I do not own The Hunger Games.
Finnick Odair is precious.
The Girl With The Green Eyes
Freedom of the Innocent
"I can't help her, Mags! She's going to die! She's just a helpless little girl and she's going to die! All because Snow is a monster!"
Mags doesn't answer.
She can't. Stroke and all.
But she really doesn't have to.
Her eyes speak volumes enough.
You have to try.
She's all alone.
She's scared.
You have to give her some hope.
That's your job.
You have to try.
Finnick Odair stubbornly holds the unwavering gaze of his mentor as long as he possibly can.
Then, when she has finally succeeded in glaring a hole straight through his thick skull, he turns on his heel with a mutter of a grunt.
"I know. I know. I just hate it."
And stalks off.
Four Hunger Games.
Eight dead victors.
Four boys. Four girls.
All scared, all alone, all pathetically hopeful.
And, now . . .
Even when we win The Games, we still lose for the rest of our lives.
. . . this pretty, skinny, helpless girl.
Annie.
Even her name sounds weak.
And she is going to die too.
Her and the other guy that she came in with.
The sulking, silent one that keeps to himself.
The one that doesn't look at anybody, doesn't talk, doesn't engage at all whatsoever.
And Finnick knows why.
He knows she's weaker.
He knows he's going to have to kill her.
Or let her be killed.
And he knows we're going to have to watch him do it.
And so he lets . . .
". . . ake him with us."
"Okay."
. . . the other Mentors take him.
And Finnick . . .
I hate this.
. . . goes off to do what Mags has guilted him . . .
I'll always hate this.
. . . into doing.
And he finds her, floating in a pool.
Yeah, cause that makes sense.
Float before you go off to die, sure.
And he's about to turn on his heel and walk off, just leave her there if she's going to be so blase about the whole thing.
And then he stops.
Watches her.
They're in the Tribute Complex in the Capitol.
District Four's section has a pool, the one she's in right now.
And this girl, only a year younger than him, is floating.
Eyes closed, arms out at her sides, legs straight, toes pointed.
Hair tendrilling out like red tide seaweed.
One piece green swimsuit more modest and yet somehow still more alluring than any over the top Capitol attire he's ever been directed to peel off a drunken, preening socialite.
More than that, she's serene, she's peaceful.
Floating with her eyes closed, floating without movement.
It's a bright white sterile space, nothing like the blue sky, salt-tinged District Four oceanside.
It's the most at ease he's seen her.
And suddenly he wishes he could remember what it was like to be free and innocent.
There's nothing but blood and screaming in his dreams, his recollections.
Ever since stabbing another person to death with a trident at the age of fourteen.
And he wishes he could be like her.
It's quiet in the space, so quiet he can hear himself think.
And it's not very pleasant.
He is not comfortable with his thoughts.
Or his life.
Just the way Snow wants it.
And he's about to open his mouth and call out to her, some snark or other.
Or simply turn away and leave her alone, no matter what Mags says.
When she suddenly flips in the water like a fish and disappears, pulling herself along under the water with strong, sure strokes.
Finnick feels his mouth drop open, and his mind clicks in place.
Of course she can swim. She's from District Four.
And he thinks she should have mentioned that during their interview of sorts.
But Snow will probably have the damn thing in a desert anyway.
And it is then that he turns.
Or the moon.
And does leave without saying a word.
Thanks for reading!And thanks to DinahRay for graciously reviewing. :)
