* three years later *

The train back home is fast. It travels at two hundred and something miles per hour. Panem passes by quickly. Usually, I am glad to go home again. I miss the sea air. The Capitol tries to bottle and sell it as a fake. They tell the young girls that Finnick Odair will love it. I walk down a street and a cluster of women will practically dump a bottle on themselves as I walk by. They giggle and wait for me to say something but they get disappointed soon after I stay silent.

However, I am not glad to go home today. It is reaping day.

'I wonder who I will kill this time.' I mutter to myself, staring out the window.

I try to sleep, but it evades me. So I sit for seven hours and try to think about how nice it would be to see District Four. Even just for a couple of hours. I don't think about tributes. I try not to.

I think about the feeling of warm sand between my feet and the sea air leaving my hair wavy and uncontrollable. I think about fishing and how much I miss seeing my father bringing in the nets every evening. He taught me everything about snares and making weaves from leaves and tree branches. It's how I survived in the arena. Fishing for food and catching small mundane rabbits every now and then. Although, barely a day went by where I didn't have a parachute. A dozen bread rolls here, a trident there… 'People appreciate your looks' is what I was told. People liked a handsome man. It's what I'm told now as well. Many Capitol women appreciate my looks.

It was a pity Snow killed my father and mother when I tried to refuse to mentor tributes at 16. Tried, and failed.

'FINNICK ODAIR WE ARE IN DISTRICT FOUR AND WE ARE LATE, LATE, LATE. HURRY UP, DEAR.' Reanie Vath screams through the train. She has a slight lisp and a bright orange hairdo this year. Her dress floats like clouds but resembles cheap cotton stapled onto a slip of material. I don't tell her this. Slowly, I pick myself up and run a hand through my hair. I practice 'The Odair Smirk' and wave and prepare myself for the cameras that will be waiting outside. I wonder if people see the sadness in my eyes… I wonder if they chant my name with vengeance when they realise I've killed 6 of their tributes accidentally. They know Mags did not train them, she can barely speak. They all know I'm responsible.

I step off the train and the cameras go crazy. People go crazy. They shout my name and try to cling to my clothes. Peacekeepers hold them back, laden with heavy batons in their hands as well as a look of disgust in their eyes. No one calls Mags' name, who's just stepped off the train. She's obviously had a long nap and has not cleaned herself for the cameras. She's been doing this for 60 years now, she doesn't worry anymore. They laugh at her and I step towards her and hold her hand. She's all I have now. I don't appreciate them laughing.

We're led to the building of nightmares whilst everyone rushes to their reaping stations. We wait and then we hear the sound of a boat horn. I hear the rustling of feet. The horn signifies that it's time to bid goodbye to two of District Four's children. We walk out to the stage and I stare at these innocent faces. There are people crying, biting their fingernails and fidgeting. Soon, there will be people dying.

Reanie stares at them with a smile.

'Alright, Alright. I know you just can't wait. But, alas, before we pick those lucky people who will be fighting for the glory of Panem, we will play a short film. How riveting!' She beams. The majority of chaperones are taught to speak this way. Beamy and finding everything oh so exciting! Behind the doors she's a drunkard with a lack of boundary respect. Mags and I do most of the chaperoning. We don't tell anyone that.

Then the video's over. It only lasts a minute and a half.

'Exciting, isn't it! Alright, well I know you all just can't wait so we'll reap our lucky tributes! As usual, ladies first. Couldn't you girls just die?' She excitedly squeals. Her poor choice in words has caused a girl to fall to the floor in hysterics but she is ignored. Reanie's slender fingers slide to the middle of the bowl as she picks out a slip of paper.

'And our District Four female tribute is…,' She unwraps the paper, 'Annie Cresta! Get up here Annie so I can shake your hand.'

I look at the crowd and I see a girl slowly walking out of her line. She has long thick dark hair, obviously brushed into submission but still slightly manic, and a strong face. She looks like she carries a lot of burdens, the bags under her eyes are dark purple and she has creases on her face that shouldn't be on someone so young. She looks around 17 to me. She walks up to the podium slowly and does not make eye contact with anyone. She stares straight ahead of her. She does not shake Reanie's extended hand. A slight blush sets in on Reanie's face at this point and I try not to giggle like a schoolgirl, but damn is it hard.

'And for the boys now!' Reanie says. She repeats the same process and pulls out a name. Walking quickly towards the microphone she opens the paper and her mouth forms an excited 'oh' form.

'Our male tribute is Caspian Cresta! How exciting, we must have a sibling act in the midst of the Games!'

Caspian looks about 12, with tan skin and freckles on his nose. He has dark hair too and shares the same face as Annie. I look at the girl. This is when I see her sharp intake of breath and the tears forming in her eyes. I see her begin to crumble. Her eyes search for someone, anyone, to take her brother's place in the Games. There is silence. The roaring sea rages behind everyone. Then they are led away.