This is the beginning to a story that I've always thought was left untold. I hope you enjoy it, and I welcome all constructive criticism. I'd like to thank Suzanne Collins for her masterpiece and characters that I plan to write about. :)

Prologue-

The clattering thud of racing footsteps chase after my own, and I know that I'm going to die. I can see my life flash before my eyes, and what a short life I lived! 14 years of trivial existence. My head pounds in unison with every stumbling pace. The stitch in my side threatens to burst open and I clutch my chest, sure my heart is going to burst. I hear through my thundering heart beat angry voices from behind.

"We've got him!" calls out an angry Career. Through my pain, I force myself onward, I must survive, I must keep running. The greenery hasn't presented a challenge thus far, and I am thankful for this. Running through jungle shouldn't be this easy... should it?

Then, out of nowhere comes a vine, grabbing my foot. I struggle for a moment, then let out a scream of exhaust and pain. The voices of my enemies draw nearer and nearer. The vine stretches past my foot to the rest of my shaking leg. Entangling me, the plant's grip tightens and I hear my leg give an ominous crack, bone breaking. I've broken bones before, and this feeling of pain isn't the same. Why? God! I'm too high on my own adrenaline to worry about something so frivolous as a broken bone! Stay focused, before they come. I will not die.

With every move I make to loosen the vine's hold, it only becomes tighter, the pain sears my leg like a branding iron. A shift in the shadows causes my eyes to open. Above me stands a muscular Career, trained for killing. He lifts a long sword and gives me one last smile before sending it racing down to my body.

I wake in a cold sweat, my mother holding a cold rag to my forehead, soothing words flowing form her lips. I look around and I'm still home in my beach side cottage. If I looked out the window, I'd see the same pale gray morning, waves tickling the shore's edge. I'm still in District 4, not in the arena. I let out a sigh of relief and let my head fall back on my pillow.

"Are you alright, Finnick, sweetie?" my mother coons, her voice just above a whisper.

"Yeah mom, I'm fine," I reassure her. "Nightmare, that's all." I give her my best smile in efforts to keep her from sobbing. Anything can set her off these days.

"Oh well, alright. I'm going to go down to the market to buy tonight's meal," my mother says in her less than audible voice. "Just get some rest. We need to be in the square by two o'clock. It's a big, big day"

Chapter One-

Fished Out of a Pool of Names

My mother leaves in a muffled hurry, whimpering under her breath. Sometimes, I wish I could just shake her out of this depression, or whatever you call it. She still can function fine, for which I'm thankful for, but she's never been the same since Sebastian died. I close my eyes and let the last memory of him engulf me.

"Grab that rope there, Fin," my older brother called out to me. I did as he told me and gave him a quizzical look, questioning if I was doing it right. "Perfect, Fin. Now come over here and take a look at this view."

I rushed to where he stood following his gaze to the glistening horizon.

"I don't think you could ever find such a breathtaking sight," Sebastian said as he patted my back, his strength comforting me. "Isn't it just beautiful?"

"Yeah, I guess," I said, frowning up at him, "but we see it everyday. It becomes average after awhile, don't ya think?"

He looked straight at me with a coy smile playing on his lips, his eyes an exact replica of my own, green as the ocean beneath us. "Ya see Finnick," he began, turning his gaze back to the horizon, "My beautiful and your beautiful are different things. I could stare at this picture all day and never get tired of it, and that's how you know something is truly beautiful. If you can look at it all day and forever and you still love staring at it, well, then it can't get any better than that."

We stood there together for a couple of minutes more, bonding like only brothers can, listening to the water splash against the wooden boat. "Come on now, Fin, mom won't be too happy if we come back empty handed. Help me heave this up," Sebastian said as he walked towards the net that we had cast to the side. We pulled until the net fell on the deck, dozens of fish flapping non-stop. I smiled wide and he mirrored me. We stooped over our catch, relishing in our forfeit. We flopped the net over the side of the boat once more and sat down together.

After a few moments of not awkward silence, I look up at him, "The reaping is in a few months..." my voice trails off, waiting for a reply. But when none came, I continued, "Thankfully we don't have to put our names in more times for tessarae because of the fish, huh?" Again, no reply. "Do you think one of us will be called?" I asked, ashamed of how cowardly I sounded.

"No, Finnick, I don't think we'll be called. I hope we're not either. You're only 14, you shouldn't be worried about death at such a young age. It's unnatural the way we live," he smiled at me, trying to relax my nerves.

"But you were called-"

"And thankfully someone volunteered that year, Fin. Stop worrying. Relax, enjoy life while you can. You're never going to get a girlfriend if your pouting all day," he mocked, grinning his arrogant smile. I had that same smile and I knew it, and we both used it to our advantage. To cut in lines, to impress pretty girls, it wasn't that difficult being the Suave Odair Brothers. "Now go swim back to the shore and I'll pull the boat into port; wait for me at home."

I dived off the side of the boat into the caressing blankets of water. My body pulsed to the beat of the careless waves, and I allowed the cool water to chill my nerves. I clambered back onto the sand shore and gave one last look to my brother and our boat before running back to my home.

I open my eyes and count my steps as I walk in my dingy home. It used to give off a breath of warmth, but now it feels like an empty carcass. No breath, only a gloomy inhale of loss. The loss my family experienced was just over three months now, but I still find myself cowering in corners weeping, doubled over by the stiff pain that only death can bring.

I grab Sebastian's trident from the corner of the kitchen and head to the ocean. The sand on my bare toes is a welcoming feeling, a promise that for now I'm safe. I stare out to the horizon, the sun peaking its head over its vast covering. I don't want to cry here, not now, so I shift my gaze to my brother's trident. It was his one true love, this weapon. He taught me to fish with it and, although he disliked the idea and I had to plead, to aim at moving targets. I walk out into the water till my thighs are submerged and wait. Continue waiting. "Patience is a virtue" Sebastian would tell me. Then, I feel the distant ripple of water and intake a satisfying breath. I aim and throw above the moving ripple and smile at myself. Well done, Finnick, I could hear my brother say.

After succesfully killing five fish with the three-pronged weapon, I walk back to the sandy shores. The beach is deserted except for a young girl, probably twelve, building a sand castle by the water. A lock of her dark brown hair falls in front of her determined face and she doesn't even notice enough to push it aside. I realize after a moment that I'm staring and head back to the shack.

I sit down on an old chair outside and gut the fish, making fillets that my mother and I can eat tonight. If, that is, I make it home tonight. I had to sign up for tessarae this year after my brother died. With no boat came no steady income, and with that came no food. My mother wept when I told her what I had done, but I was far too used to her tears to be sorry. My name is in the bowl ten times. That isn't incredibly against me though, is it? There are some children who have their name in there 50 times. The odds are in my favor. They must be, because they're is also the chance a deserving Career should volunteer for the great honor of dying.

By the time I finish preparing the fish, the cracked clock inside tells me I should be heading to the square. I rinse the salt water off my body, release the tangles from my bronze hair and put on my nicest clothes. They're not much, considering we had to sell most of my clothes to afford life, but they're alright.

I make my way along the streets to the square, falling in step with the hundreds of others. To my right a huddle of girls stare at me and smile shyly. I wink at them and flash a charming smile for their benefit. Some people need cheering up today, and who am I not to oblige? The girls giggle feverishly, except for one. I recognize her as the same girl who sat playing with sand at the beach. I look at her, taken-aback, my smile had yet to not produce a giggle from a girl. She holds my gaze with a meaningful expression, almost as if she's calculating me. I become self-conscious, looking down at my clothes and running my hand through my hair. Her lips curve up in a small smile, and I could tell she did out of pity for my benefit and pride rather than her own enjoyment.

She looks away and continues walking with her friends, and I have to conscientiously pry and pull my eyes from her. When I finally do so, I'm at the town square. People are paraded into roped off sections designating age and gender, and I go stand in my category. Around me are my class mates and acquaintances, all looking frightened. I scan the crowd, not knowing what I'm looking for. What am I looking for? And then, I see her, the girl from the beach who found nothing amusing in my smile or flirtatious wink. Unlike the girls around her, she doesn't look scared or even the least bit amused. She stands there, staring up at the stage with the same calculating look she gave me. I look up to where she stares and see the mayor, a gray haired old woman sitting in one seat, the District 4's escort in another, and ten other chairs filled with past victors of The Hunger Games beside them. Then I turn my focus back to the girl.

The sound of someone tapping the microphone draws me back to reality. The District 4 escort, Marmy Hapshaw, dressed in loud and flashing colors of blue and orange, speaks to us. "Welcome, everyone," she says into the microphone, her voice high pitched and annoying. "Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favor!" She pats the side of her spiked purple hair and continues. "I am honored to represent District 4 as an escort this year and I want to congratulate in advance the tributes of the 65th Hunger Games," she drones on. "Now, now, let us begin. Ladies always go first!"

She hobbles over to the bowl filled with girls names, and for a second, I ache to think what I'd do if the nameless girl from the beach would be called. I have a second to find her in the crowd again before I hear the name, "Dilanee Shorwood!" I look at her and sigh in relief as I see another girl, probably 12 or 14, take her place on the stage. She shakes and quivers and looks as if she might faint. She's going to be killed quickly, I think to myself.

Another girl, an obvious Career volunteers in her place. Dilanee races off the stage and falls into the arms of her friends, sobbing. The Career girl looks the appropriate age, 18, and is well-built and scary looking. She's pretty, but is a clear threat.

"What is your name, dear?" pipes Marmy.

"Allison Claire," she says into the microphone, nose held high and chest stuck out in front of her.

"Alright then, on to the boy tribute!" she yells.

She scampers over to the bowl on the other side of the stage. I look at her and feel sick to my stomach. How can someone honestly pass this bloodshed off as sport? The Capitol tells us this is what we deserve for rebelling in to Dark Days; they tell us to remind us not to let it happen again. They take children and make the murder each other for their amusement, make us sit and watch. I wonder which family will be mourning tonight...

"The male tribute is," Marmy Hapshaw sing-songs, "Finnick Odair!"