Overwhelming Clutches

One-Shot for Starvation contest.

Theme: Fallen and Forgotten

Told in two POV's, first Ruethei, and then Finnick. R&R! :)

Though I'm young, I know my purpose. I'm wise, wiser than I show, and while I'm small, I'm strong, genuine, and keep in sight of what's real, and what isn't, seeing almost nothing is trustable. You can't trust the people you see, the ones who care for you, let alone the strangers who simply glance at the strange child who refuses to wear the bright, defiant colors and silly, yet simplistically strange makeup that coats everyone features here, making real a truly hard thing to find. It's funny, that while we live in a sugar coated world of infinities, the rest of us aren't as great. The other places and people are bleak, hopeless, and stranded within themselves.

They seem to know my inside so well.

I'm not only incredibly smart, smarter than some of my mothers age, but I'm a young age, a girl but eleven, who seems to be the only one who understands the meaning of the word, real. Real, is not the bright, shining, glittering colors that adorn our world, or at the least, the one that we live in, us Capitolian citizens.

The rest of the world must hate us, and I don't blame them. I've grown up in a well to do, safe home, which has well enough money to do anything we please, along with sponsoring tributes in The Hunger Games. I've watched my mother, drunken state and all, slam her fist on the counters of our home, where she host vast, elegant parties to celebrate and collaborate in festivities about other children's deaths.

Twenty three children, to be exact.

She lays money down, shaking her fist and screaming with unexplainable joy about who she believes will win. Whether it be a brutish boy, or a rather small intelligent one, it doesn't matter. As long as she has a reason to yell, celebrate, and bring pleasure to herself, she's content. So when I wake in the mornings to strange, painted Capitol men in my kitchen, it doesn't surprise me anymore. It's a usual sight, and I've even gotten to the point of making snippy, snarky remarks, like, Morning, or, How was my mom?

I stand up, bronze like hair swinging forward, and blue eyes burning straight ahead. She won't hold me, I'm my own person, and I don't plan on being purchased, exchanged, or added too, like many of the things she buys or receives. I have a baby brother, a small, five month old one, who my mother stays to busy partying and busying herself in others to care for. It's technically the nanny's job to care mainly for him, and to keep a watch on me, but rather, she busies herself emptying the contents of my mother's jewelry box into her pockets. I don't mind in the slightest, seeing it means that my mother can no longer wear them. I think even her wedding ring is gone by this point, but I doubt she would notice, let alone care.

My father is a busy, expectant man who designs things for the Capitol. Electronics, weapons, methods of training and punishment, etcetra. It's despicable, not to matter inhumane, as he wishes to be a Gamemaker in an upcoming year, a thought I can't even muster enough energy after those words to draw even a small breathe. Horrendous and exploiting, that's what that sentence is.

He's never home, and I can't remember seeing him in over a year in a half, though he must have been here at one point, to get my mother pregnant. I don't like to consider the latter. Though, I doubt he realizes a still has a ring on his finger either, being in District One as of these moments, the beauty capital of the world, as opposed to us, they say. He portrays himself as a terminal bachelor, and on the nights my mother was away there have been plenty of women in the house too, and some who don't differ much from the nanny.

The baby is small, slender, and long for his age. The golden blonde hairs that fall into his pale, navy blue eyes, make him beautiful. His skin is frail and rosy, something unnatural to the actual citizens here, that I can't help but cling to the reoccurring realization that he is in fact real. In all honestly, I'm not sure whether or not my mother remembers him, seeing she has never once been in this room, heard his laugh, or soothed him as he cried.

I have though.

I plan on telling her that this is a room for all my dolls, that I got this baby furniture from Daddy for my birthday, and that this baby is a growing model that's really new and advanced.

She would believe it.

I pace the large room, seeing how the alternating patterns of stars in a Capitol sky, which is seemingly impossible to see, (another inaccurate Capitol propaganda,) a rising sun, and a setting sky. The middle hits the exact range and depth of twilight, and while I can't stand the unrealistic images that stand for everything here in the Capitol, I love this room, and how it captures the true grace and beauty of what mother nature has given us, yet the Capitol citizens see no want for that, as they are happier in there fake, childish ways and world.

Our world, a real life coloring book.

How pathetic.

I walk up to the small boy, Alecxaendeir, and brush his small hairs away from his otherwise pale forehead. He stirs, but only slightly, and then falls back into an otherwise presumably peaceful sleep. I small smile creeps up on my lips, and my eyes light up. He's so small, innocent, and appealingly adorable, and an overwhelming pain hits me as I realize my mother has no idea what loveable beauty lies just two floors away from hers, a small, iconic being, that holds tight in my arms, only to be ignored by her.

She's despicable.

It's but early morning, and I can feel his small heartbeat drum evenly against my naturally cool fingertips. I rock him slightly and sing a small song that my mother sang to me when I was three; before she went bad, and was lost herself.

We wake to small things in bloom,

We hold them tight and you,

You sit and stare away,

Thinking of yesterday.

You hold to bitter truth,

You know to what owns you,

And you can do,

What you want to do.

You lay here small and fragile,

Something of delicacy,

You hold to the realization,

The one you love is me.

I stop rocking him to the sound of something being knocked down in the kitchen.

I turn my head slowly, sensing a sound in the kitchen, which is strange, seeing no one was here last night. Mother came home alone for once, and I kept special note of it. I gently set Alecx down in his plush crib, and he yawns a bit before turning back over into sleep.

I open the door with caution, and slide out through only a crack. I creep down the stairs quietly and calmly, telling myself it's probably just Mother, up for water from a nursing hangover. I approach the door to the kitchen, stand on my tip toes, and gaze into the room through the window near the top. I don't see anyone, so I decide to walk in.

I open the door, pressing onto the carved wooden frame ever so slightly, and step into the room. I walk around, and freeze when I see the man panting and leaning against the cabinet, which had until that point been obstructed from view.

The man is obviously different. He looks restless, and beyond the edge. The shaking breathes he takes in are shockingly scarce, and I can hear the desperation in his voice as he mumbles things to himself. His tousled bronze hair, deep green eyes, and breathless figure distinct him from an average Capitol citizen. Drop that, it's obvious he's not from here at all. The stranger collapses onto the floor, holding his stressed face in his large, tan hands. Within the moment, I'm immediately overcome with the though he may have just died, though I know it is a silly aspect to consider, seeing his breathing is still ragged.

Momentarily, I forget I hate the Capitol and its descendents, overwhelmed by the new come sight of horror, pain, and utmost curiosity.

He looks up, most likely sensing the fact that he is being watched intently, and his pupils widen in fear. Then, a cloudy look overtakes his eyes as if he is remembering something. The fear fades to dread and regret, and I can't decide between which I think is more pitiful, and utterly heartbreaking. I hear him murmur a word, in a natural, unaffected voice, a name possibly, but I can't quite hear him.

I fall to my knees, and crawl up to his hollow figure, only close enough to whisper, "What?" I say it slowly, cautiously reaching a tentative hand towards his fallen hair.

"Annie…" He murmurs, as I push the fallen hair from his eyes, as I do with Alecx. Annie? Isn't that the name of the girl who won this years past Hunger Games?

And in that moment it hits me; this mysterious man…is the famous Finnick Odair.

"Are you…Finnick Odair?" I whisper, quietly astonished. Why is he in the Capitol? Shouldn't he be back in District Four, caring for and training his new tributes? Never on television have I seen him untamed and broken like this, ever. A numb look overtakes his features at the sudden realization that his identity has been exposed.

"I…yes." He answers, honestly.

"Why are you here?" I spit at him, suddenly angry, with the fact my Capitol home is even filled with unrealistic people of Districts as well.

Another realization hits me; he is indeed, real. Real, in the ways that I simply look at him not to find an altered, Capitol painted face, but true features that cannot hide the fear and defeat is his tired expression. His clothes are normal and simplistic, a pale grey tux with a simple white button up underneath.

Reality, that's what he must be trying to hold onto.

"Your mother…bought me." He says, hollow eyes and blank expression filling his face.

I stare back, disbelief reflected in my eyes. "She…bought you? For the night?" I ask him, returning the look of horror. "Yes." He replies, simply, avoiding my gaze.

"And just why are you for sale?" I ask him, my voice doubtful in the thought that he chose to sell himself, and his innocence.

"Since the President decided I should be." He whispers back, his expression that of a small child. Though he is a man, he does not look it. He's barely past his teenage years, at just twenty-one, and his face and expressions mark him as younger.

Frail and innocent, that's what he truly is.

Just like Alecx.

The president…he has brought this mutiny upon people to weak to fight back, and by weak, he probably holds there loved ones above their heads, taunting them to reach them. A feeling of course anger and hatred floods through my veins, filled with the overcoming passion to make our so called beloved president, Snow, pay for his horrendous actions and to exploit him as he really is.

The man, Finnick, gazes into my eyes, searching for something to hold onto, and I realize my mother, my own mother, is responsible for this treachery as well. Doesn't she have enough men here? She sure acts like it. It's sad, sickening, and utterly disturbing, a though profound to my mind until now. My own mother…buys out men as is they are mere slaves. She's married, as she is well aware of.

Tears flood my eyes, and I have the sudden shaking sensation, I can't hold on anymore. It's sad, scary, and apprehensive as Finnick lurches up and holds me tightly in his arms.

"It's so…wrong." I choke out, still whispering. He just holds me, a small, fragile child who doesn't deserve to cry the tears of someone else's burdens.

"Yes...it is." He whispers back.

And I plan on doing something about it.

I break away from his comforting embrace, only to see how alike our appearances are. Bronze hair, tinted sea colored eyes, tall forms, pessimistic yet selfless attitudes…

"Has she bought you before?" I asked him slowly, still in nothing above a whisper. He seems hesitant, and then replies.

"Yes." I stare back. "How many times?" I continue, my whisper dropping in volume with each word.

"Twice." He says back, still unsure to where I'm going.

"What two times? Meaning when?" I ask, my voice down to the final level of audibility.

"Eleven years ago. Then, again about a year and five months ago." He replies, not hesitating to reveal to me. I gasp, knowing exactly what that means.

As I sit here, calculating my past visits with this strange, young girls mother, I can't help but contemplate what her motive is. She looks about nine or ten in age, with that characteristic bronze hair that us District Four people have.

"Follow me." She whispers, a look of complete confusion and utmost confidence overtaking her small features.

"Where are we going?" I whisper back.

"I'd like to introduce you to someone." She says unevenly, a trace of doubt in her voice. Her voice is lovely. It's trilling and not excessive, like the typical Capitolian accents that are found here. I'd love to hear her sing.

"Who are we meeting?" I ask her, confused as to the fact that there are other people in the house, seeing I thought it was just me and Lucinidia, the girl's mother.

Which reminds me, I don't know this strange girls name.

When she doesn't answer, I ask her the other obvious question. "Who are you?" She turns around, stops, and looks straight up at me.

"My names Ruethei Saisfeeloh, and I think as of now my last name is wrong." She answers, which adds simply more confusion to my mind. Last name be wrong? Why would it be wrong? She leads me up the stairs, around the corner, and down a small hallway. "Stay quiet." She whispers to me, and before I can ask why she opens the heavily carved wooden door.

The pattern of the room is alternating views of a sky. Between the shades and colors is many different scenes; a twinkling night sky, a rising sun, and a falling one. The middle of the room lands in the perfect center for a misty twilight, and as my eyes fall to the middle of the room, I see who I have come to meet. She picks him up out of a large, plush crib and carries him over to me, his appearance currently obstructed from view. She finally arrives in front of me, and holds the child out for me to see. He's small, pale, and innocent. His golden hairs fall into his wide, navy blue eyes, and I see the forming hints of bronze in his locks at the tips.

"I…" Ruethei starts, and then finishes, "I think that this is your son." I stare back at her in shock, confusion, pain, and other heart wrenching emotions.

"My…my son?" I say back, horrified. I have a son? I love Annie, and I would never, ever want to have a child brought into this cruel, cruel world. Ever; in my life. I can't even imagine trying to mentor my own child through the games, because knowing me, and how popular I am with the Capitol crowd, they'd rig the reaping to make sure that my child was in it. And then I realize…my child is in the Capitol, the only place where children are safe of the reaping.

Then I think…why would this be my child? There's a slim possibility, with the non exaggerated excursion of men that Lucinidia brings home all the time, that this baby might be my child. I mean, yes, I was with Ruethei's mother about the same time of she was pregnant with this child…I begin to doubt myself, as I see the unmistakable appearance of the young boy…the one who looks like me. But wait, Ruethei gave another time, eleven years ago. She couldn't be…but she is. It's unmistakable, once we stand beside one another. Both of us have flowing, bronze hair, and hers reaches past her back. Her eyes are that like the sea, the same color mine were at that age. I can even see the hints of green starting to creep up on the edges of her eyes, the same shade as mine are.

It's a shocking, yet not all that surprising discovery once I think back to the questions she asked me. How many times were you here? What times were you here at? I think my last names wrong. Worst of all, she knew. She knew. She realized the brief reality before I did, and for that, I am truly astonished. This young girl, so seemingly small and not all bright, has just proven me wrong. She is brilliant, and while it isn't first evident, it is amazingly obvious within her building actions.

Of course they're my children. Who else's would they be? They look like me, act like me, and the young girls mind seems to work just like mine. Then a thought hits me. Are these my only children? If I have both Ruethei, and…I don't know his name.

"What…what's his name?" I ask, my voice strained. She gives me a glare, as if I've done something wrong.

"Why do you say it like that? Is he not good enough for you? Is he not what you want? Does he have something wrong with him?" She spits at me, anger rising in her voice. "Alecxaendeir, that's his name, and his mother won't take any care for him, doesn't even remember being pregnant with him, the pathetic drunk, and now I found his father, who shouldn't be you, but the man my mom married, and you won't accept him either?" She continues to scream at me. I'm shocked beyond words. She thinks I don't care for my own son? Of course she doesn't, she thinks I could care less, me being doubtable that they are both even my children.

Alecxaendeir, that's my sons name, and I didn't even know it.

This young girl is so small and fragile, and yet she cannot see that her own fait lies in her own hands. If she speaks out, proves to the world whom her father is, and Annie…

I can't even think of the reaction it would bring out of her.

I grab her by her shoulders and force her to look at me. Then, I speak in a rushed whisper.

"Look, I care for him. I have a son and daughter I didn't know about, and if I want them to keep living, I need you to listen to me. Do you understand? " She shakes her head, gazing around panickedly. I continue. "No one can know whose kid you are. If the Capitol citizens found out, you, and your family," I say, gesturing to Alecxaendeir, "would be exploited, and they would rip, you, apart." I tell her, my voice shaking with the last three words. She stares back, not understanding.

"What? Why would they-" She starts before I cut her off. "Because if they knew, they'd want all the information you have on me being your father, and they would break you down." I tell her, not exaggerating on the after effect.

It's a good thing she's not stupid.

She nods, taking in all the information I have just relayed to her. While she's small, she's greatly intelligent. The girl takes shocking information with ease, and the scary kind just the same. I see the look of adoration in her eyes as she gazes upon the small boy in my arms.

My son. That's who he is.

It's utterly overwhelming, in the aspect that I have a child, no, two children, that I was unaware of until now. The girls seems strangely unaffected by the Capitol ways, which is quite different on the contrary of her mother, being completely obsessed and in depth with all things glamorous. The woman was good once, I just know it, or her daughter wouldn't be as wise as she is. She had to have known and been in control of her actions at one point, otherwise Ruethei would never have understood how to make sure her and her brother didn't get hurt.

But she did, and I'm not sure whether to be thankful or ashamed on behalf of the ways that things ended up being.

She gently takes the boy from my arms, and I'm hesitant to let her do so. That is the first, and most likely the last time I will ever hold my son, and it's heartbreaking to dawn on that realization. Suddenly, I don't want to leave him. In fact, I'd rather stay here, and raise them right, making sure they have a childhood.

But of course, that will never, ever be a possibility, seeing the President has other life choices for me. My previous thought comes back to me. How many children do I have? I apparently have these two, and with the hundreds of Capitol citizens I have been forced to share nights with, what makes me think I don't have any more? Two children to start…what if all these women had had children of mine? Of course, it's highly unlikely that they all got pregnant with my children, but there's a good chance some of them did.

More children I can't be a father too.

I need something to give these two children. Something they can remember me by. They will never know how desperately I want to stay here with them, or take them with me. But as it is, in Panem, a stunt like that would surely result in death. For them, that is, seeing a Victor is much to precious to kill, seeing they lived in an arena filled with twenty-three other innocent tributes along themselves. I can still hear the screams of the ones I stabbed with my trident.

It was only out of desperation! I think, screaming the words in my head. I will never rid my hands of the blood put on them, and the faces of the innocent girls and boys I killed will never, ever leave me, no matter how hard I try.

I shake my head to clear the memories, but I know that they won't actually leave, though I wish more than anything they would.

"It's so wrong…what they've done to you." Ruethei chokes out, and I look over to see that I hadn't noticed the tears streaming down her small face. I hesitantly walk over to her, and hug her small form once again.

"I know…it is." I say back, my face solemn.

I take my thumb and wipe the tears off her pink cheeks. It's cold in the room, and the crisp air bites her feeble skin. I slowly let her go, and take a blanket that lies on a table and place it over her shivering form. She clutches it tightly, her small hands enclosing my large ones. I sit there, not wanting to move from this moment, when I remember the rules of these agreements.

"I have to go." I whisper to her, an undeniable sadness in my voice.

"What, why?" She says, panic creeping into her voice.

"Because that's the President's rules." I tell her honestly, knowing I would love to stay here with her. Her wide eyes twinkle as she looks up at me, and in this moment I feel one thing; heartbreak.

It overwhelms my senses, forcing the breathes I had been taking up to that point stop, and I honestly, can't breathe. No tears come, and so the sensation is strange and at the most part horrifying, that I have no idea what is happening to me.

She looks away, and runs over to a chest not to far. She opens it seemingly heavy black lid with ease, and I can tell its been a long time since it's been opened, with the way the dust floats out of it. She fiddles around, moving quilts and blankets, until she hits the bottom. She pulls something out, and I can't quite see it yet, and as she turns she puts it behind her back. She shuts the lid with her free hand, and takes a key off a nearby table to lock it.

She then walks towards me, the hidden object in tow, and looks at me once more. "Will you take this?" She asks, not showing me the object just yet. "Take what?" I say back, confused to the object. "Never mind that. If I give this to you, will you take it?' She says again, persistent. I look at her, and nod my head sheepishly.

She pulls her hand out from behind her back, to reveal a small, rusted necklace, with an oval for a charm. It an average size, and it appears to have been originally gold, but has faded over time. It's been engraved, and the pattern changes from fish twirling in the air to seaweed along the edges. She catches her finger on the clasp, and pops it open. So it's a locket, rather. The picture is of Lucinidia, it looks like, holding Ruethei. I know it's her; even at a young age she had the eyes and full head of bronze locks. The other side is more recent, and in better clarity, of Alecxaendeir in their mothers arms as well.

I carefully take it from her hands, and look closer at the pictures. The underneath of each side has their names engraved in sweet, careful letters. In Ruethei's, I see that her hair was originally curly, but has straightened itself over time. I see the old appearance of their mother, before she was sucked into her drunk, Capitol ways. She once had deep brown hair, and light brown eyes. Compared to her now fuchsia hair, and altered spring green eyes…she's almost unrecognizable.

The first time she bought me, she was forced. It wasn't her intention, it was her husbands. And then, he left, and ended up with another Capitol woman, and took a third of her money. She told her kids that he was in the Districts, making weapons and creations. She had even told me he had said that he wanted to be a Gamemaker, and that he made this announcement right in front of her daughter, whose name I hadn't currently known. But now that I do, I know just how hard this little girl has it.

I close my hand around the locket and pull the small girl into my arms. She clutches the back of my grey tux, something I was forced to wear here in the Capitol, as if she won't ever let go. But after a moment, her grip loosens, and she dispatches from me, only to walk over to the crib again. She pulls out Alecxaendeir, my son, and gives him to me. I take him, unsure of what else to do, and she embraces me along with him.

It's heartbreaking, yet reassuring, knowing my children will be safe here. I can't help but notice how their mother hasn't awoken yet, and the thought fills me with anger. She should be the one caring for this child, no, she should be caring for both these children. This girl, Ruethei, is only eleven, and she should be cared for, rather than her caring for them.

I break from the embrace, and unwillingly hand the young child back to its reassigned mother, the girl. She holds him, tears streaming down her fragile face, and I put the locket around her neck. I feel as though I need to give her, them, something in return. Something to remember me by, because my thoughts tell me that I won't see them again for a long time. Their mother is to broken and shallow, I don't think she will even buy out more people for evenings.

Then I remember, I do have something, something I brought with me from District Four. It was my district partners, five years ago, when we were in the games together. Her name was Crudialieleia, and she was killed right in front of me. Her token was a small, golden seashell, one that she told me her and her family had discovered on a day of luck, and that she was really the one to find it. It was worth a good amount of money, and her family was going to help her sell it, but she chose to keep it.

They gave it to me when she died.

I always keep it with me, keeping a part of her alive, yet I know now that it is better to have her luck passed down, but obviously it only resulted in luck once, so I wanted her to have it, to make sure they were both safe. For Alecxaendeir, I have something else, a seaweed bracelet, made into a netted rope. I made it for Annie, but when she seen it she lashed out on the room, tormented by memories of her games, and where she almost drowned.

I give the objects to Ruethei, and she looks at them in awe.

"Keep them hidden." I tell her, knowing if Snow discovered her possession of illegal items he'd kill her in a split second, with no regrets. "When he's older," I say, gesturing to Alecxaendeir, "Give him the bracelet. Don't ever show anyone. If they see it, they'll take it, and they'll take you too." I tell her, speaking quickly.

She nods, taking in the information with ease. She stands, picks up Alecxaendeir again, and leads me to the door. We walk out, down the hall, and down the stairs in silence. Finally, we approach the courtyard, and I know that I will have to walk through the large metal doors and then out the ivory gates, never to see her again.

Finally, the moment comes where we stand, side by sidein silence, staring at the door that's locks her here, and sends me out. I look at her for what will be the last time, and suspect that the tears forming in her eyes reflect mine.

"Will I ever see you again?" She whispers, choking out the words. I don't respond, because I honestly can't tell her yes or no. Instead, I lean down and plant a kiss on her and Alecxaendeir's heads. She gazes back up at me, the tears streaming down her face. She is like a fragile, porcelain doll, and my words have just broken her.

"Goodbye." I whisper to her, not wanting the tears to fall down my own face. She squints, trying to rid her eyes of the overflowing water that pours from them.

"No…you can't!" She shrieks out, and I lean down to quiet her.

"I don't want to, I have to! Why don't you understand that!" I yell back, filled with rage from the tears from my child, that I currently had been unaware of. "It's not my fault!" I scream. She just cries more and shrieks into the shadows, hiding from the scares that the Capitol has brought out in people.

No, not people. To indicate me as a person would mean I have to a will to live, one that responded and kept me going. I eat, I smile, I make the Capitol citizens happy. I go home. Then it goes down. I try to lead a girl out of madness. I help Mags as she wakes screaming from nightmares. I try to wake myself from my own. It's endless, and I simply can't hold on anymore.

"I'm sorry." I whisper, as I push through the gates to exit, I hear her turning and darting back inside her doors with a smile on her face. That's when I get it. She wasn't scared.

She played her cards, so to tell the President she was simply a scared, little girl trying to get rid of the strange man in her house. Innocent, frail, and naive. That's how she's portrayed herself. I smile back under the fallen hair in my face, knowing that she is most certainly my child. Smart, calculating, and understanding; not to mention an aura of perceiving people exactly as they are.

Finally, a Capitol car pulls up that had been hidden, and I see the President awaits me inside. "Who was that girl crying?" He asks me, his snake like eyes daring me to lie. "I'm not sure sir, I think the daughter of the lady who lived there. She came down to me in her kitchen and just about had a panic attack." I say, chuckling, seeing I know it went exactly opposite.

"Bravo et bien fait, Mr. Odair." He says sharply, practicing his ancient French. "Thank you sir." I tell him, as I drive away from the house of unregistered fear, and utmost gut wrenching confusion, overall.