The sight of a fish gasping for water once it has been caught by a man was always a sight that unsettled me, causing my palms to sweat with fear and my stomach tie into knots. Tight knots. I always knew it was wrong to pluck these fish so cruelly from their harmonious existence but it was always necessary, at least to us people it was necessary. We need the food, we enjoy the food and so we close or eyes or look somewhere else whilst the fish's life slowly ebbs away into nothingness. At first it's hard but after a while the process becomes natural and we no longer care. The fishes terrified eyes and deep gulping breaths mean nothing,its begs to be released back into the water mean even less, we do not comprehend the fact the fact that it may have a family that will be devastated at its loss. We do not care. We will dress it up with fine sauces and exotic herbs and then we will eat it. The fact that it was murdered for us will not cross our minds as we dine on its delicate white flesh. This is the only way that I can comprehend why the Capitol would do this to us with so little regret. The fish from my lunch that swirls with the masses of butterflies in my stomach is the only thing that I can understand as they call out my name.
"Blythe Medler?"
My feet move ahead of my brain and shuffle one in-front of the other until i'm out of my row, grabbing the hands that are held out to me from some girls from Medler house in a small handshake as I pass them by. It will probably be the last time I see them. That thought brings a sheen of tears to my eyes and I want to swipe it away as I know I will be seen as an easy target. The one that the careers kill first so that they get the feel of it early on in the games, a warm up before the real event if you will. Yet I cannot get rid of my traitorous tears as it would alert everyone to my lapse in emotions so I settle for staring at my feet. I've passed the twelve year old section so I know I am near the stage when even I turn back to look for a volunteer. They're not rare in four and it's obvious that my chances of winning are more than slim; i'm thirteen and small, so why when I turned back did I see that no-one would make eye contact with me? Why was I greeted with silence?
I know I've wasted too much time staring at the older girls in shock when a small cough draws back my attention. My eyes snap up to the perpetrator who is not a peacekeeper but instead is District fours own Finnick Odair. He flashes me an almost cheeky smile that creases his skin into dimples either side of his mouth before he quirks his head slightly to get me moving again. I scowl back into his smile and continue my walk, painfully slowly. Making a note to stare him in the eye as I do so until I see his face change into puzzlement and then an amused grin. Scowling again I raise my first foot onto the step that is covered in slick green moss, praying I don't slip I stare up into the escort for some form of help. Thankfully she provides it.
Looking down at me with a painted smile, revealing all the rows of her perfectly straight, white teeth the extends a hand to help me from the stairs. Who knows, I might trip and graze my knee and we could never have that now could we? It takes a moment of intense searching but I eventually locate her clawed hand under the folds of bright green fabric that shroud it. Immediately she pulls me up and directs me to the microphone, clicking along in her skyscraper heels with a tight hand on my shoulder.
"How lovely, a fine tribute by the looks of her!" She crows into the microphone, her crimped yellow wig flicks wildly as she waves her hand with excitement.
"How old are you my dear?" She grins and I clear my throat,
"Thirt-"
"-To your audience please" she shrills, turning me to face the sea of downcast faces.
"Thirteen." I choke out, flinching as I hear the sympathetic mumbles among the adults of the District, no doubt glad that their own children are safe for another year. The girls that is.
"Well, i'm sure you'll do your District proud." The escort continues, urging me for a response. I give none.
She tells me to stand at the side as she selects a boy but I am no longer listening, my eyes are stuck staring out at the sea. My little shoulders are shaking with nerves but I refuse to give in, keeping a straight face. I will not let them see me cry, if that's the one shred of dignity I can keep then I will fight to keep it.
"Shake hands." The escorts voice snaps me out of my daze and I skip to default mode, walking over to shake the poor boys hand. He's short and and pasty, his hair is muddy blonde and I can see animal like terror in his pale green eyes. I'm so busy staring at him that I have to feel the escort push my shoulder to get me to move back into action. But I do not shake his hand, we are not closing a deal, we are going to our deaths and a handshake will not suffice. So I pull him into a tight hug, he stiffens in shock at first but soon relaxes and holds me tightly as-well. I had never met this boy in my life, but judging by the hand marks that bruise his pale cheeks I assume we are both from Medler house and that helps somehow.
"I'm sorry." I whisper, half about springing the hug on him and half about our present situation.
He remains silent but his shaking lessens and that makes me feel slightly better. I would have held onto him for longer but we're pulled apart roughly by gloved hands and led into the justice building against our wills. The square is clapping uncertainly as the doors slam close and I know the Capitol is angry because instead of seeing tow indifferent tributes we gave them the truth. We showed them what we really were; two terrified children.