Countdown

A/N- In honor of THG coming out on DVD soon, I'm doing a few more oneshots. They will probably all be short, because I'm on a "moment" kick. This one was done to round out "Gone", which is an exploration of Cato's complex feelings for Clove. I felt like I needed to write something from her perspective. Please review, it makes me happy.

Countdown

55…54…53…

When I was a child, training for the Games, a previous victor came to give a talk on what it was like in the arena. She said that when the countdown ends, you are left with two options. You can be afraid of the other tributes. You can run away and wait for someone braver to find you and take you out, dying a coward's death. That's the first choice, the one almost everyone makes. To be a victor, you have to take another path. You have to be the person weaker tributes fear, make them pray that they never encounter you alive. I know how much the others fear me, and it sends a thrill of anticipation through me. The kids from One are skilled enough to be threatening, but they're so wrapped up in the fame that comes with representing their district that they've forgotten that one or both of them will be dead in two weeks' time. They've lost sight of their purpose. I could take either of them out without breaking a sweat. Even Cato, who is utterly formidable to everyone else, isn't remotely terrifying to me. And that's because I know him. That will be his downfall. He doesn't really want to kill me, because we're friends…as much as we can be, at least, and that seems to have a sliver of meaning for him. He won't sacrifice himself and let me win or anything. That would be disgraceful and insulting. But, I know he'll hesitate if it comes down to just him and me. That's something I'll never do, no matter how much I like him. Letting him win wouldn't just mean my loss. It would mean that I didn't think he could defeat me. Mercy is pity, and I don't pity Cato. I'll admit that I was disappointed that we both came out on top in training this year. I don't really want him dead, but if someone kills him, it should be me. Because no one else in this Game- these pathetic weaklings who sit around at home, shivering with terror that their name might be pulled- none of them are worthy of his blood. We are the same that way, he and I. If I'm defeated, I want to die looking into the face of someone who deserves to win.

Time is almost up. I sweep my gaze around, trying to predict who will flee. They're easy to spot. Some, I'm pleased to find, have their eyes set firmly on the Cornucopia- ready to charge into the fire with me. These people might just be worth my effort. Either that or they're morons. Cato would say it's the latter, but I like to think I'm a bit more optimistic. Now is the time that we need to shine if we want to get the wealthiest sponsors, and for that, we're going to need a few decent fights. I scan the Cornucopia, hoping to catch a glimpse of a nice set of knives. I have no doubt that they're in there somewhere. After all, the Gamemakers want the others to be afraid as much as I do. I don't see them, so I will need Cato to cover me while I look. I catch his eye as the last seconds tick by, and see his lips curl up into a slight smirk. Right now, it isn't about honor. Right now, this is just a game. I smile as we're released, because until I have to worry about honor, respect, and breaking alliances, I'm going to enjoy this. I've been molded my whole life for this purpose. There will be blood today, and with any luck, most of it will be on my hands.