I do not in any way, shape or form own the Hunger Games series, or any of its characters. Those exist thanks to Suzanne Collins. I'm merely just playing with her characters and universe.
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In District Four, the Games are presented as an honor; something that you're foolish to turn down if you are 'lucky' enough to have your name called. Though tessarae is rarely needed for anyone in our district, most will get it in order to increase their chance of getting called. Unlike in poorer districts, tessarae is an option instead of a necessity. Parents are vying for the day when each child turns twelve and is able to request it. However, unlike Districts One and Two, most are respectful of those who are called during the Reaping and refrain from volunteering. If you don't want to enter the Games, you keep that a damn secret. Or at least that's the conclusion that I've come to, seeing as out of all my friends and family, I seem to be the least eager about the Games. No matter how the Capitol presents it; as repentance of the Dark Days or redemption for your district, it's just an act of senseless murder of children. I don't care for watching it or even betting on those likely to win, though I go through the motions of caring for the sake of fitting in. At fourteen, I've already figured out how these damn Games are revered by practically everyone in my district, including my parents, my brother Nim, and my sisters Dani and Sira.
My parents have never verbally encouraged us to collect tessarae, but during his six years of being eligible for the games, Nim did. At nineteen, he's been out of the Reaping pool for the last year and I can't quite express how thankful I am that his name never did end up getting called. I guess the odds ended up being in his favor, which I can only hope stays true for myself, Dani, and Sira, both of which have a few years before entering the pool, being eight and ten consecutively. It seems that on the eve of each Reaping, these thoughts plague my mind and take over completely as I struggle to fall asleep to the normally calming sounds of waves crashing on the shore outside our home. My mother has already laid out my clothes for tomorrow, and my Reaping clothes consist of a respectable navy button-up shirt with sleeves partially rolled up, sand-colored shorts, and worn but durable brown leather sandals. Something that wouldn't get in the way during a fishing trip per se, but wouldn't be my first choice to wear, seeing as fish guts do tend to stain. I try to clear all thoughts of the Reaping from my mind as I feel myself slowing sinking into subconsciousness.
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"Nim, are you sure this is a good idea? You know how grouchy Finn can be, and on the morning of the Reaping especially..." Sira's voice trails off in the mid-early morning. My thoughts from last night of today have made me particularly sensitive to any and all sound during the night and morning. That, and Nim's an idiot.
"Shh, Sira! Yes, Finn's going to find this tremendously funny, I promise, now go in there with Dani and do what I told you to do." Nim also lacks any sense of subtlety. In some ways, I silently muse, it was probably a good thing he never ended up getting Reaped. Seeing as he's tremendously oblivious to his surroundings, he probably wouldn't be too successful in working with other Careers and managing to stay alive. He would've been lucky to survive the Cornucopia with the current amount of 'genius' he's exhibiting.
I hear two pairs of feet quietly treading into my room, and mistakenly treading on the creaky floorboards of our coastal home. I keep my eyes shut, pretending to be asleep, as they assume I am and slow my breathing to make it seem even more apparent that I'm unconscious. I feel two piles of weight sink in my mattress on both sides of me, and I wait for exactly three seconds to catch them off guard. One...two...three...
"Boo!" I shout as my eyes pop open, and I lunge forward, scooping up my two sisters in my arms and start a vicious tickling attack. Their laughter comes out in screeches as they plead for me to stop.
"F-f-finn-ha-nn-ick, s-st-ah-hah-opppp!" Dani can barely get the words out of her mouth as she's practically crying from her laughter. Her face is lighting up, diffusing some of the tension that she's always felt during each Reaping for Nim and I. Sira is beyond words, and is trying to squirm away from me, but I've locked her in my grip, and she's helpless. I flash a smile and shake my head at Nim, who's observing all of this from my doorway, head cocked in amusement. Since he first was taking part in the Reaping, he and I would do something to lighten the heavy mood for our sakes, as well as Dani and Sira's.
"Oh no," I say, looking at my sisters' faces that are contorted in uncontrollable smiles. "You know what the only way to get out of tickling is, right?"
"Nn-nnahah-noooooo!" Sira shrieks as she attempts to get out of my arms, and I feel a wicked grin take over my face. "T-t-tellllll me-heehe-eee!"
"Well," I begin, not pausing my tickling for a moment, "on the count of two, you have to go after the closest target over fourteen. Does that sound fair?" They nod frantically, laughter still trickling out of their mouths. "Alright...one...two...go!" I release them and they take no recovery time, and just launch themselves at Nim, who catches them eagerly as he chuckles.
"Okay, okay," he assures them as they try scrambling up Nim's limbs to attempt whatever torture he'd planned for them to unleash on me, "Why don't we go downstairs and grab some breakfast while Finn gets dressed, hmm?" Dani and Sira squeal and practically fall over one another as they go down the stairs. Nim shoots me a reassuring smile and leaves me to get dressed in my outfit for the day.
I gingerly step into the clothes, and make my way over to the old mirror that hangs right next to my window, which has a frame made of frayed rope and sea glass. Although it's made of two of the most common materials found in District Four, Nim made it for me when he turned twelve and I threw a fit, worrying that he might be picked in the Reaping. It was his way of reassuring me that even if he went away, I would still have a piece of him at home until he returned. A sentiment that is probably past due at this point, but regardless, it's still one of my favorite possessions. I attempt to arrange my copper-hued hair in some semblance of order, which has been a daily battle since the age of four. My mother has always teased me about it, but my father is a bit more stern on the matter, saying that I need to look the part, whatever that means. After spending close to ten minutes trying to coerce it into some sort of obedience before giving up and letting my wavy locks do as they wish. I stare into the mirror, noticing the slight bags under my eyes, that are a shade quite similar to the deep ocean blue of District Four with slight glimmers of green that match the sea glass in the frame of the mirror. A grimace crosses my face as I notice it. If my father notices them, I'll be criticized for not getting enough rest on the night before one of the most (possibly) important days of my life. I sigh, and make my way down the spiral stairs that take me down to our kitchen and dining room balcony where I can hear the cheerful chatters of my family.
Taking in the sight before me, I watch as Dani and Sira fight over the very last seaweed roll left in the basket of bread my mom has made. Even though she chides them softly, I see her pull out a pan of fresh ones from the oven. With her first children being boys that have had their fair share of sudden growth spurts (Nim stands at 6'4", while I've already made it to 6' at the age of fourteen), she's used to making plenty of food for all six of us. Leftovers are a rarity in this house. Nim is missing, presumably down on the beach, meeting up with his girl of the week, while Dad is engrossed in his paper. The normal scene quells a bit of the tension remaining in the pit of my stomach from the night before. I force a smile on my face as I go over to Mom and kiss the top of her head. "Smells great, Mom," I compliment her as I take a plate and begin taking a bit of each of the food she's prepared; which consists of fresh seaweed bread, poached eggs with sea salt and cracked pepper on top, as well as some home-fried potatoes that smell slightly of garlic and onion. She shakes her head at me and shakes her wooden spoon in my direction in a mildly disapproving manner.
"Finn, you're lucky we let you sleep in as late as we did! If it was any day but the Reaping..." her voice trails off as she makes eye contact with me to let me know that my absence was noticed by my father. I grin cheekily and start speaking in a melodramatic tone, hoping to play up her particular affection for me on today of all days.
"But Ma, you know, this could be your last chance to see your darling, charming son before he's whisked off to the Capitol for the prestige and glamour of the Games!" She rolls her eyes at my tone before I continue. "Besides, if I left, you'd just be stuck with Nim."
"I'm telling!" taunts Sira. I stick my tongue out in response, fully capable of mature responses to tattle-taling at age fourteen. My father grunts from behind his paper before choosing to speak.
"You really should take this seriously, Finnick Nicholas," he says gruffly, "your entire future could rest on this. Your mother and I raised you to be respectful and conscientious, not to spend your time frivolously before important events."
"What the hell happened to Nim, then?" I mutter under my breath as my mother smacks me with the spoon on my shoulder. Then she winks and whispers a response, her golden hair falling into her sky-blue eyes.
"We didn't get to him in time." She clears her throat and speaks loudly, "Now go sit down with your sisters and do try to behave yourself, Finn. Don't spill anything on that, I refuse to clean any more clothes today." I smile and take my seat from across my sisters, who have inherited my mother's golden wavy hair that falls recklessly from their heads. They look closely identical, but Dani's eyes match my mother's, while Sira's are the inverse of mine. I personally think that the deep green with sparks of sea-blue are far more compelling than mine, which mimic my father's, as does my hair. Nim managed to somehow get my mother's hair and my father's eyes which make him the stereotypical 'pretty boy', which is how he manages to get as many girls as he does. But a family has little traces of each other in aspects more than just the physical, so even though I've gotten my father's looks, I've managed to keep my mother's humor and spirit. Despite our quirks, I wouldn't give them up for the world or change a single thing about them. I shake myself out of the ponderings of my family and turn my attention back to breakfast. I might as well eat up, seeing as it could be my last home-cooked meal.