How many down now? Finnick tried to remember. In the distance he could hear the boom of the canon signalling the death of another tribute which meant they were down to the last four. His chance to go home was becoming a real possibility; only three more and he would be back in district four. Now wasn't the time to let his mind wander, though. He had to focus- the canon was a reminder of the fact that this could end very differently from how he wanted it to, and his whole body tensed up as a result. His fingers were curled tightly around the trident he held in his right hand, the bottom of it digging into the soft, muddy terrain of the arena.
His eyes flicked to the side when the rustle of branches caught his attention. His senses were high, picking up every noise that surrounded him as though it was a warning. All Finnick wanted was to run into the trees, seek shelter and hide until this was all over, but that wasn't going to get him home. There was a part of him he didn't want to recognize taking over- the part that didn't care what he had to do to get out of here. The part of him that had already taken lives and could still feel the blood on his hands.
A scream resonating through the trees brought him back down to earth and his mind seemed to stop with one thought: his snare. He ran through the foliage as silently as he could but he could so as not to draw attention to himself. There were still two other tributes; they were still threats. He stopped running when he could see the panicked girl tearing at the vines he'd crafted into a net but to no avail. The vines were too strong for her to tear through as quickly as she needed to and her movements were limited in the confines of his net. He needed to act now, before she drew the attention of the others and brought them running his way.
Finnick lunged out of the foliage, trident in hand, and speared it through the net until he could feel it digging into her skin. He felt metal hit bone and heard her strangled cry as blood blocked most of the noise attempting to escape her throat. It was coming out in gagging motions now, from her mouth and pulsing through the gaping wound in her stomach. He tried to look away from her accusing eyes but they were all he could see. She was suffering- why was it happening so slowly. He raised the trident again and this time delivered a fatal blow. The second the light left her eyes, a canon went off and he could already hear the sound of a hovercraft coming to collect the body. Two more bodies until the nightmare was over.
(~scenebreak~)
Finnick was soaked in his own cold sweat, his breathing heavy as he took in the fact that he was lying in his own bed in the Victor's village. He concentrated on the fact that he was home and tried to slow his heart rate down to something that resembled normal, but every time he shut his eyes all he could see was the face from his nightmare. Her name was Eileen, a girl from district seven. She'd been a couple years older than he was at the time, probably around sixteen, and her dreams of returning home had been crushed the moment she walked into his trap. He remembered a few things about her- specific things, like how she had favoured the plants section in training and how she had said in her interview with Caesar Flickerman that she would be returning home to her mother, father and two siblings. He remembered all of their faces during the victory tour.
There was no way he would be getting back to sleep. It was a miracle he had slept as much as he did the night before the annual reaping, so at two in the morning he decided to get up and head downstairs to fix himself a glass of milk. It wasn't until he pulled the blankets down and tried to get up that he noticed he was shaking. Even years after his victory, vivid nightmares of the day he won plagued his sleep. After taking a minute to pull himself together, he moved downstairs to the kitchen.
What he wanted now was not to be alone, as he often wished to be, but Mags' company. She had gotten him through his games and several others over the years. Even his first reaping after becoming a victor was spent at her side, keeping calm only under her surveillence. It didn't matter how many years went by; the reaping was never easy, nor was the night before or even the weeks leading up to it. He tried to recall exactly how Mags fixed up the late night drinks she would make him when he had trouble sleeping. It was just warm milk but it had hints of different, soothing flavours mixed in, and he couldn't remember the exact items she used. Instead he added some cinnamon that he had stashed in one of his cupboards, mixed it around a little, and took a deep drink.
The drink did nothing for him in the way of putting him back to sleep. That was the last thing he wanted. He would much rather stay up all night than revisit Eileen or any of the other tributes he'd shown to their graves. Instead it just made him ache for Mags' company even more, and the hours until the reaping ticked slowly by.
(~scenebreak~)
As a result of his all-nighter, Finnick was ready for the ceremony much too early. He'd taken his time to bathe and make himself presentable as the man everyone expected to see, and when it was finally time he made his way across the road to Mags' house.
Her place was, of course, much the same as his own. All the houses in the Victor's Village were the same except for the décor, which was the only thing that stood out about hers. A few flower pots hung on either side of her doorway, light pinks and blues that gave her house a little pop. She often spoke about how beautiful the flowers would look spread out more, but the work was daunting.
A few raps on the door was all it took for Mags to call him inside and he walked into the house that felt more like his home than his own did. "Hello Mags," he greeted her, although his smile fell short of something that could be considered real. Their usual 'good morning' didn't seem appropriate on reaping day and he knew she would agree. He glanced around the house but he didn't see the old woman anywhere.
"Finnick," she said, although the way she'd said his name made it sound more like a greeting than anything else. Mags wore a smile similar to his own as she stepped into the entryway wearing a long, dark dress, her grey hair pinned up in an elegant bun. All dressed for the reaping in an outfit that could double for a funeral. Her eyes seemed to scan him briefly and, if she noticed the bags under his eyes, she didn't say anything. She simply stepped forward and sat down on the bench near the doorway so she could slip her shoes on.
Finnick remembered past years when he would ask Mags the questions he needed to hear the right answers to. Questions like 'Do you think this will ever end?', to which she either didn't reply or fed him carefully chosen words that resembled something far too close to 'No'. It would never in- not in their lifetimes. That was what she meant, and he knew, but he couldn't actively believe it. Believing that would mean accepting the fact that the rest of his life was going to be spent sending children to their deaths, otherwise spent in the arms of strangers. Although his childhood belief that things would someday change suffered with every passing day, and today he found it harder to cling to that hope. Today it seemed as though that small hope didn't exist.
"Time for us to go if we don't want to be late" Mags announced, tearing him away from his thoughts.
Finnick just nodded, giving her a weary smile. "We wouldn't want that" he agreed, and held out his arm for her to take.
It took only minutes to walk to the ceremony grounds where all of District Four was soon to be gathered. Most people had already arrived when Mags and Finnick took their places on stage, standing in the spot designated for the mentors. Finnick could remember easily a time when he'd been standing in the crowd now facing him. Three years in a row where he'd held his breath, his anxiety creeping up on him for weeks as the reaping got closer, and just hoping that it wasn't him.
The voice of the escort rang sharply through the speakers only a moment after she took the stage. Bright blue locks flowed over her shoulders, a direct contrast to the slight orange tint of her skin. Finnick regretted that he had seen stranger than her and that these traits that he had once found so amusing now only succeeded in annoying him.
"Ladies and gentlemen, as usual, we'll get started with a short historical film from the Capitol" she announced, and even though Finnick could only see the back of her head, he could almost hear the fake smile in her overly cheery voice. Even though the sound of her sweet, high octive made him want to cringe, his composure didn't falter and he glanced at the screen playing the same propaganda he'd seen every year of his life. The one that depicted that the citizens of Panem had brought this on themselves- that they were the reason their sons and daughters were sent into an arena to be slaughtered or to come out as an unrecognizable version of themselves. When the video ended, Odea,the escort, continued with her usual rant about what the video meant to her and how she always got choked up while she watched it. Something about a sense of pride- and then it was time for what everyone was waiting for. The reason some people were going to be able to breathe, and some were going to have the wind knocked out of them.
"Shall we start with the girls?" Odea asked rhetorically as she stuck her hand into the glass case, waving it around for a second before finally catching one of the fluttering pieces of paper. The tensing of the crowd was immediate. An eery hush had fallen over everyone as they waited to see if they were safe another year, or if their sons or daughters would be coming home. The anxiety was most clear on the faces of the twelve year olds standing among their age group, suffering through their first ever reapings. Finnick could see some of the girls among them grasping each others hands, their fingers tightly laced as though they would get some kind of support, some salvation.
"Annie Cresta."
Finnick's eyes scanned the crowd for the girl who would soon be joining him on stage. It was rarely hard to find the one who'd been called. The eyes of everyone in the crowd had turned her way, and his own finally locked on the girl who was walking slowly toward the stage. Her expression reflected the shock she clearly felt and her eyes were wide. It wasn't until she took her place beside Odea that he noticed she was trembling. Her fingers were clutching onto the fabric of the pale green dress she wore, her wavy brown hair semi pulled back, the rest spilling down her back. The girl stiffened as a hysterical woman was pulled away from the crowd by a peacekeeper. A parent who couldn't control her grief, who was unwilling to watch her daughter fight for her life knowing how good the chances were that she would not return.
"And now for the boys," Odea continued, her hand reaching into another container much like the first. She pulled another name out- Kellen Samuels- and a surprisingly composed boy moved toward the stage. Kellen was probably around fifteen years old or so with dirty blonde hair and a strong build, overall coming off a little older, but his young face betrayed him. This boy took his place on the stage with a hard expression- unreadable. Good. He looked strong and he didn't let his emotions get the better of him. If Finnick had to pick who's chances of seeing this place again were better- which, inevitably, he would- it would be Kellen. The trembling girl in front of him had little chance, and his eyes flicked to the screaming woman being removed from the crowd. The woman who had just lost a daughter.