Chapter one.
"Finnick Odair! You come here this instant!" bellowed my step mums boyfriends voice. Yep, I too own a stupid family, 'go to school', 'do your homework', 'stop bickering', and 'work harder'. Meh, I don't really like my father figure, probably because he thinks I am an idiot, but my step mum loves him, so I stay and put up with him. I look out my dusty window, I live on the second story of our little shack, I suppose you would call it an attic, but it's my room, only mine.
My family history is messy, my real father left when I was very young, my mother, distraught, eventually married again. She died when I was just six, so I was left with my step dad. My step dad married again too, and then he died, leaving me with my step mum, who now has a boyfriend, and rules my life from one breath to the next. I don't really agree with my family, I have very little other than them, I have no siblings, pets or people I can talk to when I am home, sitting in my room.
The room is small and dusty; a cracking window frame looks out across the ocean, the waves lapping at the shore. I love the way the golden sand makes a glow fall upon my room at this time of night, it makes my sea blue room shimmer with beauty, like the ocean rolling in the bowl of the world. My floorboards creak as I pace over to the other side of my room, picking up a small draw string bag. I think of what my friends would be doing at this hour, not preparing for school like usual, sitting at the table with their family, eating a feast to celebrate the hunger games. I almost wonder why people make such a fuss of the hunger games, but I come from district four, so I know there is a reason.
People from outline districts think careers are always perfect, district four is counted as a career district, but we have no fancy training centres, no special places to train to kill our opponents, no real volunteering either. I kind of like it this way, I go to school, we do have a subject where they train us for the games, but I also have to sit through the boring lectures of English, history and maths. I think the hands on training is my favourite, simply because I can't read like the other kids, nor can I sit still in a classroom for hours, without having the urge to break things. I think the olden term for it is, I'm dyslexic, and I probably have attention deficit disorder too, just don't like school that much.
My teachers don't like me, I'm fairly popular though with the kids, I always have the words, arrogant, rude, self-centred thrown at me, but to me, they are just peoples impressions of my, and really, it's up to them what they think of me. I have this one friend, I suppose he is a friend of mine, tells me I could do anything I wanted, and it would still make me more popular, all the girls just watch and swoon. I'm solo; all the guys in my grade have girls hanging off their arms, but I think they are a waste of time to bother with, there is no one near to my heart, I have so many things to live for right now as well, to waste time tying myself to one being. That and if I dated a girl, she would probably die, I am that good looking, all the other girls would probably kill her to take her place. But no ladies, we save that for the games, the killing.
You are probably throwing around in your mind the words arrogant, self-centred, and downright rude, but you have to put yourself in my shoes, I have no real parents, but the ones I do have place every rule under the sun on me, so I try to break each one, just to show them that they don't own me. I don't know why I do; I just think my real parents would want me in better hands, with better people than them.
I hear the storm clouds rumble, growing restless in the early morning haze, the window of the attic is only a few metres off the ground, plenty low enough for me to jump. Being impulsive, I clutch the drawstring bag in my hand and swing from the sill of the old shack, leaving the noise of an angry parent marching up the stairs to my room behind as I pace out onto my early morning ritual.
The ocean is the only place I truly feel calm, all anger of my parenting gone, with the waves and the tide. I don't really think about girls either when I come out here, or my 'friends' I just leave the worries of a strained world behind. I rip off my shirt as I walk towards the lapping waves, holding it gruffly in one have, the bag in the other. I find my usual rocks, wading into the pool surrounded by boulders. I find what I left here, a compacted three pointed spear, a rare weapon, the only thing I cared to listen to in History. The trident, a weapon of the great sea god, I can feel the power running through it as I stash my shirt and wade into the great ocean.
The waves lap against my bare stomach; tickling me insanely and making me feel giddy with the eternal happiness of the world. I hold my trident above my head, poised to strike, waiting for my moment to capture my prey. The fish swim in schools; I don't dare take a strike at a fast moving school, so I wait out in the bay for hours. The sun raises past the ocean, signifying that the time has come to about six thirty. I move from my planted spot in the sea floor, further out into the warm depths of the watery world. I stand waiting again. I think my mind is clearer here, waves lapping against me. It is reaping day today, not that I really care about the world right now, but I am a little scared about the outcome of the day. By tonight, two people with be on their way to the capitol, they will come back in wooden boxes, or in glory. I have the feeling that people are tiring with the games, this year will be the 65th games, and honestly, I should think the novelty should be wearing off by now.
The shimmer of the silver tail flicks pedantically through the water, swimming gracefully about four meters away from me. I poise, the fish turns head and faces me, swimming in slow circles with the pace of the ocean. I release the string of the bag, letting it flail out into a large net, gripping it with my spare hand. I throw the net, entangling the fish that thrashes frantically against the bonds. I pray that any god of nature or a god of fish doesn't mind me as I bring the trident, striking the final blow as the fish stops motion in the water. I bring my trident back up out of the bloody water, pulling the string contraption of the net, drawing it into a bag, holding the dead fish in the water to clean it as I wade back to rocky pool in which I started.
I pull myself up onto a boulder that lines the shore, sitting next to my shirt, opening the bag and releasing my catch onto the rock. I hoist my trident to my side, pulling it close to me. It was a gift from my father to my mother, which she gave to me before she died, and I never let anyone else touch it. I grab one of the tongs of the trident, and pull in sharply, twisting it harshly to the side, releasing the spring locked knife within the trident. The tong on the left side is a knife, the middle one is a spear, and the right side one holds a little contraption inside that turns salt water, into fresh water, one of my favourite things.
I use the knife to gut the fish, serving it into fillets for my lunch before the reaping. The fish I have is much larger than I was expecting to get today, and I have enough meat to trade for a loaf of bread to go with it. I find that once people start stirring in their homes the fish dissipate in the water, and do not come back until after sundown. But as soon as I have fish guts smeared on a rock, I had friends from the water and friends from the air come to try and get their share of food too. The crabs peck impatiently from the shallow pool, birds chirping and swooping to get their own part. I scrape half of the guts and blood into the water at my feat, leaving the other half on the rock for the birds. I wrap my spoil of meat in my shirt, placing it into the bag, holding one fillet in my scaly hand, compacting the trident into a solid cylinder that is about thirty centimetres long.
The trading stand by the ocean is relatively quiet today, an old lady, who I recognise is sitting there eating a bowl of soup, I don't know who she is, but I recognise her. The tender nods at me, he likes buying my fish, as it saves him from having to catch his own. The old lady smiles and nods, her wispy grey hair is blowing gently in the breeze of the ocean, her old face is weathered but lovely. I smile nicely to her, making my way to the tender.
"Catch another whopper Finnick?" asks the tender, peering at the fillet of fish clutched in my hand. I nod approvingly, "Some sort of big Trevalla, Steve." I say, placing the fillet onto the bench of the stall. Steve nods, poking at the fish, checking I am not telling fibs, not like I would any way, despite what people think. "I'll give you five for it." Steve said, I turned my head, thinking, that's a really low deal, but I didn't have anyone else to go to for trading. I ran my spare hand up through my hair, a few hours fishing gives me five dollars and a meal. I think that trade is ridiculous, but I come very close to accepting it. "Give 'im ten for it" comes a slightly gargled voice from the old lady who is sitting at the bench. Steve looks as though he would give her a dirty look, apart from the fact she could be his grandmother. He raises his eye brows instead, "Why would I want to do that?" he asks the old lady, not threatening, but pushing for an answer. She holds her firm glare, "Give 'im ten for I' you slime ball" she says, standing wobblingly off her stool. She turns to me, "Don't you dare take anythin' less for I' boy." She said to me, before hobbling off into the street, I stood there, slightly confused about why the old lady wanted to help me. Steve rolled his eyes, bringing his hand up from the till, placing ten dollars onto the counter. I nod, "Thanks Steve." I say hurriedly, leaving the fish meat on his counter and taking the money.
I find the bakery on my way home, trading a dollar for a loaf of bread, one with seaweed in it, and little seeds that make it crunchy and salty. I love the warm feeling of the crust against my hand as I take the bread. The girl at the counter is a few years older than me; she smiles a deadly sweet smile, sugar coating everything she does. I could almost feel a little uncomfortable, but I don't, I feel so calm after my strange morning, that the girl who smiles too broadly doesn't really bother me.
I reach home on the fall of eight am, a fire blazing in the kitchen, my step parents have obviously already left to look for me. I unwrap my catch, placing in in the coals of the fire to roast. I peck happily at the bread and fish as the morning progresses; I sit at the foot of my bed, peering out the window as the day floats by, floating like birds on the waves of the ocean. Not a care in the world.
A/N Hey guys! I will update every weekend, because I have tonnes of work on. If you like it, add a review and I might consider updating earlier. =D Enjoy.
