a/n [This was awful to write. Definitions from Google. Uses prompt 'definition' from Caesar's Palace. Written for Caesar's Palace's Monthly Oneshot Contest.]
lose
/lo͞oz/ v. become unable to find [something or someone]
Finnick discovers something on a cool November afternoon. The sky is a greyish color, the waves are twisting and crashing so fiercely he can hear it from the market in town, and there's a hole in his pocket, which wasn't there this morning.
He's not sure at what point the fabric could've torn, because he's been careful all day, really. Well, mostly. He might've been climbing the rocks over by the big cliff earlier even though his mother told him not to, but he didn't get hurt, so it's fine, and she'll never know. But when he did go home, she'd definitely know about the hole and the four coins that had fallen out of it somewhere between their wooden house and Old Elliot's fish cart. Or it might even be in someone else's pocket—hole-free, of course—as they walked home ready for a dinner that they'd been able to pay for.
"Could you just take the one?" he asks, holding up the one and only coin that was sitting in the safe corner of his pocket when he discovered the hole.
"For the bones," Old Elliot answers, scowling at him.
"Please?" Finnick asks, placing the coin on the makeshift counter as if it would help persuade the man into helping him.
"Go home, kid."
Finnick snatches back his coin, holding it tightly in his hand, not trusting his other pockets anymore, and walks away, his eyes trained on the ground, searching, as he weaves a path back home, thinking that the world is too unfair.
win
/win/ v. gain the support or favor of someone by action or persuasion
Two friends sat and watched the third as she swirled on the sand in some kind of dance, looking deadly and beautiful all at once. Finnick leaned back on his hands, trying to study Haile's moves.
"It kind of looks fake," he says, squinting a bit.
"She's not smart enough to fake it," Eitan, his friend, responds, loud enough for Haile to hear.
She stops immediately, glaring at her cousin. "You do it, then."
Eitan gets up, preparing to prove to her that he can make up better moves than her real ones, and Finnick helpfully tells him not to fall on his butt. Haile stands next to Finnick with her arms crossed and a scowl etched onto her face.
Ten months ago, Haile was old enough to enroll at The Club, and so she did, ditching Eitan and Finnick in the afternoons each weekday. On weekends, after she'd caught up with the boys, she'd tell them about her training, and how she was the best girl of her class. The instructors had said she had some of the best sword skills they'd ever seen in someone so young. When she spoke, her eyes lit up and she smiled. Finnick loved to see her like that.
"Is he doing it right?" Finnick asks, watching Eitan wave a stick through the air while twisting.
"If 'it' is being stupid," Haile answers, laughing.
"You seemed to be good at it," Finnick says. "Not the stupid part, I mean."
"Thanks."
"Could you teach me some time?"
She smiles, proud, finally turning to look at him. "Of course."
lose
/lo͞oz/ v. be deprived of or cease to have or retain [something]
The spring the fish supply doesn't quite meet the demand is the first spring there isn't enough food on the table at the Odair's house. His parents try to give all of what little there is to Finnick, and at first he takes it, but then he refuses to eat unless everyone gets an equal share. For a while it's okay; they can just scrape by, pretending that stomachs don't hurt and ribs aren't starting to show.
Then, he's kicked out of The Club, along with the group of unlucky others like him. He doesn't have enough strength, they tell him. He should take some time to rest.
He can rest when he's dead.
So instead of listening, he swipes small things off counters in the market, and eats them if they're edible, sells them discreetly if they aren't. He becomes arrogant in his thievery, taking more and more each time, drawing slight attention to himself, and testing fate. Yet he never gets caught, so he just keeps going long into the fall, even when the income grows and there are coins in his pockets once again.
win
/win/ v. be successful or victorious in [a contest or conflict]
The trident is still upright, protruding from the ribcage of Finnick's latest kill and stuck in the ground beneath the body, when the customary trumpets play, signaling his victory. He falls to his knees immediately, releasing all the air from his lungs and bowing his head. He wants nothing to do with the swinging ladder that hangs down from the sky and the too-loud voice ordering him onto it.
He watches blood, still flowing, alive, as it makes a path away from it's deceased patron. It's uneven in the way it quickens and slows over small bumps on the ground, carrying small debris with it as it goes. He only turns away, standing up and reaching for the ladder, when he feels the sting of bile rising in his throat.
When he's lifted up, slowly, frozen, thoughts racing, he sees Mags at the top, and she's not smiling. Even when he reaches the hovercraft, feet on flat, metal ground, and she congratulates him, her face is grim.
But his prep team is smiling and applauding him, and Finnick smiles back; he's been through so much, but he's still too naïve. He's won, didn't he? There's nothing more to it.
lose
/lo͞oz/ v. be deprived of [a close relative or friend] through their death
The funeral is already being planned when Finnick rushes off the train, ignoring the usual crowd, brushing off Mags, towards home. He's sprinting on the damp sand left by the receding tide, and avoiding the moment when he'll have to veer onto the dry sand to head inland towards town.
They're already gone, he knows that, but there's a difference between knowing and seeing. And last time he saw them, they wore small smiles as they waved goodbye before Finnick left to mentor. That's how he still sees them in his head.
There's a small crowd gathered by his old house—his aunt and her family live there now. Distant relatives and family friends. One of the friendlier Peacekeepers. Eitan and Haile stand apart from the rest, looking for Finnick.
His steps slow as he approaches the house. These people are gathered because of him. Crying because of him.
"Finnick," Eitan greets, and his face is grim.
"Where are they?" he asks, calm.
His friends exchange a look, then Haile says, "Still with Dillon. I'm so sorry, Finn."
He can see it now; his parents, lying next to each other, in the back of the doctor's makeshift hospital, covered in cloth. He wonders if they were still alive when they arrived at Dillon's. Maybe it was already too late.
Haile reaches out to touch his shoulder, but Finnick recoils, for the first time in his life, from her touch. He steps back, and his breaths quicken. No, Snow can't have her, too. He can't have anyone anymore. Finnick runs away, back to his real house. The one that was too big even for three people. Now, he has it all to himself.
win
/win/ v. gain [a person's attention, support, or love], typically gradually or by effort
She's sitting on the beach, watching the waves, while Finnick builds a ring of sand around her. He keeps claiming he's going to trap her inside of it, and she keeps rolling her eyes at him, laughing whenever he tosses some sand on her bare feet. The ring is just over half a foot tall when Finnick stops to admire his work, proud.
Annie looks up at him, eyes raised, before looking down at the pile of sand and pressing a hand to it, testing its stability.
"It's a castle," Finnick claims, smiling.
"It's a very boring castle," Annie says.
Finnick narrows his eyes at her, then gets an idea and grins again. She looks at him, bewildered, but he just holds up a finger and rushes off to gather a few things.
Annie waits patiently for him, no questions asked, and hums a song from her spot inside the ring. He almost forgets himself watching her, loving how at peace she looks, loving her. Wondering if she might love him back. Chastising himself for getting so worked up over a simple girl.
He makes his way back to Annie and his castle of sand, his hands heavy with his prizes, which he dumps on the ground once he reaches his destination. The sky is almost gold with the setting sun when Finnick picks up one of his shells and presses it into the ring. He continues, adding all of the shells to the damp sand, decorating the castle until it's fit for its princess.
"Better?" he asks, brushing dry sand off his hands. The smile on Annie's face is answer enough, and he smiles, too.
lose
/lo͞oz/ v. be destroyed or killed, especially through accident or as a result of military action
There is great difficulty in running silently. Of all of the things he has done, this is one he's not yet attempted. And from the accidental sounds he and his group are producing, he thinks this drill should've been included somewhere in the training back in Thirteen.
It would also be helpful if they knew what it was they were running from. Or, maybe that would just make it worse.
His foot lands on something slick and he stumbles, almost tripping, and for a split second the inhuman voices howl louder, and Finnick's heart beats faster. Then, he's cursing himself for being so afraid. He survived two Games; this is nothing. But still, his heart stays quick.
They come to a wider part of the tunnel, an intersection made for trucks, and Katniss stops everyone with a few words, and Finnick wonders how she became such a leader. Then, the Peacekeepers start marching around a corner, and all thoughts disappear as his body goes into autopilot, shooting into the distance, barely remembering to stop and breathe.
The mutts are upon them before they realize, and then Katniss is yelling for everyone to run, as if they needed encouragement. But Finnick hesitates, too stunned by the smell of roses that always seem to precede death, but Jackson pushes him forward, and he runs.
At some point, the destination changed from Snow's mansion to aboveground, and Finnick's not complaining. The mutts are gaining on them, and he's almost out of ammunition, shooting recklessly. The mutts don't seem to perish.
He's not sure at which point the mutts are close enough for him to defend with his trident; it was after the ladder came in sight, he thinks, but the details are fuzzy. When did staying alive become this difficult?
He's only a few yards away when one grabs his calf, sinks in its claws. It's not the first wound inflicted by these mutts, but it's the first to disable him. One yard away, and a mutt slams him into the wall, making his head throb. His vision is blurring, and when he reaches for a rung of the ladder, he misses. His leg burns as something tears it open farther, and he stumbles, hitting his nose against the ladder as his arm is twisted behind him. He's wrestling against them, but he knows he can't win.
He grips the rungs as best he can, stops struggling and stays hunched there, trying to think of some plan but not coming up with anything. The mutts are almost completely piled on him, ripping flesh and forcing tears to fall from Finnick's eyes. It doesn't take them long to rip him away from the ladder, and it's then that the fight is really over.
He apologizes over and over again, to anyone and everyone, speaking the words aloud even though there's no one to hear him. His eyes close, and he breathes out, and he waits for it all to be over.