Over my many years of knowing him, Finnick has been a model of humility in defeat. As a victor, he's even more of a gentleman. Thus, another reason why it is impossible to dislike Finnick Odair.

As we gather our belongings and make our way to the Promontory Point traders' market, I don't hear much bragging from Finnick. He did what he came to do and he won. I guess he didn't feel the need to rub it in.

Annie on the other hand is not nearly as charitable. It seems like every superlative I've ever heard is thrown in Finnick's direction. He's "handsome," "graceful," "smart," "beautiful," and of course "the best fisherman in the district" among many, many other things.

On a clear day, we can see Promontory Point from our preferred fishing spot. The walk is close to two miles and we're able to make the bulk of our trip along the shore all the way there. The now defunct lighthouse, which stands proudly and fearlessly at the edge of a towering 150 foot cliff serves as a beacon of hope for the entire district. It was one of the few historic buildings that made it through the rebellion relatively unscathed, and its location is a perfect meeting point for farmers, fishermen, and everyday traders.

When we get to Promontory Point, we part ways. Finnick lives a mile northwest of the market, and I live a mile and a half in the opposite direction. We'll both need to make our trades and head home quickly to get ready for training later today.

I decide to keep a couple of bluefish for dinner for the next two days, I'm able to get a good amount of bread and goat's milk. While perusing through other necessities, I wonder if maybe a new spear is in order, or perhaps even a trident. Clearly, I'm still reeling from my loss this morning, but just the thought of getting a trident makes me feel a little sick in the stomach so I decide to look in another direction.

With my mother and Lilly in mind, I try to find something to brighten their days and I stumble across an flat engraved piece of oak.

"Train up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old, he will not depart from it." -unknown.

I'm struck. I immediately think of my mother and to an extent my father. We may not have turned out the way they expected, but I know they tried hard to teach us right from wrong. I think of the kind of man I want to be for my children. No matter where I live and what kind of life I lead, at this moment I'm struck with the desire to be a good father. I may still be young, but I have plenty of reasons to think about these things more than other kids my age.

I start to make my way out of the market. "Xerx," I hear the familiar voice behind me. "Wait up."

I already know what she wants. "Hey sis," I reply. "What a pleasant surprise to see you here."

It is neither pleasant nor a surprise and she can surely sense the sarcasm in my voice. My sister Xenia knows about my monthly fishing bouts with Finnick and she knew I would be at Promontory Point right now. Every time she sees me she either asks for food or something else she can trade. I sometimes think of saying no, but I know if she doesn't get it from me, she'll get what she wants through less appealing means.

"Yeah, good to see you too," she says, ignoring my jab at her. "Hey, do you think you can-"

"Why don't you just apologize to mom and come back home, Xenia. I know she misses you and you have to see that you were wrong about-"

"About what?" she interrupts.

"About Xander!" I raise my voice, with a clear sense of frustration billowing in my heart. "What else could I possibly be talking about?"

"Why does this always come up? I didn't do anything wrong Xerx, he should have won. If Mags had thought about giving him a spile or a water purifier, we would be living in the Victor's Village right now. And I wouldn't be-"

"Come on Xenia, I don't want to hear about what you would or wouldn't be" I reply, "And don't bring Mags into this. You know at that point in the games, the whole district would have starved for more than a week to raise the funds to give him those things."

"We could have fished!" she yells back.

No use in arguing over this anymore. It seems like we get into this debate every time I see her in the market. I say we wouldn't have been able to fish enough. She says we would have. Either way, our brother is gone and he's not coming back. I just want my sister to come home, but I know mom won't allow that until she apologizes.

I pause and look at my older sister.

"What do you want Xenia? Bread? A bluefish? Milk?"

She points towards the bread and I walk away with festering wounds reopened.

Six years ago, my brother Xander accidentally volunteered to be a tribute for the Hunger Games. He was a tall, strong, and very capable fighter and like me, he was the top ranked male at the career tribute center. Also like me, he faced a lot of pressure to volunteer but he decided against it. On the night before the reaping, Xenia talked to him and eventually convinced him about the possibility of volunteering for a younger tribute.

When the name was drawn the District Four escort Erasmus Pherenike pulled out the slip and read the name "Sheamus Pinkerton." We were all unfamiliar with the name. As Xander looked around, he noticed a 13 year old boy start to walk forward and quickly jumped in to volunteer. When it came time to say goodbye to Xander, we found out there are actually two boys in our district named Sheamus Pinkerton. The Sheamus that was drawn was the 16 year old Sheamus, not the 13 year old.

Mortified, my mother begged the Hunger Games officials to have Xander's name withdrawn but it was already too late. Once a tribute volunteers for the Hunger Games, he or she must go with no exceptions. To make matters worse, Xenia never apologized.

Xander was a fierce competitor in the arena. He refused to form any alliances and killed the male and female tributes from district one, the male tribute from district two, the female tribute from district five, and the male and female tributes from district seven. Unforntnately for Xander, the female tribute from district five was adored by residents of the Capitol. His sponsorships immediately dried up and on the fourth day of the games Xander died of dehydration,

Upon his death, Xenia left our house and eventually became a prostitute. I cringe whenever I hear her name mentioned, but from everything I have heard she seems to be a favorite among the peacekeepers in our district.

I make my way out of the market.

"Xerxes?" Xenia says, causing me to pause. "Do you really think she'd forgive me?"

I turn and nod. "Give her some credit Xenia, she's your mother."

I drop the food off at home, My mother is out of the house, so I just get what I need and leave. Knowing I'm late, I run to the training center. Although brief, my interactions with Xenia always get me behind on my schedule.

I don't want to waste too much energy because I know plenty of tortures will be awaiting me at the hands of our trainer Haman Blodget but I have little choice.

I get to the center five minutes early, which is perfect because I need to change into my training gear. Surprisingly, Haman takes it easy on the large group today. I wonder if he wants us well rested for the reaping. As we split into our different skill levels, I quickly realize that he only wanted the younger kids well rested. I guess he thinks the rest of us can handle an extra beating.

"Thrust! Twist! Kick! Ready position!" He yells out.

"Again! Thrust! Twist! Kick! Ready position!"

It all seems so elementary to us, but Haman loves the "thrust, twist, kick" technique. Haman basically teaches us to be prepared at all times. If we happen to have a sword in our hands and we're fighting against one or more other tributes in the arena, we need to kill the first one quickly by thrusting the sword into his or her abdomen... never his heart because it the sword could get stuck in the breastplate. Then we're supposed to twist the sword to loosen the blade. And then finally we have to hold our swords as tightly as possible while kicking the tribute off of the blade in case we need to be ready for another attack. Haman consistently preaches one fact to us. Even if we think our opponent is alone, somebody else could hear the fighting and try to surprise us. I appreciate his training, but I have been thrusting, twisting, and kicking for the last seven years and I'm visibly tired of it.

After about a half an hour of our sword training, we move to wrestling. Since Finnick is the second ranked career trainee, he's my training partner in everything except wrestling. I'm almost full grown and he's still growing. He may have gotten the best of me in fishing, but I don't think he will ever become a stronger wrestler than I am. Besides, he doesn't think he would use his wrestling skills much in the arena anyway. I tend to agree. He is fast enough to get away from any opponent, and even though tridents are rarely found in the arena, he would be very capable with a spear or knife.

For wrestling, I'm paired up with Junia Cocceius, a stocky dark skinned 17 year old boy from the southwestern portion of the district. Junia is a tough fighter. He's one of the best knife throwers I have ever seen. When it comes to wrestling though, I'm usually able to handle him pretty easily. Today is no exception, but I'm still worn out throughout our time grappling together.

When we're done with wrestling, Haman takes us to watch film of previous games. I'm excused from watching specific games for personal reasons, but I'm highly involved every other time. We don't spend much time studying the different tributes. After watching hours upon hours of film, I can get a general feel of what each district is going to put out. When we watch the film, Haman takes extra time to show us the look and feel of each , arenas tend to be very similar whether they're in a forest, on the beach, in a mountainous region, or in a jungle. There have been a few exceptions like the 50th Hunger Games, but I think the game makers are out of fresh ideas.

Haman usually starts out by pointing out the land. Certain trees are good for certain types of food and water. Sand is sometimes fine, but sometimes dangerous. We need to be very careful whenever we approach a body of water. This is particularly true since district four tributes have a natural tendency to want to stay close to any source of water we find. The image of the female tribute from district four during the 27th Hunger Games is still ingrained in my mind. The film shows her fleeing from a fire and running through a river, only to be eaten alive by a school of transparent fleafish. I couldn't think of a more miserable way to die in the arena.

Haman has taught me a lot over the years, but he greatest area of expertise lies with the edibility of certain foods. He tells us to be cautious of certain berries, nuts, and even animals, but then he lets us know what's okay to consume. This comes in handy with our tributes and it usually gives them a significant advantage. I remember watching the a district four tribute from the 48th Hunger Games kill five of her allies by giving them poisonous nuts. She ate hers with a sort of potion she made that neutralized the poison. I thought it was brilliant. The gamemakers weren't happy about the quick killings though, and after a relatively boring day, they killed her by releasing a pack of venomous squirrels in her area.

As we enter into the film room, I'm hoping to watch the 48th games again. Instead, Haman has a surprise for me.

"Boys and girls, I know that things have changed a lot in the last 63 years. The arenas are more advanced. The tributes have different fighting styles. Et cetera. Et cetera," he says. His et ceteras annoy me. "But I want to show you highlights of the inaugural Hunger Games."

I get up to leave.

"Oh, and Xerxes, I want you to stay this time."

I pause halfway out the door. "Over my dead body," I mumble.

"What was that Xerxes?"

I turn around. "Over my dead body, Haman!"

As much as I appreciate Haman for all he has taught me over the years, he has one area of intolerance. What he says goes. If you challenge him, you're in a world of hurt.

He walks towards me with a fiery look in his eyes. I take a couple of steps backwards out of the film room. In fearful anticipation, I put my fists up.

We're back in the main room of the training center as he lunges forward and takes a swing at my head. I duck and throw a punch to his ribs. My punch would have slowed down the steps of normal people, but it doesn't phase Haman.

He grabs me by the waist, throws me 10 feet into a wall. I get up as he takes two giant steps towards me.

In between gut punches, he makes his expectations known. "You will NEVER disrespect me in front of ANYBODY like that AGAIN," each word louder as I feel the effect of his blows on my spleen and kidneys. One final punch square in my jaw knocks me dizzy.

In pain, I fall to the floor and spit blood out of my mouth.

"I don't understand you Xerxes. It's not like your father died in the arena." Haman says, as he backs away from me. "He won. He brought honor to our district. The man gave us hope in a time when nobody in Panem had any reason to hope in anything. Not to mention the fact that he moved into the Victor's Village where you got to spend the first ten years of your life. You should be proud of him."

"I am proud of him Haman," I say slowly as I'm still reeling on the ground.

"Then why don't you act like it! If my father was Augustus Featherstone, I would want to watch his victory in the arena a hundred times. If it weren't for your fighting ability, you would be a disgrace to his name."

I can't say I'm taking Haman's words too well, but I'm okay with not enduring another beating. After another minute writhing on the ground, I'm able to get up. Haman grabs a rag for me to wipe my mouth and I make my way to the film room.

I don't know why I haven't watched my father's time in the arena until now. I think it was just the timing of everything. I spent the first ten years of my life living in the Victor's Village with my dad, my mom, and my siblings Xenia, Xander, and Xavier. I know that my father was known and respected as an honorable man, but he also had a dark side.

My mother was his second wife. He had four children with his first wife. The ones that are still alive are much older than I am, and apparently they live as far away from the Victor's Village as possible while remaining in the bounds of our district. From what he told me, everything was perfect in my dad's life until he realized that his kids would have to go through the reaping. For some reason, the thought never occurred to him. He must have hoped that his children would be granted immunity since he already had to go through the games. Instead, he went through the horrors of his oldest son and daughter being selected. Due to their sheltered lives living in the Victor's Village, both lacked the proper training to survive in the arena. Both of them died through exposure to unfamiliar elements.

Of course, the interest in those games among the residents of the capital was very high. This has led to more than a few conspiracies. Some think that children of former victors are more likely to be reaped. I think they may be on to something.

After losing his first two children, my father and his first wife went through a miserable divorce. Fifteen years later, he met my mother. I don't know what my mother saw in him. He's thirty years older than she is and even though my father vowed to have no more children, the four X's came out in two year intervals. I was the last of the X's. My father was 63 years old when I was born.

The thought of watching my father fight through his time in the arena pains me. Sometimes I wonder if he would have done things differently. If he could have gone back and relive his time in the arena, would he have wanted to live with the burden of the lives he took and the loved ones he was going to lose? Would he have chosen for his life to end there by prematurely jumping off of his platform? If I watched the filming of the first hunger games, I think I would see a sixteen year old kid with an irrational hope that things would be great if he could be the winner. While seeing him fight for his right to live, would I see unfulfilled dreams of a peaceful and thriving future?

As Xander laid there in the arena barely able to breathe and needing just a few spoonfuls of water to survive, I saw a look of despair in my father's expression that I had never seen before. For the first time in my life, I saw tears come out of his eyes. He was finally a helplessly broken man. I'll never forget the words he said after Xander died. "I wasted it. I'm sorry Xander... I'm so sorry Xander. I wasted it."

Two days later, he took his life.