So tell me," I said, getting impatient and crossing my arms.
"It's the Training Center, there's not much else to it. When you're eight, you go there and train for the Games."
That was news. My parents never told me about that. I kept silent. My anger was over and now I just kind of wanted to sleep.
Cato seemed to make a decision.
"C'mon. I know where you can go."
He grabbed my wrist, and we made our way down the road.