Two
Seven chairs are provided in two rows of three and four. I sit in the first for of three in the middle. Trinket then calls for a boy. I have a gut feeling that the next person would do the same thing I did. The name Trinket calls is Thoran Flaxx. He looks about thirteen. Not quite young enough to get the crowd's sympathy. Of course, it doesn't really matter this year, because Thoran Flaxx wouldn't be going to the Games, he will be sending someone to the Games.
"I...I nominate the Fauscher family," he whispers into the microphone. Two people stand up. They are both boys. One has dirty blonde hair and looked about twenty-three and the other is ghostly pale with beautiful golden hair. He looks about seventeen, a reapable age. They are probably relatives of Finnick Odair, they look good enough to be relatives.
"Introduce yourselves please," Trinket says brightly. The older one says his name is Daeme and the younger one calls himself Marec. "Are you brothers or father and son? Tell us about yourselves?"
I watch them carefully. I am pretty sure I've seen Marec Fauscher before. Curious that Trinket didn't asked me about myself. Probably because I'd broken, protocol, so she had to make me stand out by skipping over me. They are brothers. Both of their parents died during the mass flooding fourteen years ago. Daeme would have been about nine and Marec, about five.
"Well, that's in from District Four, and here's President Snow with the Treaty of Treason!" Trinket says vibrantly. The cameras all leave and Snow begins to dutifully read the treaty. I had no one to go to, so when the audience begins to disperse, I just stand behind and help them clean up the mess. I try to think about how I will die, but that's no fun. I try to think about how I will win, but that is impossible. I am no contender. Unless someone drags me along through the entire game and helps me survive, I will most likely die at the Cornucopia.
"Hi, I know you from school. I'm Marec," the younger, blonde boy says.
"I heard your introduction," I spit out. He nods and bends down to help me fold up the bleachers that the reapable aged children sat on. I don't say anything. If he feels it was awkward or uncomfortable, than that is his fault. Maybe I am weakening our chances of survival, but I frankly don't give a damn. But then, maybe this boy was my only link to winning. He'll probably have dozens of women lining up to give Odair their money.
"Listen, I think you have a chance of winning this, and I want to help you," Marec says finally, when the last bleacher is folded. I glare at him. Flattery is not going to let him get around me, but then, I'm not going to be a suck and and let him walk all over me. "I've seen you at the docks and I've seen you-"
"So what I could kill someone with a spear or a trident. Everyone is going to look at me, and think, Finnick Odair-prodigy. She's not going to last a moment in the arena," I spit out. He shakes his head, and I continued. "Listen, I shouldn't have picked myself. I should have picked someone else who had a sporting chance! All I'm going to do is get myself killed!"
"That's what the Hunger Games are about," he replies, suddenly fired up with anger as well. "What do you think this was all about? You're supposed to be killed! Do you know why I was picked? Do you know what Daeme and I were picked? Well, here's why-"
"Come on. Can't have you two yelling at each other! You're going to be polite while in each other's company," Trinket says, her voice already strained. She's obviously gathered that we were fighters. Damn right we are. We have to be fighters, or we won't last a moment. Common instinct, after all, is to die fighting or not die at all.
Okay...my little one shot is not a story!! I hope you have liked my story and have the time to review it!
Thanks for reading
Marionettes