A.N. I am absolutely in love with Finnick and Annie, so this is my attempt at a FF about them. Please review with your thoughts!
In District 4, everything is relaxed and calm and peaceful most of the time, just like the ocean that borders our villages. Perhaps it is because we are one of the wealthier districts, perhaps because we are peaceful people by nature. Whatever the reason, District 4 is usually an uneventful place to live.
However, just like the ocean, there are choppy days, and sometimes there are storms. Choppy days are usually when there is a sickness going around so everyone is wary, or when someone is whipped horrendously for a minor crime. Days when people are distrustful or quiet and don't hang around town center much, mostly keeping to their homes and boats. We might have a choppy day if the fishermen of our village have a bad day, so the poorer families are without dinner. Those are the rough days.
We rarely have storms, days that are so bad that everything goes wrong and life just seems out to get you. However, we do have one once a year. Reaping day. A day when 2 families have to part with one of their loved ones, a child only 12-18 years old, to send them to their a fight to the death. A day when everyone must gather in the town square and watch two names be drawn from glass bowls, hoping and praying that it would not be them or someone they know. A day full of sadness and goodbyes and dread, a day that will most likely lead to 2 deaths.
Everyone thinks that the storm will not come to them. Everyone hopes and prays and prepares, wishing with all of their might. Some worry and cry, insecure and unsure and certain that the storm will come to them. Others are cocky, arrogant. They are sure that the storm will not hit them, for it hits few, and it could not possibly choose them of so many.
I thought, unfortunately, like the latter. I was arrogant, thinking that I was above it all. There were thousands of names in that bowl, what was the chance I would be picked? I should have prepared better. I shouldn't have been so sure of myself. I should have prepared better for the storm. For now I am going into the eye, and I have no idea what I am going to do.
My name is Finnick Odair, and I am the male tribute of District 4 in the 65th Hunger Games.
Let me go back a little, give you some background information.
I was born and raised in District 4, like almost all of the people here. I have never met anyone that has moved between districts, and heard of few. My district's main industry was fish and other seafood. District 4 was the only one on the coast, and so our specialty was things relating to the sea.
I had practically grown up in the ocean. I had learned to swim before I could even walk. The ocean was my second home, and swimming was second nature to me. I belonged in the sea. I always had.
My father owned a small fishing boat and spent all of his time on it, so as soon as I was old enough I begged him to teach me to fish. I had spent many long hours practicing and perfecting my technique, and by the time I was 12 I could fish as well as any man in the village.
My specialty was the trident. With it, I could fish not just as well as but better than some of the men in our village. I had been training with it since I was 6 years old, and it was like an extension of my arm.
As for my mom, she mostly stayed home and cleaned and cooked. She would often make these little shell necklaces in her spare time, and would send me out to the beach to scavenge for them while she got things done. Sometimes she would even gather a little group of girls out on the beach and teach them how to do it. Our house was a moderate size, not especially big but not too small. We were of average wealth, never having an abundance of anything nor not enough.
I had no siblings, but it was never lonely growing up. My parents kept me company, I had school to occupy me, and I also had many friends. It was strange, because when I was at school, I was always surrounded by people. I had many friends and some admirers, but I didn't have any really close friends. I had friends I could talk to, but nobody I could tell secrets to or tell them my problems. Everyone seemed to love me, and always gave me plenty of attention and kept me company, but nobody ever got close to me. It was almost like they were intimidated by me.
Ok, this is going to sound vain, but I am good-looking. Like, above average good-looking. I am not trying to sound stuck up, or arrogant, but it is the truth. I had been told so since I was a very young age. With my bronze hair that I found messy but girls found "endearing" (and that is an actual quote from a girl named Pearl) and my sea-green eyes, I was apparently incredibly handsome, especially for someone so young.
I had gotten a lot of female attention once I grew out of my child chubbiness, and ever since there always seemed to be a couple of girls hanging around me, batting their eyelashes and waving and giggling. I didn't mind the attention, in fact sometimes I even liked it, but it could still get very annoying.
I think that was one of the reasons I didn't have any very close friends. I think that girls were intimidated by my looks, so that was all they could see around me. As for the guys, I think they might have been jealous, or maybe just overwhelmed. Maybe they didn't want to compete, or didn't want to be compared to me. Maybe they thought because I was popular with girls I was shallow, and not worth being friends with. I'm not sure. Whatever it was, it seemed to keep people at a distance.
I guess I didn't mind that. I mean, it was nice to have company, but I still always had people around to talk to! There was just no one that I really connected to, that I could talk to. I suppose I had my parents for that.
My dad had always been worried about me being picked for the Hunger Games. When he was a child, his cousin (who was his best friend and closer to him than anyone) was reaped for the games. He died early on, and my dad hadn't taken it well. Ever since I was born, my dad had been worried I would be reaped and that the same thing would happen. So he had trained me, sort of.
It wasn't super intense or anything like the training the careers went through, but he wanted to make sure that if the day ever came that I was reaped I would be prepared. So he taught me how to make a fire, he taught me how to make knots and nets (something I was already good at, being from District 4, but he made me better) and some basic skills with a knife and a spear. It wasn't much, but he was convinced that if I was picked that it would help me survive.
Perhaps my dad was psychic. Maybe it was just bad luck. But his preparation was in use.
On the morning of Reaping Day when I was fourteen, I woke up like it was any other day. I could hear the sound of waves crashing against the shore, my favorite sound in the world. I got dressed quickly, humming slightly as I did. I walked downstairs, and kissed my mom on the cheek when I reached the kitchen, telling her good morning, which she repeated. I sat down at the kitchen table, and she placed my breakfast in front of me, which I immediately dug into.
As I ate, I watched my mom bustle about the kitchen, cleaning. I knew she was nervous, as cleaning was somewhat of a nervous habit for her. Whenever she was worried or stressed, she would clean. I was sure she was worried about me; she always was on Reaping Day. But she had nothing to worry about; I would be fine.
"Mom?" I asked, setting down the wooden silverware.
"Yes?" She said distractedly, scrubbing at a nonexistent spot on a plate with a rag.
"Are you alright?" I questioned tentatively.
She sighed, and set down the rag and the plate, coming over to the table and sinking into the chair next to mine. She gave me a tired smile and placed her hand on mine. "I'm fine. Thank you, Finnick darling. I'm just…" she sighed again, this time of sadness. "I'm just worried for you."
"I know, mom, but I'll be fine." I said, flashing a reassuring grin. "I always am. There are hundreds of names in that bowl, and I have never had to get tesserae, so my name is only in there three times. I will be fine."
She rubbed my hand, looking weary. "You can't know that, Finnick! Someone has to be picked, and it could be you."
I placed my hand over hers comfortingly. "Mom, we have this conversation every year and I am never picked. This year isn't going to be any different."
She smiled at me again, and stood up, placing a kiss on my forehead. "I hope you're right, Finnick." She walked out of the kitchen, leaving me alone with my food.
A couple of hours later, I was walking into the town square where they held the reapings. I signed in, and went to stood with my age group. I was met with smiles and high fives and hugs, as I grinned and greeted my friends. I found my parents amidst the others, and smiled at them. My father gave me a grin one back, but my mother was so worried she couldn't even manage to smile back at me.
I turned back to face the stage as they started playing the anthem, and Lucia Huevale came out on stage, grinning widely at the camera with her thin purple lips. Lucy was a tall, thin woman with pale blonde hair so light it looked white that she often wore in some fancy twisty capital updo with colorful extensions hanging down. She wore much too much makeup, making her look like she had two black eyes, and her face looked almost as white as her hair due to powder, although she had two perfectly round pink circles on her cheeks. She had these little colorful rhinestones on her face, and her outfit was also coated in them. I suppose this was the way people dressed in the Capital, but I just thought she looked ridiculous.
"Hello, and welcome to the 65th annual Hunger Games!" she trilled, her voice high pitched and squeaky. There was a round of applause, though it was mostly neutral. While we didn't want to be outright rebellious by refusing to clap, people here didn't get as excited about the games as the other career districts.
After some more introductions and a speech from the mayor, a large and sweaty but overall nice man whose daughter used to come and make sea shell necklaces with my mom, they played the video about the 'Dark Days' and District 13 and all of that stuff. I usually zoned out for this part.
"Today is the special day that we get to pick our tributes for this year! Now, who is ready?" She trilled, her voice catching on ready. There was some more neutral clapping. "Let's start with the girls." Lucia smiled, showing off her teeth, which also happened to have rhinestones on them. She stuck her hand into the bowl and pulled out a slip of paper. "Cora Misty!" She called out.
I heard a couple of gasps coming from the crowd, but everyone clapped as they were supposed to. A scared looking pale girl came out of the section for 16 year olds. She appeared to be shaking, and I found myself feeling sorry for the girl. She looked very small and delicate. In fact, I found it hard to believe she was 16. She looked so much younger! Perhaps the fear on her face made her appear younger.
I was so busy studying the girl tribute; I almost didn't hear Lucia call out the male tribute. "…air!" She said. What did she say? I couldn't hear… There was a gasp that went around the crowd when she called the name. Who was it?
Everyone around me was whispering and, and some people were looking at me. What? Was it someone I knew? Why were they looking at me like that? Was that…pity?
My questions were answered when Lucia called out the name for a second time. "Finnick Odair?" She said, this time almost like a question. I felt my heart stop as I realized that the reason everyone was looking at me was because I was the one that was picked. I was the tribute.
Suddenly, I realized how weak I must look, just standing there not moving. I forced my legs to move forward, moving towards the stage. Lucia's face brightened when she saw me come out and she waved at me, her jewels catching the light. I felt dizzy, and sick, but I didn't want to let it show. I didn't want them to see me as weak.
So when I reached the stage and climbed up the stairs, I grinned at the crowd, and even threw wink at the cameras. Lucia looked absolutely delighted at me, and she squealed. "Oh, this one looks like a fighter! How old are you, Finnick?"
"Fourteen." I answered, still grinning. I was feeling faint, and my heart was pounding in my ears, but I couldn't let it show. I couldn't let them see how this was affecting me. I wouldn't let them see me as weak.
"So young and so brave!" She exclaimed, grabbing my arm with one of her glittery white hands. I stared at it and tried to get my vision to focus as she raised my arm and Cora's and proclaimed to the crowd "Let's give a big hand to District 4's tributes of the 65th Hunger Games, Cora Misty and Finnick Odair!" The applause was louder this time, and I noticed my friends from school clapping loudly and cheering. I threw them a grin and a wink at the girls, some of whom appeared to be crying. Crying? Why were they crying? Over me? Strange.
Lucia led us off the stage, where we were led by peacekeepers to the Justice Building. This was where we would be able to say goodbye to our friends and family, possibly for the last time.
I was left alone in a big room with blue walls with wave patterns and plain white floors. I realized, as I sunk down on a white sofa, that this was real. I gripped my pounding head with both hands as I realized that this was actually happening. I was a tribute in the Hunger Games. I was being sent into an arena to fight to the death. I could die in there. This could be the last time I saw my parents. This could be the last time I saw my home. The last time I saw the ocean or smelled the salty breeze. I could be dead in a couple of weeks.
Suddenly, the doors burst open and some of my classmates came into the room. Actually, some isn't accurate. It looked like all of them. In fact, did I know all of these people?
"Finnick!" said a good friend of mine, John. "Man, you looked so brave up there, smiling and winking! How did you do it? I would be so scared, I would probably tear up or faint or something!"
"Yeah!" chimed in John's best friend, Crest.
"You looked so brave up there." Cried some girl with blonde hair, who I was pretty sure I had never seen before. She launched herself at my chest and hugged me tight, and a couple of other girls followed her lead, all crying for some reason. Did I even know all of these girls? Why were they so sad about me being reaped?
"You better get out of this, man." Said Adrian.
"You can totally do it!" Said his sister.
"You're going to make it out, I know it." Said Eric.
"Come back to us, man." Said John, patting my back.
I was surrounded by cheers and comforts and congratulations. However, even though I was surrounded by people, I still felt alone. As nice as this attention was, it felt so fake. These people didn't really know me.
Finally, peacekeepers came to get them out, and they all crowded out with a couple of last hugs and high fives. My parents were then escorted in, and I immediately ran into their arms.
"Mom." I said, hugging her tightly. "Dad." I said, hugging him as well. My mom was crying, and as much as he tried to hide it, I could see my dad's eyes were watering slightly. I was crying just as much as my mom, and unashamedly. I had been pretty brave up until then, and I knew if I wanted to keep this brave face on I would need to give myself a moment to grieve.
"It will be ok," my mom whispered in my ear as she brought me into another hug. Everything will be fine. You will be fine. You'll be ok. Everything will be ok." I tried to listen to her encouraging words, but the tears continued rolling down my face as my dad wrapped his arms around us, and the three of us stood like that for a while. Finally, my parents released me, and my dad put his hands on my shoulders, looking down into my eyes earnestly.
"You can do this Finnick, I have every hope in you. I believe you can do this. I know you can. We have been preparing for this, and you know everything you need. You can do this." He said sternly, but I saw a tear break loose and slide down his face.
I smiled weakly at him, and he gave me one more hug. A peacekeeper appeared at the door, and told us to hurry it up.
I looked at my mom who was still crying. My tears were dried up, but I was sure I still looked a mess. She copied my dad and put her hands on my shoulders, although I was already so tall that she was almost looking up at me rather than down. "Come back to me, Finnick." She whispered. "I love you. Come back to me. Please come back to me. Whatever you have to do. I don't care. Just come back to me. Come back to us." She gave me one last tight hug, and then my parents walked to the door, where the impatient peacekeeper was waiting.
"We love you, son. We are so proud of you." My dad said, and then the door closed behind them.
"I love you too." I whispered, and sunk down onto the sofa, putting my head in my hands.
What am I going to do?