Insane Upon Occasion, a hunger games fanfic

"I was never insane expect upon occasion when my heart was touched."

Chapter One—Insane.

It starts like this.

Appalling, flamboyant sounds make an unpleasant appearance through my ears and into my head while I try to keep myself a few last seconds of shuteye. I finally manage to encumbrance myself out of the heartfelt, clannish covers that I made from the surprising leaves from the District 4's palm trees. I badly just want to thrash the cover over my and profoundly pretend like nothing out of the sort is going happen later because miserably this is what I see of as the only sort of peace I get around here.

As I shift my into a new position in the boat millions of multifaceted and inexplicable thoughts make an attempting effort into my head but I can only make out two treacherous words; reaping day.

I could not be possibly reap the year. There is boat load of thousands of girls in District 4 with names in the jar with some have names in there more than a couple dozen time due to taking out oil and tesserae. Indeed I had to take out some due to my mother's passing when I started the games but my odds are much better than some girls' number so mine twenty isn't all that traitorous.

As I relax in the old boat as I stretch my weak muscles before attempting to prepare myself for waking back to my house to prepare. I serenely listen to the peachy harmonies that are regularly produced from the peerless mocking jays that rest outside my father's fragmented wooden boat's side. They zestfully throw their elementary style notes around to each other like young kids with a ball. I gracefully sing them my mother and I's song that she would always sing me before superior events happened before she passed away. I hum the first couple verses before I make sure of any sign of human life that lies on the streets before I develop the guts to sing out loud.

"Singing to an ocean, I can hear the ocean's roar—Play for free, play for me and play a whole lot more, more–Singing about good things and the sun that lights the day— I used to sing on the mountains, has the ocean lost it" I whistle.

"Sitting round singing songs 'til the night turns into day—Used to sing on the mountains but the mountains washed away" I finished.

"Sitting round singing songs 'til the night turns into day—Used to sing on the mountains but the mountains washed away" They whistle expecting the next verse.

When I sluggishly stand up miniature grinds of sand fall through limited spots through my matted hair; it take a repeating movement of shaking and swatting till enough grinds of sand falls out to my satisfactory. I find my robust skin also have a highly touch of smelling of old salt and rotten fish in the mixture of the most atrocious nature scent I have smelt so far. I get out of my father's boat because the sun is burning a malicious hole through my skin and the waves were rocking the boat which is not helping my case at all. Today is the 70th Hunger Games' Reaping but yet I do not feel any different.

Usually I would be dressing the shabby, unsophisticated, handy downs clothes the Capitol requires us to wear to school. Once we turn 15 that Capitol gives us paper work required by law to have us fill out if we would like to drop out and serve as a fisherman or merchant for the Capitol or continue on with our education which they strongly discourage but if we do not give an answer we will could earned ourselves in a role of public whipping because any forms and shape of rebellion. I would also be doing my daily chores — cleaning, cooking breakfast, dishes, and further on. Which I prefer doing rather than be tangled up in this drastic mess I somehow find myself today in.

Once I challenge myself to start walking back to the house I feel the bizarre senses of paranoid over coming me; causing me eagerly or door desperately want to search. I search cautionly the east side of the ocean and west side of the ocean to find the cause to be sorrowfully out of luck then my senses take me to the north edge to find unerringly what I am looking for; a lanky shadow is running into the Victors' Village possibly hoping to get out of my sight. I tried to guest which person shape and personally would clams the unusual but theirs only person that I believe it could but I drop my theory because it's meaningless to think such; A victor insincere stalking a underprivileged girl with no intentions sound asleep in a under the weather made boat . I would follow this strange shadow with a doubt but to be honest I do not think anyone could go within a mile radius of me with the shabby condition of myself.

As I finally make myself to the house I am choking with the harsh hard-wearing ecos of my father's voice.

"Annie Marie Cresta! What did I tell you NOT to do?" Toughly cries my Father.

"I believe something about not sleeping in a boat, I perhaps?" I say I the more innocent voice that I can produce.

"And what did you do" He yells in the clear-cut voice by far.

"I slept in the boat" I reply but a short time past before I add. "But do not worry I remember to cover myself up with the blanket so I would not get burnt".

"I bet that is working out stupendous, keep doing what you are doing" This time his voice is drowning outrageously in sarcasm as he skims his eye over my burn body.

My legs dragged over the driftwood stairs as I make my way up. The texture is smooth from the wearing it has taking from the previous year. I sorrowfully hunt through the underprivileged, shapeless garments that rest before my eyes until I settle on one the partially meets a miniature faction of my needs but will simply do for now. It is a beryl shaded dress with an of an earlier time star form silk texture fabric that is followed by a ultramarine sea lace trim and finished with sweet heart neckline. It is a modest type-based dress that has been in the family tree for more years than I could possibly count but oddly enough furthermost of the women that lived in the period of the reaping in the family tree have worn it sometime or another. .

As I finish my customarily reaping routine I deliberately head to the shore to meet my brother where he takes me down. Coincidentally he nineteen and too old to be reap where on the other hand I still have two more year being seventeen but that's more than I could ask for because I could not be able in a million years be able to perchance to watch him being put to a death sentence on nation television.

The merciful sun peeks over the sapphire colored waves as the make there way into Davy Jones's locker. I beautifully capture the brightly saturated schools of fish swimming into the unknown. The thin paper white clouds viciously scream for my attention as they exit the ultramarine skies in which they has come from. I think of how I wish I could travel the lands with them but no I'm stuck in the monstrous wasteland we call "civilization". I always think of the jazzy fish and how they go where they wish, I wish badly that could be me because they have freedom. Freedom, it sounds hideous coming from my lips because no one here has any bits of experience with "freedom" living in this period of time. I relate living in the districts as being in closing walls moving to each other because in both situations you accept you faiths in similar ways.

I sit peacefully revel in the moments by myself watching the graceful wave momentarily disappear I wait for Connor to return from who knows where he vanish off to now. I carefully watch the fisherman load their boats up hopefully seeking the site of my father but to my luck I could not. The last bit and pieces of my thinking are cut of by the ruff sounding of my brother's voice as it ecos in my direction seeking an answer.

"Sometimes I do not know how you do it, Annie" Renders Conner. He dressed in his ordinarily reaping clothes. A striped azure button down that reaches down to his waist, followed by his shirt he is wearing a pair of worn down slacks that could fall apart any minute now due to the history of the pair which again like my dress has been worn by possible every men in the tree.

"Connor, I cannot read your mind like how you expected me. Do what?" I brutally encounter.

"Hmmm. Let me think, See the beauty and positive side of everything when you could be taking your own little trip straight to the Capitol!" Energetically remarks Conner.

" Logic, reason, disease, and the menace of death, these things meant nothing at all to me. We were committed to other values by which the poet has always lived in defiance of all that society demanded of him!" I mumble.

"Okay, Annie. Let's stop brawling about this and head down to head square before I end up without a head" He clarifies as he foully rolls his eyes. I nod in agreement to avoid any further discussion as we head off to what could possibly be my death sentence.

Part Two—Reaping day

I dejectedly drag myself over to my age group after my blood has been meagerly stolen from me. My hands twitches uncontrollably as I sympathetic try to endeavor to calm myself.

"Singing in the sunshine, laughing in the rain—Hitting on the moonshine, rocking in the grain—Go no time to pack my bags, my foots outside the door—Got a date, Can't be late, for the highs hopes hailla ball—Singing to an ocean, I can hear the ocean's roar—Play for free, play for me and play a whole lot more, more–Singing about good things and the sun that lights the day— I used to sing on the mountains, has the ocean lost it—Sitting round singing songs 'til the night turns into day—Used to sing on the mountains but the mountains washed away" I miserably hum to myself .

Finally when the last verse is over it is not till long till our deranged escort– Melina Lambert eagerly welcomes us all and courteously thanks us for are presents in today's event

"Haha, She thinks we a choice" The words gruesomely repeat over and over in my head.

For the first part of the reaping is habitually a colorless and monotonous speech about how the games instituted and how it is played: a female and a male are reaped or volunteered from each district to compete in a man-made arena to fight to the death until one remains and gets showered in ridiculous amounts of luxurious gifts and vitamin rich food based on he or she performs in the games —that most district people lack. Then after the whole recap Mayor Davens sympathetically raps up the vulgar speech then with sorrowfulness Melina Lambert takes it over .

Her Capitol wear censes of brightly hued sparks and splashes that top her highly saturated cerulean colored cupcake skirt that follows by her seashell cups that I guess was supposed to be an attempt at what we district people call a "shirt". When I look at it my eyes I viciously telling me to look away at the fashionable criminality but the more I look at it the more I find myself loving it. But my memo is that weirder the better.

She introduces the pervious victors in District 4 that are still thriving. District 4 has a ostentatious total of 13 victors still alive—it is not bad for a district compared to others like District 12 that only has one but not imposing with ones like District 1 and District 2 that could be a vast population by itself .

First she introduces the mentor which wretchedly happens to be Mags Lee and Finnick Odair. As always Finnick Odair is wearing nothing but an impenetrable net which makes me want to gag, unlike the other girls in District 4 I do not have a preoccupation over him if anything I want anything but something that could conceivably involve with him. I'm probably one of the only in Panem that could care less with the god named "Finnick Odair". He winks as he throws his unclothed muscles around his signature trident that he used to maladroitly murder most of his acquitted opponents.

"Well, well welcome to the 70th Annual Hunger Games' Reaping. Now it is time to select to a courageous young man and woman to represent our district to optimistically bring home a victor. It was just five years ago I pulled the slip of little forth teen year old, Finnick Odair that later on won the 60th annual Hunger Games and I bet we can have situation happen again, don't you think? "She blissfully says in her aggravating Capitol accent.

The crowned humbly cheers as I find myself offensively rolling my eyes. I guess it is noticeably because then I find myself meeting eye contact with the Finnick Odair. He bites his lip as if he is trying to hold on to an anxious laugh

"Now as always—Ladies first!" She utters while she pulls off her paper white glove and set it on the wooden table gently like it is more pecious like anything she anything she ever handle but that is usually for the Capitol snobs.

She optimistically marches over the girls reaping bowl and stiffly slips her grimy hand into the bowl as pulls a slip out.

As she announces the slip I hastily cannot help the atrocious feeling to begin humming the keep what could only keep me sable for the seconds to come.

"The fortunate lady contending in this year 70th Annual Hunger Games' will be . . . —Annie Cresta!"

My Name.

In the inaudible moment that rest before my very eyes I get the few and far between feeling like I am in my spelling bees once again.

Annie Marie Cresta: A-N-N-I-E M-A-R-I-E C-R-E-S-T-A .

The female tribute from District 4 for the 70th Annual Hunger Games.

Hunger Games: H-U-N-G-E-R G-A-M-E-S

The filmed production of the punishment to the districts for rebellion during the Dark Days. A female and a male between the ages of twelve through eighteen from each of the twelve districts to compete in a man-made arena to fight to the death till one shall remain to be crown victor.

Tribute: T-R-I-B-U-T-E

The male or female citizen between the ages of twelve through eighteen selected from he or she's district to compete in the Hunger Games.

Death: D-E-A-T-H

The act of dying; the end of life; the total and permanent cessation of all the vital functions of an organism.

Victor: V-I-C-T-O-R

The last tribute in the man-made arena that is crowned the winner and showered in gifts and food for being crowned.

Finnick Odair: F-I-N-N-I-C-K O-D-A-I-R

The male tribute from District 4. He won the 65th Hunger Games by using a net he wove himself and a trident he received as a gift from sponsors; District 4's trade is fishing. Finnick is described as being one of the most stunning, sensuous people on the planet. He is known for his attractive sea green eyes and bronze hair. He is the "Casanova of Panem".

Freedom: F-R-E-E-D-O-M

The state of being free or at liberty rather than in confinement or under physical the citizens of Panem are stripped from.

I felt like just this morning I was just free-minded child running gracefully onto the dancing waves of summer. It felt like I was just only listening to the melodies that the astonishing sea birds freely sung as they bounced it one another like the small kids from the corroded hob, I felted free. I never have been "free" I have just not have let my sense unwisely believe it. No one is free around here. My last bits and pieces of freedom have just lifted to great and unknowns after I heard my name.

"Annie Cresta " Favorably repeats our aggravating escort,Melina Lambert. She is one of the freak shows the Capitol brings to prepare us for "Honorable" death. .

I am sorry Conner you were right.