Finnick POV
I'm struggling. I still can't understand, can't fathom. In other years, I had to watch The Games. I just couldn't. I struggled not to cry every time a cannon went off, every time a child's life ended. Even if I didn't know them. But I had to keep a straight face. Snow was watching, other victors were watching. We're all forced to sit in a sterile, windowless, camera-infested room each year of the Games; drab gray chairs seated in district order. You sit according to popularity, age. Nobody speaks of it but everyone knows it's true. We're all forbidden to show even the slightest bit of emotion – or else. We can't cry out, can't bite our lip, can't frown, even if our tribute dies. We have to seem happy, dully cheerful. For some of them, it's easy. They crave violence, death. Have long stopped caring. But for some, a rare few, maybe, me included – every death, every drop of blood spilled is a tragedy, a horror.
If I can't stand a random tribute's death, how will I cope with Annie's? It'll be unbearable to watch her run out of food, water; become lonely, scared, maybe; if she even survives past the bloodbath. I won't even be able to sponsor her – if she starves and gets no sponsors, or gets sick; I can do nothing. Even with my piles of money, I will watch as she slowly dies. It's not just that – I have no idea how I'll be able to live long after her Games have even ended. She's my one true love – it's only bearable parading around each year of the Games because I know I have her waiting for me, someone who cares for me and values me not for my money, not for my fame, or looks, but for me.
I will never be able to go to the Capitol again, never be able to face Snow or any of the other victors with a straight face again. Never be able to conduct another interview, never be able to even look at another Capitol tramp that I …. Work for.
Maybe I could survive if I moved back to District 4, lived a simple and empty life, only myself for company. If I never set foot in the Capitol again, only kept contact with Mags. Spent all my time imagining the life Annie and I could have had, kept her memory alive by constantly thinking of her.
But I'm Finnick Odair. Beloved, handsome, shallow Finnick. My life could never be that. I will always be the property of the Capitol, always be forced to come back again and again. If I rebel, reject the life Snow has laid out for me, I will be subjected to endless torture. Never death… but never-ending pain and horror. Mags is like a mother to me, but there's a difference between having your mother to live for and having your beloved to live for. Annie is all I have left…
I've made the decision. If Annie dies… so do I. The Capitol can't take her without taking me too.
Say it's sick of me, but I've planned… it already. It'll be unbearable, but I'll wait until the end of Games for her. I'll wait until I'm on air, when the Victor is announced and on after-games interview. I'll wait until they show the clip of her death – to show people why. Finnick Odair's death on air… the reactions of everyone will be priceless. But it'll show them. It'll show Snow. None of us victors lead happy, rainbow-filled lives. It's like a vital part of our soul died the day we were reaped… like we died along with the 23 others.