~AN: Sort of Crack Fic~
~If I owned it, you'd know it~
Finnick woke up to his own screams of agony. The poison fog was setting in. How long had he slept for?
At his first impulse, he scrambled up and raced for the beach.
It took him a minute to realize how much faster he was moving.
It took him another to realize he was running alone.
The poison fog continued to follow him.
Finnick kept his legs moving, dodging trees and tripping over roots.
Finally, he collapsed on the beach, breathing heavily.
As he rolled onto his side, he felt something dig into his arm.
He sat up, and began to crawl towards the water, biting back screams as he dipped his hands in the salt water.
Once he had watched the last of the poison leech into the water, he reached for the thing that had pressed into his arm.
He pulled the spile out of his sleeve.
Faraway, he heard the boom of a cannon.
Finnick turned the spile over in his hand. Bringing the cool metal to his lips, he whispered,
"I guess it's just you and me, Spile."