Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games trilogy.

Dear, Finnick:

I am not sure of anything as of late, but if there was one thing I am almost-sure of, it would be you.

Honestly, I think that this life has not been all life is cracked up to be. I rather feel like I've been cheated. First, I was born in District Four, which is actually not a bad place to be born, if only I was allowed to stay there.

I got Reaped, though. You know that, Finn. I had to go play in the Games, the sick game of our country.

Would you call it checkers or chess, Finnick?

I think it's chess. They certainly use us as pawns.

It might be checkers, still, though. It's also two against one, red (blood) against black (mourning).

The only thing I don't understand is, Finnick - how do they always win? Every single time, they defeat us, and Katniss with her berries was the closest I've ever seen anyone to beating them.

Every time, Finn. Every single game, they win. I'm being redundant, I know, but it just astounds me.

They're cheating. They have to be. It's simple - you can't draw the winning card every time. This game is rigged.

They're all cheaters, each and every one of them.

What do you think, Finnick? Are they cheating? Or by some miracle, are they truly that good at taking lives?

I'm not sure.

Anyways, something.. something happened while I was in the Games. My first time, I mean. People say I went mad, but that isn't true.

I think I didn't go mad, I think that I rather went insane.

I do feel insane sometimes - not mad, though. Sometimes I feel like the whole world is just a bomb that keeps ticking, and one day everything will blow up, and we'll all fly into the outer space. Or the heavens.

Someone told me once that there is a Heaven, and that all the good people will meet up there when time is up. But I'm not sure if I believe that - because I don't want to think this, but if it is true, none of us will go to Heaven.

We're not good. We're all crazy, murdering, lunatics.

And, Finnick, these thoughts are certainly insane.

The world can't be a bomb. It isn't possible. But people can be bombs, certainly.

I think Katniss is a bomb. But I'm not sure who will blow her up.

Maybe it'll be Peeta. It might be Gale, though, or even you, Finnick, though I doubt you'd care so much for Katniss to kill her.

Or possibly, you do care about her that much, and I'm actually being jealous, like a normal girl would be, because you're very desirable, Finnick. I don't like to admit it. But you are.

I didn't originally intend to ramble like this in this letter. Quite frankly, I was supposed to be saying my goodbyes, as my doctor told me to do.

My doctor might be insane, too, I think.

At my appointment with him last week, he asked me how I was doing, and I said that I was quite fine, actually, just missing you.

And he sighed and told me that it was perfectly understandable to miss you. So I asked him when he guessed you would be back.

This seemed to surprise him; his eyebrows flew into his hair. "Well, never," he said, like it was obvious, and he gave me a pen and this paper and said to write you my goodbyes.

He said you were dead.

Which, in my opinion, is quite an insane thought.

You're not dead, Finn. You can't be.

I know you're not, because I would've felt you die, in that little part of my chest that you always say belongs to you. And if you had died, you would've taken that part with you, obviously.

But my chest feels perfectly normal. Which means that somewhere, you're alive. Gale told me you were in some meadow.

I'd like to think of you in a meadow, Finn. As long as there's a lake. You've always been a fish, dear.

You might be wondering how I've spoken to Gale, since he's in District Two. Well, I actually went to see all our friends (that aren't with you in the meadow - say hello to those guys for me, will you?).

I don't really remember a lot from the visits, except for what Gale told me, and the way Peeta gave me a flower, and Katniss told me to stay strong.

I'm not sure why she told me that, though, since she's the one without a sister. Maybe I am mad.

I don't feel mad, like I said. I feel like I'm insane and I miss you and I just thought of this - bring me some flowers for my hair when you come home, alright? It's looking quite ugly today, actually.

Johanna told me to wash it, duh, when I mentioned this to her, but I don't really want to wash it. It's still got your touch in it, Finn, and I don't want to wash away the last connection to you I've got - the oil your fingers left in my hair.

It's sad, I know, to want your finger oil in my hair, but until you come back, it's all I've got.

I think someone's at the door. I have to go, Finnick.

I love you. I miss you. And you're not dead. But I still miss you.

Watch for visits from me, because I don't know how long I can stand it without you.

Include directions to the meadow in your reply, please, Finn.

Yours always,

Annie

So, I try for a deep, meaningful letter from Annie to Finnick after his death, and I end up with this.

Oh, well.

Review anyways, please! :) This is my first venture into the HG fandom.