Victor

I returned to my room that night and tried to sleep. But insomnia had pierced me with its claws, showing no intention of letting go. Those sleepless nights were the ones where I decided that death from a natural cause was positively unacceptable - I wasn’t dying without the hardest fight of my life.

Perhaps that was my motivation for spending countless hours in the cold training center, learning everything possible. For some reason, I felt as if the one bit of information I missed would be the one thing that could save my life.

Some of the tributes wasted their numbered days forming unsteady friendships with other tributes. Others spent time hidden up in their rooms, only coming to training when forced. The Career districts were inseparable, always hovering around the edges of the room, watching.

Drew Aula, the boy from District 1, trained as eagerly as I, wielding a sword with such a power that everyone would stop their training process just to put their eyes on him. Their swords would clash with such a strong noise that would vibrate off the walls and ring in my ears. I would stand there, paralyzed, clutching my knife so tightly my knuckles were white, terrified.

Luckily, I wasn’t the only one intimidated by their group. The room would be silent when they entered and left, always together, with Drew leading. They seemed to revolve around him, only attending the stations that he had picked and hanging onto his every word as if he was a higher power. Only on rare occasions would I spot them, separated by their Districts, training together, even. I don’t remember ever seeing them by themselves - if they were, their mentors were always close by.

My mentor was Wren Galloway - he’d been appointed by the Capitol to be our mentor since no tribute from District Twelve had won before, which wasn’t exactly reassuring. The thing I remembered most about him were his eyes. They were twin pools of wet cement, rimmed by wrinkles and tired lines, like he hadn’t slept in ages. He was fair-skinned with bags under his eyes. I’d always assumed insomnia held him, too.

Wren wasn’t very useful for advice. When I would ask how to at least accomplish something in the arena, Wren would just shrug, training his eyes somewhere else, and tell us bonding with one another wouldn’t do any good, only cause pain in the end. Moments later, he’d stand and excuse himself from the room without another word, his eyes empty and someplace far, far away. He hadn’t been in the arena before, but just thinking about it seemed to make him uncomfortable.

Justen barely spoke to me in the first days of training - he’d stay as far away from me as possible, and quite frankly, I had no problem with his behavior. I didn’t want any connections that’d cause guilt in the future. I took private training lessons from Wren, who tried to teach me how to master a sword, his personal weapon of choice - definitely not mine.

I tended to lean towards weapons like axes and knives - easier to throw, meaning I wouldn’t have to get as close to my target. He’d watch with interest as I’d hurl the knife across the metal room, piercing the dummy’s chest. Sometimes he’d clap. Other times he’d only stare, then shake his head slowly, as if disappointed.

I strived for perfection. Every minute spent on training was for my success. I wouldn’t have wasted time at those useless stations for setting traps and camouflaging myself if I hadn’t thought they’d present themselves useful in near time.

The most interesting thing to happen during training happened on the last day. Drew had been training with his appointed partner, thrusting his sword toward his abdomen, and every time, the trainer narrowly dodged the blows. Eventually, Stella Trace, his District partner, let out a sound of disgust and stepped forward.

“Let me try!” She shoved the other boy out of the way, who stumbled away gratefully, clutching his arm where Drew had sliced him.

Stella carefully drew a sword from the rack, and, after giving it a simple once over, waved it through the air. Throwing a glance behind her, she grinned, her smile as beautiful as the small diamond she wore around her neck, representing her District, apparently. Drew cocked his head to one side, giving her a look that plainly read, Do you really want to do this?

I remembered Dorothea drilling us that the tributes were strictly not allowed to fight in the Training Center, so I waited for an authority figure to step forward and tell them to stop.

But no one did. Everyone stood there, breathless, waiting for someone to make the first move - this was likely the most interesting thing to happen all day, trapped in this underground gym.

Stella returned her gaze to him and nodded, then easily twirled her sword through the air and it collided loudly with Drew’s. Drew’s face contorted with a mixture of anger and shock and he pushed himself into the fight. As their weapons crashed together noisily, Stella managed to maintain a certain air of confidence that radiated from her body as she fought her own partner.

She danced gracefully away, escaping his blows, while managing to keep a firm grip on her own sword.

The fight lasted several minutes - all the other tributes looked on, breathless, myself included. My eyes were drawn to them; their fight was fascinating. The two opposing forces clashed against one another with such a force that you couldn’t help but look on, anxiously awaiting a winner.

Drew expertly navigated his sword, as if he’d trained with it for years. It was an extension of his arm and he held it with such a power, such a fashion, that others like myself couldn’t help but look on. Knowing that here, he was in charge, Drew smirked and slashed his sword through the air like a flash of lightning.

Stella gasped in pain, clutching her arm, and when she released it, she revealed a deep cut on her upper arm. Narrowing her eyes, she hurled herself forward, slamming her body into Drew’s. He staggered backwards, and when he locked his crazed eyes with hers, she shuddered slightly, wondering if she’d made a mistake in encouraging a fight between them. Yet no one stepped in yet.

Gripping the sword with bloodstained hands, Stella wildly thrust it toward Drew, nearly digging the weapon into his stomach. He looked down briefly, then took his sword and shoved it forcefully at her. It missed her by inches.

The older boy Drew had been fighting before hovered around the edge of the circle of gathered tributes, wondering if he should intervene or run for help. Instead of risking dismemberment, he hurried off in the opposite direction, probably to alert a higher power of the fight between District partners.

Upon glancing up, Stella must’ve assumed no one had been watching. She spun around, shoved her hand deep into her pockets and pulled out a small dagger. She expertly hurled the knife and it lodged itself into Drew’s thigh. Shrieking, he fell, his sword clattering on the ground beside him.

He tore the knife out of his leg and clambered to his feet, wielding the bloody weapon, staggering toward Stella. He pushed her hard and she fell back, scrambling backwards, hands groping blindly for a weapon. I was facing her and I could see the fear in her eyes and I could feel it and only put myself in a compromising position.

But, out of nowhere, two men in white suits rushed in, grabbing Drew and dragging him back by his arms. The knife fell, but nobody seemed to notice - all eyes were on Drew. Stella was crying visibly now, the tears streaming silently down her face and pooling at her chin, unable to take her eyes off Drew.

“When it’s down to us, I have no problem killing you!” Drew screamed, thrashing wildly, trying to shake the Peacekeepers loose to have another go at Stella. “I’ll enjoy it!” He spat as they dragged him away, his shrieks heard for only a few moments until the heavy metal door slammed shut, cutting off his threats.

My individual session with the Gamemakers was the same night as the infamous District One fight. I was easily overlooked, being the second-to-last tribute they’d see that day. I left Justen behind in the cold metal room they’d had us wait in. He wrapped his arms around his knees, holding himself together, rocking back and forth. After my name was called and I stood, he smiled at me warmly and wished me luck.

Wren told me before I left for the Training Center that I didn’t want to overdo anything - if I got a high score and drew attention to myself, they’d see me as a threat and target me first.

The Gamemakers this year had already chosen to favor the Career Districts, impressed by the haul this year. I kept it simple - I threw the axes provided around a bit, hitting the target nearly every time.

I didn’t feel nervous at all as I grabbed a knife from a nearby metal rack and threw it so perfectly that it hit the dummy directly in the heart. Pleased, I turned to see the Gamemakers politely clapping, obviously not interested.

They only wanted to see the tributes hell-bent on murdering others. I stayed away from the sword, knowing it would’ve been what the boy from One had gone after, and it would’ve been exactly what they wanted.

I received a training score of seven - I wasn’t an easy kill, but I wasn’t a threat either.

Justen only got a three. Wren knocked over the glass table and stormed to his room.