I'm very sorry that I never finish stories. I'll finish this one! I swear!

Their backgrounds weren't that specific, so I kinda made up their background stories...

Sorry if you don't like it.

Finnick Odair and Annie Cresta belong to Suzanne Collins

I won the games.

I won the games.

The odds were against me. That was, until I got the trident. Then the mass killing began.

And why did I do it?

To live? To fight? To breathe? But I stole those rights from other people. From other children. Children. My 'peers.' My possible friends. Allies. Lovers. Did I need to live that badly? No. There was no one waiting for me if I returned home. Only possibly Mags. But we didn't know each other for that long. She would move on quickly.

The answer floated to the surface of my mind unexpectedly. I had already dismissed the idea that there was someone waiting for me at home. They've been long dead. So why do I have a nagging feeling that I forgot someone?

Because I did. Because it's improbable. Impossible. Inconceivable. No one, I repeat, no one is waiting for me. Not even the beautiful, brown haired girl at the pier. Not even her eyes, that met mine every day at dawn. Not even her ears, that heard me for who I was; a rash young boy, desperate for a way to live, swearing under his breath at the men who believed he was much too young to work.

Seeing her was just a part of the routine I eventually fell into. Wake up. Get dressed. Go to work. See the girl by the pier. Eat lunch. Get off of work. Go home. Eat Dinner. Sleep. Repeat. The routine was simple enough, and I was too focused to make it to another day to wonder why she was a part of it.

But did I kill others, just to see her face? No. Surely not. I'm not that shallow and desperate that I would resort to murdering just to see her face. To see her eyes linger towards mine. To hold that gaze for the slightest second, to confirm that she is indeed there.

I don't even know her name. And she doesn't even know mine. Although I doubt I'm worth anything to her. I'm probably nothing more than just another fisherman, setting out early for the maximum amount of fish possible. But why was she there? Why was she there every day for the past 4 years? Why did she consistently meet my stare? I'm getting too full of myself. She most likely only looked at me because I was abnormally young for a fisher.

Now why was I still alive? Because I could get the necessary amount of sponsors to get a trident? How did I get the sponsors, anyways? I didn't do anything to make myself stand out. I certainly didn't go in with the need to win; I figured it would've been better if my partner had been the one to live. She had a sister and friends. A sister, who I saw crying her eyes out. A sister with brown hair. A sister that strongly resembled the girl on the pier.

When I stepped out of the door, into District 4, I saw her sister. Her sister, whose eyes I did not notice because they were red from crying. Whose eyes reflected the pureness of sea just as they reflected the corruption in my deeds. Whose eyes pierced through me as I realized I stared into them for four years.

She spoke to me.

She asked me why her sister had to die.

I told her I wish she didn't. I told her I wish I had died in her place.

She called me a liar.

I try to reason with her, but she won't hear it. To her, I will always be her sister's murderer.

Her name is Annie Cresta. I still see her every day. But now it's for a different reason. Now I feel obligated to see her every day. To talk to her every day. To convince her I'm not heartless every day.

I learn she was close to her sister. Very close. She bursts into tears at the sight of me. There's nothing I can do but attempt to comfort me while she pushes me away and screams curses at me.

Sometimes, she only cries for a short time and I can attempt to talk to her. On one occasion, I ask her where she has learned all of these curse words. She simply looks at me blankly and says, "From you, of course."

Many times, I listen to what she says through her wails, but I don't argue with her. On the contrary, I agree with her. I was responsible for her sister's death. I was useless in my self-appointed role as her protector. Of course, no one knew that I didn't plan to leave alive. I had no one to say good bye to, no one to miss me when I'm gone, so it would be useless if I was the one who lived. So why did I win?

Oh yea, I wanted to see her eyes. I wanted to see her face. I wanted to see her smile. Even though I have most likely gotten rid of any chance of her smiling in front of me. The price for seeing her again was the life of her sister and any sort of happiness she associated with me.

I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. Why couldn't I die like I planned? Why couldn't I have stopped my own breath with the trident they gave me? Why couldn't I protect one girl?

Because I'm useless. And selfish. And stupid.

The same cycle of thoughts replays in my head as I wait for her to stop crying. Over and over and over.

She tells me to leave, so I do. But there's nothing to do now. No struggle, no work, nothing. Nothing to occupy my mind. So she fills it. Her face, her movements, her tears, but mostly her eyes. Eyes that stare deep into you and probe you and string out your true self for her examination. Her eyes, which I cannot help but think that they're breathtaking, even if I have no right.

And I absolutely have no right. No right to think about how cute she is when she cries. No right to think that I want to hold her and not let go. Bu that's preposterous. She hates my guts. She wants me dead. She wants me gone. Most of all, she wants her sister back.

The leaves are turning brown. They fall gently from the trees as each one of them silently says goodbye to the trunk that held them close. The slight crinkling of the leaves underfoot brings back memories that I don't want to see. Bones breaking. Skulls crushing. Blood splattered across my body as I realize what I've just done. As I realize that I've thought nothing of killing the other players, just as if I was hunting for fish.

And I think of the lonely girl left standing on the plate. Too absorbed by the sight of lush forest with millions of escape routes around us and the clear blue sky. Too distracted to notice the charging Career, headed straight toward hear with a deadly sword in hand. She only realizes how much danger she's in until after the sword goes through her rib cage, puncturing many vital organs.

I blame myself for not helping her. For not charging at the Career myself with my newly acquired dagger. I knew full well that I could take him and that I could bolt before anyone else could catch me. But I was distracted. I saw some grubby kid hurriedly pick up my trident and run off with it. He ran a good distance away until a girl shot him with an arrow. I wanted to run to his body and pry the trident out of his hands. But I knew that the hovercraft would pick up his body before I could reach him in time.

And that left that lonely District 4 girl at the metal plate. Vulnerable to any predator. She was dead within the first five minutes. Her sister most likely crying her eyes out as she watches them replay the scene over and over.

And it's all my fault.

She knows.

Her eyes see through me. Her beautiful, clear eyes that see everything about me.

She knows that I left her sister to die to linger after an unattainable trident.

Although I did kill her murderer, it would not change what he had done. It may have made it even worse. I'm positive that his family will want my blood, no matter what the cost.

If they want to kill me that badly, I should tell them what it cost me just to see a girl again. I'm sure they would still want my blood, I just want them to know there will most likely be consequences.

Even if I have no one to miss me when I'm gone. No one to cry over my stone cold body. No one to remember me when my body is buried 6 feet under; my tombstone covered with graffiti and slander.

Her body was picked up after the mess at the Cornucopia. If you were to cover the stab wound and add some makeup to cover for her pale face,(which they did,) it would look like she was simply sleeping.

I wish she was sleeping.

I wish they were all sleeping.

I wish she could just wake up and tell her sister that she's back. She's the actually victor, but no one's dead. She didn't have to become a murderer. I would go back to my old job and my old life, and they would live luxuriously in the Champion houses. Although Annie would probably never go to the pier again. I don't think I could stand the tedious days without the thought of seeing her once again.

Am I really that selfish?

The answer is yes. It's always yes to that question.

I am shallow, selfish, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid boy.

Why would anyone want to sponsor me?

Today, I go to see Annie. Today, the sun shines as if today is supposed to be happy and joyful and wonderful, but instead today is even worse than the others. Today, it is supposed to be her sister's birthday. Today, her sister would've been forever free from the Hunger Games.

She does not even have to see me to break down crying. She is already sobbing as I knock on the door. I wait for her to open the door, because I can hear her labored breathes through the heavy door.

Eventually, she opens the door and I see that she has a cake with a few candles on it. I see that the frosting is wet from tears and the letters were sloppily written. I see that her shaky hands have produced magnificent decorations made of rope, net and fish hooks. And I can finally see her as clearly as she always sees me. She's only a twelve-year-old girl who would give anything for her sister to come back. She's beautiful.

The sight of me lets out all of her tears.

"What are you doing here?" She asks. She does her best to sound like she's ok, like her sister never died, like she could come back at any moment, and she would be here waiting. I'm not fooled. I hear the small gasps of air she has to take in between each word.

I can't answer her. I never can. I only stand there mutely as cries until I think she'll either dehydrate or drown herself in her tears. She curses at me many times, telling me to go away. Usually, I would listen to her and just leave, but today is special. Today she can't be left to wallow in her own misery alone.

When she asks me to leave, this time, she could not lace her words with curses for it was getting harder and harder for her to breathe. This time, I reach out my arms and hold her close. This time, she does not try to slap or scream me away. This time, she lets me hold her until her tears dry.

This time, it is she who apologizes.