Everything had its own perfect place in the universe, except you and me. Us? Well, we were outcasts, destined to be forever searching for happiness that we would never find.

We first met at the age of eight, when all of us new trainees at the centre were assigned initial training partners. We were paired together, and that's how it stayed. After seven weeks there was the option to ask for a different partner - most people did - but we were fine together, a good team, the trainers said.

Wherever I was completely inept, you showed masses of potential. It was the same the other way around too - you failed, and I succeeded with the same weapon. Only back then, neither of us really saw them as a weapon. Knives and swords were toys, and the organised battles were play fights. All children knew that we were training for the Hunger Games, but nobody ever really made the connection between our newfound hobbies and the end of a life - not at that young age.

It would be wrong to deny how well we got along. We were told to not get too close with our comrades but we were young and it seemed a stupid rule. Soon we were best friends and we did everything together. Some called us the 'Inseparable Duo', and I suppose that's what you and I were back then.

Our first fight was unforgettable. We were just messing about. When I struck you with my knife, I deliberately missed and you did the same with your sword. We found ourselves hilarious but none of the trainers did. We were banned for a week for being the two insolent children, but I didn't understand why. After all, it was all fun and games, just a different kind of fun to what I later learned to love, and an entirely different breed of game.

I remember your tenth birthday. There's a ceremony in 2 where you get to watch the games for the very first time after a decade of life. Until then, you see the reapings and the interviews beforehand with Caesar Flickerman, but never the killing itself. All children know the stories of the previous year's kills, but seeing the tape of a past games is completely different - you see death with your own eyes, and that can scar you if you're not strong enough.

You never told me what year they showed you, but it must have been traumatic since it was the first time I ever saw you cry. There were only ever two others.

My birthday came months later and my experience was very different to yours. I suppose I must have been born with my bloodlust, because watching the tape of the 62nd Hunger Games was one of the best experiences of my childhood. When Enobaria tore out the boy's throat like a feline would to a bird... well, that was the moment I wanted to try my hand at murder.

After that I trained with more determination, I wanted to be the best. But you were fine with not having to kill, back then. After all, you wanted to succeed in life but I just wanted to dodge death for as long as I could. Rather than being the example together, I became it alone. You just slipped back into the realms of normality. I was already being viewed as a future victor for 2, but you didn't stand a chance any longer. Not that it bothered you - you seemed relieved.

You seemed to lack the motive that the rest of us had, so you were sent to an alternative training centre when you were 12. They didn't give any advance warning - they just came up to you one morning and told you to go home because you were being transferred to a lesser known training centre the following day. Where we were, we were the elite. That dismissal, it meant you were no longer anything special. For some reason, you showed no emotion as you exited the building.

I wouldn't see you again for many years. It hurt at first, but I almost managed to convince myself that I didn't need friends in life - just having the opportunity to kill should have been enough for me. It was for every over girl and boy I knew at the time.

If only that was completely true, that I was able to say that I was better alone. The truth is, I was better in a pair. Regardless, to my trainers you seemed replaceable and I soon had a new training partner. He was older than you, and even more violent, but he lacked cunning and that was his downfall in the 73rd Hunger Games. That and his ego.

Two weeks after my fifteenth birthday, I was asked by my trainer to volunteer. I couldn't refuse - after all, victors got luxury and happiness.

The weeks leading up to Reaping Day I trained extra hard, so I would be at the top of my game when I went to the Capitol. After all, preparation was frequently the difference between life and death in this game.

The first time that I saw you again was at the reaping, as you volunteered. At first I didn't believe it - I was certain that you would never volunteer after how badly you reacted to the tape you were shown aged just 10. But here you were. I tried not to react but you had changed so much over time. All of your baby fat had gone, in it's place was muscle. The sweet look in your eyes from back when you were a child was gone and-

Well, all that I can really say is that you looked hot.

As we had to shake hands you looked at me in horror. I suppose I must have changed also, what with the absense of the girly braids, and the pink dresses that had transformed into black, tight outfits. You would have seemed monstrous to an outsider but not to me. That's because I remembered you as an innocent, as a child - when life really was as carefree as a dream.

My family said goodbye but I barely paid any notice. Yes, they always held a dear place in my heart, but I was just thinking about you for some reason.

On the train I expected that you would want to talk, but you didn't. You muttered the odd sentence to our escort but besides that, nothing. Especially not to me. It made the journey rather lonely to be honest. As much as I hated it, it was hardly anything new. I nearly always felt alone by then.

The Remake Centre was more hellish than anyone had told me it would be. It was horrible. I had a high pain threshold, but that... well, having each hair follicle ripped out of my skin was fucking torture.

My stylist had no real sense of style - I'd seen their past designs. Fortunately, yours did, and they went with her plan for us.

You spoke to me on the chariot, just before it left. "You look well, Clove," you said.

The response that came your way was, "And you, Cato." And that was all it took for a small smile to creep on to your face. I could see it at that point already - the 'Inseparable Duo', inseparable again. Unfortunately, one of us was required to die. Hardly ideal circumstances for us to become friends once again. But we made it work.

You see, you seemed to admire me, admire my talent and enthusiasm. I admired your courage, and I could never forget how close we were as children.

At every evening, you seemed on edge, and I wondered why. After all, during the days when we trained you seemed happy, like you were as a young boy.

I asked you one night, after the second training day. I went to your room and I sat beside you on the end of your bed and I asked you why you volunteered. Your eyes welled up with tears at that, and I wrapped my arms around you in a hug. You just mumbled a brief phrase, "Insolent boys must be punished..." Then, that was when I realised that no real change had happened inside of you. The fearsome, monstrous boy was all an act. You didn't want to be there, but you had been made to volunteer as a punishment.

"What did you do?" I had asked you.

"Refused to kill the animal they wanted me to. Just a stupid pig, but it was staring at me in the eyes and I couldn't do it. So they made me volunteer, to have to kill children instead. It's sick - it all is. We shouldn't be killing for entertainment..."

"It looks fun to me, so why shouldn't we?" I recall how I spoke too soon, and you just moved away from me, telling me that my mind had been corrupted. I had to remind you that I had always been that way. That just made you cry even more and hug me tight. A bit too tight, I'll admit, but I didn't let it bother me. Your arms around me, they just felt right. And so I hugged you back.

That following morning, you told me you had slept better that night. I didn't think that I had helped - I believed that I had worsened your state - but apparently I had helped greatly. And so you quickly embraced me once again, a non-verbal thank you.

I couldn't help but smile.

When our training scores were revealed I was sure to congratulate you, and you congratulated me on my matching score. After all, we were always a pair. And, at ages fifteen and sixteen, we were a pretty damn hot pair to say the least. Well, you were hot, and you called me attractive that evening, so I guess I was too.

That night, you came to my room instead. You weren't crying, but you were down. We just talked for half an hour straight before you went to leave. First though, you gave me a quick hug - another thank you. But you looked so cute at that moment. So I kissed you, just to try it. And to my surprise, you kissed me back.

It didn't feel experimental, like I thought it would - it felt real. Your smile after told me it was completely genuine. But that was the hard part - trying to extinguish the spark of something that would only end in fatality. But knowing that there was a chance that we would both be dead within a week was what made us not make a proper effort to extinguish the fire that was beginning to burn.

It was weird, I remembered you as a child still. I never saw you in that way then, but by this point I did. But you had changed, and so had I. We were living life on the edge, not knowing when we would fall, just that it was inevitable.

After the interviews, you saw me cry. It was the only time you did. I realised that you or I would die, and it seemed so soon then.

So I let myself cry on your shoulder, for it was all I felt like doing. You just kissed me and took me to my room, and then you left. That was it - the last night before the games, and I just cried my eyes out.

I said goodbye - not farewell, never farewell - to all of our Capitol correspondants, and that was it. The bloodbath started within minutes, I made many kills. It was as fun as I had expected, but you looked disappointed with me when you saw how much I was enjoying myself. You made two kills, but both times you seemed guilt ridden afterwards. I would have hated to feel guilty about it - it would have ruined me. In a peculiar way, a small part of me wished that I did feel guilty. But I didn't, so it didn't matter. One girl - my biggest competition, I suppose - slipped away, and took my weapon with her. Bitch, she should have died. If she had, then I would have been safer.

The girl from 4 and the pair from 1 were barely tolerable. But it kept us in favour for the sponsors, so I dealt with them somehow. It was a relief when they died though, particularly the annoying two girls.

When we lost our supplies you snapped. You had gradually gotten more homicidal, but for a while it was all an act. Like when you climbed the tree to reach the girl, you never really hoped to kill her. And you managed to not kill her. But this boy, he angered you beyond belief. You snapped his neck, and I can honestly say that I had never been more terrified of you than then. You were terrified of yourself then too, you told me that evening that you didn't know what you were doing, that you were being corrupted by the games. I felt sad, and also scared. I valued my life even more than you valued yours and we were almost at the final few, where I would be meant to kill you.

The announcement solved that though. And when the feast was also announced, I genuinely thought that we were going to be going home. I told you I would kill the tributes if you agreed to watch out for me, and you agreed as it meant fewer lives ended by your hand, fewer kills to your name.

The girl spat at me as I cut up her mouth and taunted her. Oh, how she tried to defend herself. She would have died, had that boy (who I could swear was a fully grown man) not have grabbed me and accused me of murdering a little girl. Murder, I was guilty of, but not of someone quite so young. But he wasn't the trusting kind. And I was petrified.

I wished that the Hunger Games didn't exist, that we were both at home in our district. Alone is how I had seen myself for years, it never occurred to me that what I had been searching for wasn't too far after all, in my own district nonetheless. It was happiness, and you. By the time that I had realised this, it was already too late and my skull was smashed.

Despite your frantic pleas, I couldn't stay living in Panem with you, and as the light vanished I could see in your eyes that you were ready to join me in death already. It was the third and final time I ever saw you cry. Sure enough, you came and joined me soon after in the afterlife, up in heaven.

Everything had its own perfect place in the universe, except you and me. Us? Well, we were outcasts, destined to be forever searching for happiness that we would never find.