The air tasted salty. The foamy waves continued to rush over the delicate cream-coloured seashells and the soft white sand before retreating back into the sea, bringing flecks of silver with it. It was a beautiful day, as usual, but our surroundings seemed to be filled with an air of dread and an unnatural silence. The reapings were near.

We were near the rocks, far from the normally busy piers where all the empty boats bobbed in the water, waiting to be brought out into the sea again. Annie was on the ground with her head on Finnick's lap, listening intently as he muttered comforting words with his shoulders slumped. I leaned against him, my head resting on my arms, taking in the sounds of the sea. We were tensed about the reapings, about what it brought with it. To Finnick it meant mentoring two kids that would probably get killed or mentally scarred, to Annie: remembering the horrors that came with being a victor.

To me, the youngest and the only one in the group that never got picked as a tribute, it would mean being stuck with calming Annie down for a lengthy time. It was clear she preferred Finnick over me and it was understandable. I'd prefer him over myself too.
We weren't always like this –we used to be the noisy, happy-go-lucky bunch. But it changed when Finnick got reaped and Annie followed in his footsteps five years later while I was stuck at home, forced to watch them fight for their lives and lose themselves. I felt useless and bitter and I haven't gotten over the bitter feelings. The bitter version of me was etched into my skin and mind, it became who I am.

"Worried, Nerine?" Finnick asked, his long fingers stroking Annie's hair absentmindedly. His sea green eyes remained on Annie, who was humming an unfamiliar melody, her dark green eyes flickering from mine to his.

"No," I answered, examining a shiny pebble.

His head snapped up at my answer and I stared back as he scrutinized me, "Really?" One of his sculpted eyebrows arched upwards.

"Yes," I threw the pebble into the water, making an unsatisfied grunt as it sunk with a 'plop'. I felt tensed, yes, but worry wasn't bothering me. I was an only child: my nonexistent siblings were not at risk of being a tribute and despite being eighteen, my chances of getting reaped was low. I just couldn't get chosen. It was coincidental enough that the two people closest to me would be chosen and it would be odd if I got chosen, it would raise suspicions that the reaping balls were rigged. The possibilities of me being a tribute in the Hunger Games were little to none.

Finnick glanced as his watch with a sigh as Annie whimpered with nerves. They slowly rose from the ground, their arms around each other's back as if providing support. Annie stretched out a hand to me and I accepted it, using more of my strength to get up. She already looked frail enough.

"It's time to get ready," Annie announced softly, offering a wavering smile and I returned it.

"I'll say goodbye before I leave," said Finnick, squeezing my hand before the both of them set off to the victor's village.

I trudged past the piers, towards the wooden houses with cheap zinc roofs as our only protection from the elements. The streets were bare and silent, the only sounds coming from my rubber boots and movement inside the houses. I stopped at a door painted with faded blue paint -a failed attempt at cheering me up when Annie got reaped. The door squeaked as I pushed it open and my mother instantly rose up from the chair, pushing her cup of tea away from her. She looked tired and her eyes were filled with pain. Before he passed away, Finnick's father used to tell me that mother was happier and louder before my father died.

"You're home," she said, giving me a quick hug and pulled me away to my bedroom before I could utter a word. "You better get ready."

I found myself wearing the same dress I wore for the past two years; a simple yellow dress with a white ribbon around the waist. Mother combed my light brown hair, ridding it of tangles, her bright blue eyes -the eyes I inherited- glistening with tears.

"Now you don't look like a mess," she said, smiling slightly as she patted my head.

"Thank you," I said softly, squeezing my mother's hand. I let it go and her hand fell to her side, shaking with worry.

A permanent dazed look was in my mother's eyes as we joined the crowd of people walking towards the town square. Annie and Finnick could already be seen at the stage with the rest of the victors, the mayor and the Capitol's version of a joke; her multi coloured hair and her overly frilly clothes as stupid as her and her name. Jewel Sparkle has been District Four's escort for five years, and her brain cells have not developed or increased despite her age.

When we all were sorted into our respective rope-sections, Jewel's purple lips lifted up into a smile, making the swirly tattoos and pink jewels (how appropriate) on her face more pronounced. She sent a flirty look towards Finnick's way, and Finnick –already in his Capitol's Sex God's mode- reciprocated with a wink. Jewel attempted –and failed- to suppress her giddiness, her high-pitched giggles filling the town square.
She cleared her throat, beaming once again as she brought the microphone closer to her lips. Her thick, ridiculous Capitol accent was amplified as she spoke into the microphone, "Hello and welcome to the Hunger Games!"

To her disappointment, the bits of claps quickly died down and she pouted childishly, "Well, then," she began. "Let's see this special film brought to you by the Capitol!"

The same film of the history of Panem was shown and I rolled my eyes, giving a small grin to Annie. Her mouth involuntarily shifted into a smile and her hand quickly crept up to hide it. The eighteen year olds around me muttered to their friends under their breaths, careful to keep it inconspicuous. The town square was momentarily silent as the music stopped playing from the speakers and the screen went blank. The dull thuds of her high-heeled shoes against the wooden floors of the stage echoed throughout the town square, every pair of eyes focused on her as she strutted to the reaping balls, pulling the microphone along with her.

"Ladies first!" she flashed a toothy grin, her sparkly white teeth showing, as she shoved her hand into the reaping ball, rummaging through it to produce suspense. She picked up a piece of paper, waving it as if to tempt us and proceeded to unfold it. It was horrible, how she thought we would be excited by the possible deaths of one of our own. I blocked out all the noise she was making and focused on the melody of the sea lapping at the rocks. She held the microphone closer to her lips and her mouth moved against it but no words came out. A scream pierced the air, joining horrible, loud sobbing. That was when chaos ensued on the Victor's stage.

Annie screamed her heart out, her eyes filled with horror, with Finnick holding her back, his expression stoic but the shock clear in his eyes.

The urge to laugh built up but I managed to hold it back. It was ironic how I wasn't dreading the words, how all my earlier thoughts were proved wrong. And it felt funny, hilarious; to be proved wrong for the first time I assumed something that was impossible would never happen. Was imminent death always the effects of being wrong? Because despite the noise of shuffling feet and audio feedback, the two words she uttered rang out loud and clear.

"Nerine Afton."


A/N: Hello. :D Feedback is appreciated, I want to know if this story is okay.