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Chapter 10

Eyes bored into Finnick with careful admiration and jealousy as he tied his knots, the rope fraying beneath his calloused hands. Finnick however, failed to notice, the feel of the woven rope on his fingertips taking him back to a girl who wore a smile from ear to ear.

When he picked up that trident, Finnick had thought that proving himself was the best idea in the world, the only way to wipe the condescending smirk of his enemies' faces. Now, he was not so sure. Yes, people were envious of him and wanted him to join their team, but was this really a tactical move? Should he have played the mysterious, weak one and then struck last minute? The questions circled Finnick's head, distracting him from his looming fears. Suddenly, the games seemed very real indeed. Back when the golden trident had smashed the board, Finnick had felt pride and hope swell inside of him. But, with the rush of the moment gone he had to remind himself; Hope was a dangerous thing, watching his parents' faces whilst the life seeped from his brother's bones had taught him that. He was going to die and there was nothing he could do about it, he chanted to himself inside his head; the less self-esteem the better. He remained focused on his knots.

And there he stayed, learning skills that not only might save his life but also brought him closer to home and triggered memories, the visions swirling round his head like water down a sink. It was appropriate, Finnick thought, people always said that your life flashed before your eyes before you died. And that's what he was preparing for, right? Imminent death. He was awakened from deep inside his psyche by a tap on the shoulder. It was Spera and it was time to go.

From then on Finnick kept his head down, refusing to put on a show for the bloodthirsty beasts. He showed up every day to training and took his spot, tying knots, his heart being tugged along with the rope. He missed Annie. He reviewed his tragic situation over and over again. How he had waited years for his relationship to grow and blossom, waiting for a sign, and how that sign had been dumped onto him with the power of a truck, only when he had been sentenced to death. He analysed his situation until his head hurt. Did Annie just feel sorry for him? Or did she really love him? Would things be the same if he won? Would he have changed? Would Annie cry seeing him be murdered? The questions ran on and on in an everlasting circle.

For a week his life became a cycle of stares, whispers and knots; until the day of the assessment.

Finnick sat on the hard bench, dressed up in his tight fitting training suit, his palms clammy and his pulse raised. Being a male tribute from district four he was seventh in line. He sat there for thirty minutes, the longest thirty minutes of his life; the only thing breaking the stony silence, the door swinging shut, enclosing another child in hell. And then it was his turn to enter the fiery den.

Finnick walked in. The room was dark, lit only moderately by small lamps that coated the walls. Finnick had lived in this training room for the past week but it still felt unfamiliar to him. It seemed bigger without the tributes, lonelier and more fearsome. The lights from the balcony shone orange, breaking up the melancholy deep blue of the room. The capitols sat up there as usual, their smiling faces holding no sympathy for the situation they had put him in. All eyes were on him. Slowly, he shuffled towards the tridents, willing himself not to trip. With the room feeling so much bigger, he felt smaller than ever. His hand pressed against the cool and refreshing metal of the trident as he held it tight in his grip. He smiled, his hand knew what to do, this was territory he had walked a thousand times. Standing straight, he took a running throw, releasing the weapon as he closed his eyes. He heard noises of appreciation from the Gods. He opened his eyes, and seeing that the trident had hit the jackpot, he let out a sigh of deep relief, a smile lighting up his face. He took a small and sheepish bow before training his eyes to the ground and quickly scurrying away. Now all he could do was wait.

He and Spera sat side by side, their backs cradled by the soft pillows, their bodies encompassed by the warm sofa, and their hearts pounding. To the right of Finnick sat Mags, curled up somewhat unprofessionally, in a sofa chair that to Finnick's upmost delight, span. Despite her age, she wore denim jeans, with a flowing white blouse that had been tucked in all day but now, due to the process of relaxation, was untucked. Her light grey hair tumbled down onto her shoulders, waving slightly. Finnick was struck by her evident beauty, hidden between the cracks of her aging skin. Neil and the stylists also sat in the living room, making up the whole district four team. With a flash, the TV started, the usual propaganda filling everyone's heads, wriggling its way deep into their brains.

Finnick could hardly hear the presenters babble over his heart pounding. Hope is a dangerous thing, he muttered under his breath over and over. The training scores began.

11/12 for Miles from District 1

9/12 for Bellus from District 1

8/12 for Lucifer from District 2

9/12 for Ferox from District 2

4/12 for Acer from District 3

6/12 for Dolor from District 3

It was time. "Finnick from District Four" the commentator called out in an aggressively cheery and upbeat voice. "With a score of ten" Finnick let out the breath he hadn't realised he was holding. His score was high. Through his elation, he heard the faint voices of "congratulations" and "well done" from his team. He tried hard to quell his hope, opting instead to focus his eyes back on the screen, just in time to see Spera receive a six. He wondered what she had done.

That night, the team celebrated Finnick's results with a banquet. Finnick stuffed himself with foods of all colours of the rainbow, got dressed, brushed his teeth and collapsed into bed. But, sleep continued to escape him. His mind was too cramped, still hyped from his elation and still full with excruciating memories of Annie. He sat up for hours; his thoughts turning darker and darker until he noticed a small, grey remote perched on the side of his bedside table. Filled with curiosity, he reached out his hand, grabbing it. It was cool against his sweaty palm. He pressed a button shaped like an arrow. Suddenly, what he had assumed was a authentic view changed; from overlooking the vast and daunting city of the capitol, to a desert, the sand a deep and murky yellow, stretching as far as the eye could see. He disliked this view even more; it filled him with lingering depression. His inquisitiveness increasing, he pressed the arrow again and again until he found a view that tugged at his heart. The clear blue waves splashed against the golden sands, in the distance Finnick could see pure white cliffs, complete with tufts of grass sticking out from the crevices. Sneaky little bits of sea grass stuck their heads out of the ocean, as if spying on the rest of the world. Finnick was home. He lay back down, the view filling his head with memories; Annie's crooked smile, the grains of sand between his feet, a little white cave, Annie skipping carefree, Annie's laughter as light and as beautiful as bells. Before he knew it he was asleep, dreaming of home, the light crash of the waves filling his ears.

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