#caetus

       "What are you doing here?"

                                  [The petite brunette asks, suddenly stopping in the middle of her turn.]

       "You're not supposed to be here."

                              “—Or you could be the gentleman instead by buying me a drink.”So, that means you’re buying her the drink no matter what.

           Adam plays coy, a pout crossing his lips. “But you’re the rich, rich, rich victor and I’m just a struggling photographer. C’mon, have a heart.”

                                                               District Two.

            A place to which all other Districts viewed for one thing - creating killers. Not Victors, not winners, but killers. Training children from the time they could walk to wield a sword, or throw a knife. Only to send them into the gate of hell at the age they were deemed ready to fight for the glory. 

            Within the center which held its ground in the middle of the District, boys and girls of all ages practiced the skills of killing another human. Teachers yelling at their students, metal binging against one another, fights breaking out within the mass of children under the age of 19.

           One girl, only 17 years of age, stood in the middle of the knife station, an all black uniform with her hair pulled back away from her face, two knives being held in each grasp, her eyes dark and her target in her view. The little dummy who was made of foam rubber, but created to simulate another tribute.

                                            "And, start."

                                                       The instructor spoke in a monotone voice.

           Cora Barre let the knife fly from her hand, hitting the target just on the mid-point. But there was no happiness, or celebration on her face. No, her face remained cold and numb to the surroundings. This was her year, in just a few days she would volunteer and head into the arena.

                                                     It would be her time to shine. 

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xontherun liked this

"You look vicious with that stick."

You cough nervously and wring your hands a little, unsure of what to do with yourself. Normally, you are out and riding the waves with your best bro but you blew him off today. He didn't seem too bothered but he's hard to read. Or maybe it's that he's not hard to read. You don't know. You probably should be concentrating on looking out for your friend.