disclaimer: I don't own these perfect tragic characters or the book series they're from. If I did they would've got their happy ending! & the book might be focused more on them. Okay?
notes: alright, I'm not dead, firstly, and I'm sorry but I have a major writer's block for drowning in ashes. . .
this is a two-shot, and it's the first part out of the two . . . the characters might be or seem ooc, because I'm not good at capturing these flawless characters, so bear with me. enjoy!
oh the tragedy, captured as mine
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i,
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She remembers. She remembers everything.
She remembers the warm waters of her home in district 4. She remembers the feel of the evening sea breeze blow against her hair, and the smell of seafood wafting around the dinner table. She remembers the ocean, the fish, the knots, the sand, the seashells, and the swim. She remembers her parents, and the rest of her family, who loved her oh so much. She remembers her friends. She remembers playing, laughing, and learning with them. She remembers the joy, the simplicity, and the hardships. And she remembers how the world came crashing down, how a sudden weight fell on her shoulders, and how she stumbled up the steps, all due to a soft echoing of her name like the waves calling her to the rough waters, to claim her as theirs.
She remembers the sympathy, the fear, and the dread aching in her bones, in the souls of her fellow friends and families, as she climbs up the steps onto the stage after being reaped. She remembers his face, her companion beside her. He was the other tribute sent along to die with her. The one bound to perish with her in the 70th Hunger Games. She remembers his name, but she doesn't want to. It haunts her to remember.
She remembers saying goodbye to her home.
She remembers meeting their mentor, the oh so infamous Finnick Odair. She hears all sorts of syndical stuff about the bronze haired beauty standing right in front of her, but she never cared.
She remembers his faith in them, in her. She remembers his tricks. She remembers herself trying. She remembers the training. She remembers herself failing. She remembers avoiding her mentor and her friend. She remembers evading the hours of crisis — the daylight — the times for training. She remembers hiding from it all.
She remembers the hope flickering in his vibrant shaded sea-green eyes, and she remembers his words. His last words spoken to her and to the other tribute, before they're both leaving another home — it's some of the last words she hears before she's in the arena. "Win or die, I'll always remember you." he says, quietly more to himself than to them.
"Good luck, doll face." She remembers him saying to her then, as if she's entering a beauty contest and he's waiting for her victory knowingly, charming her, as if he's going to see her again. He gives her that flirtatious smile, and turns away to the other tribute muttering some encouraging words to him.
And then she's sent off into the games. Her feelings in a turmoil, and she remembers feeling more lost than ever (and more unprepared).
She remembers a blur of events. But more vividly than ever, she remembers the swing, and his head, and the blood. The blood of her only friend in this goddamned place, the only person she knows, staring up at the sky, terrified.
She remembers the eyes of the murderer, and the air vanishing from her lungs, and her voice shattering into shards as she lets out an inaudible airy scream. The murderer never sees her though, she recalls. The stupid tribute that killed him was too busy staring at their bloodstained sword in pride, not noticing her at all until —
She remembers running, and hiding, followed by the sound of a cannon firing and her ears and eyes were closed and covered, with a small rumbling and tickling starting from the back of her throat. She recognizes that as her own laughter.
She also remembers that after a while, there was a flood and a shriek from several others— from murderers not far from strangling her, and herself swimming. She remembers a cannon firing, and suddenly waking up in a depressing white room, surrounded by men in white lab coats.
She remembers Finnick Odair, looking up at her with pity. He tells her she's home and safe in the hospital of district 4 — but she doesn't feel safe at all. Standing beside Finnick, she remembers the old lady, Mags, her mouth curving into a sad friendly smile directed at her. This gesture from Mags encourages some warmth and hope into her cold puzzling world.
She remembers hiccuping back sobs, and her tear stained cheeks, when she takes a trip home to find her house wrecked and burnt to ashes, along with the scent of the sea mixed with the unmistakable odor of decomposing bodies, lurking underneath all the mess. She remembers punching Finnick away from restraining her and rushing through the burnt hut, and hugging the remains of her dead family. And that's when flashes of the arena hits her, the memories of the beheading of her fellow tribute rushes through her mind, and she remembers squeezing her eyes shut, and dropping the dead bodies into her lap, covering her ears, while she screams out sobs, no,no,no!
She remembers Finnick's callous hands grabbing her, and his arms wrapping around her shaking frame, whisking her away while he whispers soothing things in her ears to calm her down. She never opens her eyes once.
She remembers the gush of wind from the cool air in the hospital. Finnick's arms are off of her by then, as she lies silently on the bed, her eyes shut tight. She remembers Finnick still murmuring gently against her earlobe. She remembers his stories about the turtles and fishes underneath the ocean, and the moon and tides bringing the ships back to shore, and the lighthouse scouting out for the lost ones, and saving them before danger arrives. She remembers wishing for her own lighthouse.
And then it's all strange, and different. She remembers it was not her medication. She remembers spacing out for a while. Her dreams and nightmares were blurring in with reality. Her past memories were blurring in with the present. She's confused. But she's not just confused, but she's something much more than that; she's traumatized.
-;
This was not supposed to happen.
Finnick Odair would have never guessed that out of all the tributes in the 70th Hunger Games that Annie Cresta would win. He mentored her, or at least tried to, and she just spat it back right in his face, hiding and running from him, never showing up much for her training, and when she does she trains for a little bit, and disappears from the training center.
The first few weeks he has tried to chase the young, innocent looking, dark-haired girl, as if it was a game of hide and seek, but he could never find her in the small compartment. During dinner, he would try to seduce her, flirting with the pretty young maiden to get her to practice her skills (that he doesn't know of), so that there might be a chance for her to win, for his small burden to be lifted off his shoulders if she dies. Despite his charms, she always ignored him, and went straight to talking to everyone else about how much she missed the waters, and the seas of district 4. She confided in him sometimes with her thoughts, when there's no one else there for her to talk to, but still, she never really trained with him for the games at all.
Finnick finally decides to prep her in different yet simple ways. He'd wake her up in the mornings, and take one of her things from her room that was from her home — like a necklace made of seashells — and he'd run fast evoking her to chase him. That was how he trained her speed.
During breakfast and dinner, ( — Annie usually skipped lunch since that was in between the training — ) he'd criticize her eating etiquette, and on how she cuts her meat, or slices the bread, and gives her tips on how to use the utensils sharply, stabbing the meat hard, or slicing the bread evenly and thoroughly through, but doing it quickly at the same time (since Finnick would usually yell at Annie to hurry up and hand him the bread, and she'd give a him a glare, while the other tribute sitting with them bursts out in laughter at the exchange). He heard her curse him for his impatience, causing a smirk to grace his lips, as he replies with a witty remark. This was one of the ways he could prepare her to kill, or at least wound and hunt a little bit (— and it was also a course for him to make her tough, and an excuse for him to tease her).
He also causes her to slam her fist onto the table a lot, when he infuriates her to no end, and once it was so bad, she broke the table. That was how she would gain some strength.
However, it wasn't enough, he knew. Time was drawing near, and she wasn't ready compared to his other male tribute.
The guilt began to grow, while he watched the Hunger Games start to air on the screen, only caring about his two attractive pair of tributes, rooting for them to win, and hoping that they wouldn't have to deal with what he had to deal with after the games.
He began to try to earn them some sponsors, in the ways that he could. After everything, people stopped helping him — because, really, what did these two tributes have to offer them? — which left Finnick only one last resort to go to and he dreaded it, but there was no other choice but to do it. He had to sell his body to those he despised, which was the Capitol.
It has been so long since he's done this tactic, but now there was no other option to earn his tributes these sponsors.
Halfway through the games, people didn't want him anymore, so he had nothing left to do to help his tributes. He felt useless, and was drenched in his own guilt and sorrow, and was also very much disgusted with himself and those in the Capitol. He wasn't thinking straight. He wanted to barge into the Capitol and flood the place, sinking everything, and demanding President Snow to stop the Hunger Games, or else he'll drown the old man. But he couldn't and wouldn't, because he knew that was a long shot, and was impossible. So he cried in fury, and worthlessness, and mourned for all the ones who died for him, and mourned for his tributes who were going to die, and the ones he'll have to train in the future. Mags, his old mentor, and the closest thing he has to family left, came into his house to find a weeping Finnick, and tried to console him that night.
He continued to watch the games from his sofa, in his house. A sharp pain tugs at his gut when he watches the male tribute — the one from district 4 — the one he has trained gets his head decapitated by a sword. He refrains from screaming at his flat screen TV, screaming at the world, and cussing out at Snow, when his brilliant colored eyes catches the sight of a paralyzed Annie Cresta, the other tribute he recognizes on his screen, with her wide green eyes — the color of the calm seas and the beautiful, cool coconut trees swaying on the sandy beaches, — glossed with tears and trembling with fear. She was standing near the shrubs in the background, witnessing the death of her friend right before her eyes.
Finnick swears silently to himself when he notices the stability in poor little Annie shatter, pain and fear consuming her, as she begins to run, panicking, and running like she's being chased by a predator. She scurries away like a fish does when it is being fished by people. It reminds him of how frustrated he was when he was younger during the times he tried to fish. She reminded him of those fish, of the ones he could never catch.
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