ii. a silver parachute
By now, Finnick was used to the soft ping of crafted metal hitting the harsh rocks. He looked up at the sky briefly, grabbing for the parachute and its load blindly. The sun was hanging kind of low to his left, about an hour from sundown, which meant it was around dinnertime. Mags never failed to disappoint. He let himself smile for a second before tearing into the package.
His gift was simple: an ounce of salmon, a cup of tomato soup, and a small portion of plain bread. It was way more than he could've ever hoped for, yet he still felt empty at the sight of it, wishing foolishly for more. There really wasn't anymore he needed, though. Every morning, just after he woke up, Mags presented him a parachute filled with more bread and an egg, boiled. Then, midday, when he stopped to rest, there was a flash of silver in the sky, and a container full of water was presented to him, ready to be poured into the water bottle kept in his belt.
Finnick knew that with his fortune, he was already destined to win. He would have everything. So why did something inside him ache for more?
He reached for his bread first, taking two bites from it before using it to dip in his soup. He ate slowly. It was the strangest thought in the world, but there, in the arena, he felt secure inattentive on the ground with his only belongings, which were equivalent to gold in the Hunger Games, strewn around him on the ground. If he was overconfident before volunteering, he didn't know what word would be strong enough to describe him now.
The other Careers had noticed his ego right away. It was the only reason they didn't kill him when they should've; they were humoring him, or themselves. And there was the bonus of free food for them as long as they stayed with him. Finnick relished in the attention they had given him.
He swallowed the last bite of salmon and closed his eyes. It tasted like home; he felt like he was already there. He could almost hear Eitan complaining in the distance.
It had been six hours since Finnick had last spoken to anyone and the long for interaction was eating at him. Under any other circumstance, he might've preferred the silence for a while, but in the arena, he just wanted to talk to someone. To know that someone else was there with him.
When was the last time he laughed?
He could actually hear Eitan this time, telling him to just stop thinking so much.
"It's not that easy," he muttered.
And now you're talking to yourself, his friend chastised.
Shut up, Finnick thought, bringing his head into his hands. He was a mess.
At least, with the distraction of his friend, no matter how bad it probably was to be imagining someone's voice, he didn't have to think anymore.
So when Eitan's voice faded from Finnick's mind, he busied his hands in cleaning up his area. He didn't really have much; there were some crackers, three knives, a flashlight, and two coils of rope. He left his spear lying haphazardly at his side. The containers from the parachute were stacked neatly at his side; he wouldn't take them with him.
The anthem started playing two hours later, and Finnick loved the sound of it. It was human. He didn't, however, look up. He already knew who the first three casualties would be.
Once he deemed it safe, he looked up, hoping to see who else would appear in the sky. There was one: the female tribute from Five. He didn't know her name.
As the sound of the anthem cut off, Finnick heard the water splash behind him. He stood up and turned, eyeing the swamp carefully. It was silent. Then, he heard the familiar ping of a parachute hitting the ground. Without a second thought, Finnick tore his eyes off the murky water and scrambled for his gift. It was larger than the others, and heavier, too. He opened it cautiously.
There was another splash behind him, a little bit closer.
Oh, Mags, Finnick thought, his hand gripping the shaft of the trident. You've outdone yourself.
