Well guys, I'm back! Sorry for the long wait, I've had some severe writer's block. :/ So this is my first Hunger Games story!
I hope it lives up to your expectations; enjoy! :)
Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games.
"We can never be gods, after all-but we can become something less than human with frightening ease." -N.K. Jemisin, The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms
Brutal, arrogant, dashing Cato.
Eager for fights, thirsty for blood-shed. Of course, the crowd would be enraptured. What wasn't to love? Well, yes, perhaps at times he could become quite snarky, but isn't that what everybody reveres? A tribute, brimming with pride?
So maybe the audience loves him and his cruel ways. And maybe at first, he did too.
That's why his hand shot up, his voice raised, his body tensed when the tribute was chosen for District 1. That's why he volunteered with no inhibitions, no thought at all. Was it a mistake? No, of course not.
He wanted the glory. The honor. The recognition. The proof that he was strong and wild. Brutish and fearless.
He wanted the love from the people
Because that's what Cato had never gotten in his whole entire life.
He didn't train. He watched.
He watched the tributes struggle in their stations. He watched them make nets, throw spears, shoot arrows. But most of all, he watched the two from District 12.
The boy was a comedy. Awkward, clumsy, no specific weapon of choice. Oh, sure, he was a real charmer on camera, but in action? Nothing but something to be laughed at, ignored.
The girl- mediocre at best. Much better than the boy, but still not up to his level.
He stood, shoulder to shoulder, with Clove, and they exchanged amused glance after glance.
No competition at all. He made no mistakes. He knew he would win this Games. .
Oh, yes, he was a brutish beast. Plowing through the people in the Cornucopia, hunting down the others as each day flew by.
He was a frightening sight to behold, brute strength coupled with extreme arrogance. Perhaps he had a small shard of decency left in him before the Games, but now, he had transformed to something less than human. He didn't feel remorse at the deaths, instead, he felt invigorated. He laughed at the bodies of the dead tributes, smiled at the gore.
One person he did not see?
That bothered him slightly, but not much. Oh yes, she was a slippery one. Maybe he had made a mistake, underestimated her. Perhaps.
He'd catch her, one way or another.
Because, as you probably know- Cato always wins.
He grinned as he held the incompetent boy in a headlock, hearing the fierce snarls of the mutts below.
But it wasn't his usual grin. Not the sarcastic smirk. It was a tired, weary grin. Was he starting to regret his choice to enter the games? No, of course not. Cato made no mistakes. He knew he would win this, brimming with arrogance as he was before the Games started.
Even in his precarious situation, he was thinking about the glory, the crown, the title he would be given after he won. That's just the way he was.
All of a sudden, he felt a pain in his hand, then solid ground left him as he tumbled down the side of the Cornucopia. He refused to believe that he had failed.
But as pain exploded all over his body, the mutts tearing into his flesh, he had a split-second thought.
Fierce, bloody Cato had made a mistake after all.
How was it? I'd love some feedback!