Finnick Mellark ran into the forest with a savage intensity, his bow and arrows slung haphazardly over his back. His parents had argued over some guy named Gale Hawthorn, and a woman they said was his grandmother. Apparently, after nearly thirty years, his mother's former friend and her mother were coming back to District Twelve and Finnick's mother wanted to see them, for closer she had said. His father thought it was a terrible idea. The worst things, however, had been said when his grandpa-pa Haymitch had waded into the conversation.
Finnick was used to his grandfather's drunken ramblings, his mother's nightmares, his father having to clutch bits of furniture whenever he had "an attack," as his mother put it, but the worst things were when the three of them agreed on a point but argued over how it should be implemented. It happened with even the simplest things, and was constant. For such a happy couple, his parents sure liked to argue a lot.
Grandpa-pa Haymitch had told his parents that they needed to "stop acting as if they were rival careers, and work together." It hadn't seemed so bad when he had first said it, until Finnick realised what he was referring to. Then the situation, which had been pretty bad, and raging for several hours, got a whole lot worse.
Flopping down at the roots of a large tree, Finnick panted with tiredness. He had run for miles. There was no fence around District Twelve, not since The Hunger Wars, and there was no one on the streets at this time of the evening, so there was nothing and no one to stop him. Sweeping a strand of ash blond hair out of his grey eyes, Finnick heaved his large frame up. Hunting would help.
Finnick had inherited his mothers grey eyes, her speed, her ability to hunt and her height- he stood at six foot tall at sixteen- and his father's ash blond hair, his large, well muscled frame, with broad shoulders, well toned chest and strong arms, and his father's gift for camouflage. His hands were large, be handled the bow with ease, and soon he had two wild turkeys, five rabbits and a deer was lined up in his sights. Just as he fired, something startled it, and the deer ran, but the arrow, which had been aimed for the deer's eye, lodged in its neck with a spurt of blood. Finnick took off with a spurt of speed, closing the gap between himself and the fallen deer with tremendous speed. He dropped to one knee on the deer's chest, took out his knife and finished the job the arrow had started.
He didn't look up until he had the deer skinned, gutted and carved into manageable sizes that he could sell at the Hob. His mother was looking down at him, a look of curiosity in her red rimmed eyes.
"You have definitely gotten better," she said; as she bent down to help him pack the meat into the backpack he had taken with him when he left the house.
"What's up with you and dad?" Finnick asked.
"He is just angry, that's all. He feels as if my mother and Gale abandoned me when I most needed them and that they are only coming back now that I am all better."
"He is right, you know," Finnick mumbled.
Katniss Mellark sighed. "Haymitch said the same thing."
"I'm beginning to think like Granddad? It must be a bad omen," Finnick said jokingly.
His mother laughed, and placed the last piece of meat into the backpack. "Come one, Greasy Sae will be wondering where her daily supply of meat went too. Then, we have to get you some new clothes. Our guest will be arriving in a few days."
Finnick groaned.
Authors Note: This is my first Hunger games fanfiction. Please let me know what you think.