To the arms of the ocean, deliver me
We were born to die, you and I
As I predicted the day was stifling hot, and I wasn't even in the square yet therefore I knew that it would be especially hot once our bodies were tightly packed together, waiting for our fate to be decided for another year. The line loomed before me, the one where you have to sign in by giving a blood sample- it's the most stupid idea, why don't they just take our fingerprints, or scan our eyes, what is the Capitols apparent obsession with taking our blood? Don't they get enough of it in their Games?
Before the Reaping began we shuffled into the square, I craned my neck to see if I could see my friends as we were herded into two separate sections in the square; boys and girls, like we're cattle about to be sent to the slaughter. We are, is all I can think. None of my friends seem to be here yet, so I file in with the other fourteen years olds and wait.
The square where our Reaping is held is directly in front of the mayor's house, like every other district; the two separate sections where the boy and girls stand is divided by a concrete walkway that you follow to the stage once you have been reaped. The floor where we stand has the symbol of District Four engraved on the floor. The mayor's house stands strong before me- made of thick white marble and the large front doors, closed for the moment, painted bright blue. The house has two thick columns, but today they are covered with two blue banners, with both the symbol of the Capitol and District Four branded on them, as well as the written announcement, '65th Hunger Games' at the bottom- as if there weren't enough reminders that the Capitol owns us.
A strong, firm hand grips my shoulder and the unmistakeable, strong, monotonous voice of a Peacekeeper speaks directly into my ear, "Finnick Odair? You need to come with me." My stomach immediately drops- what have I done wrong? Why does he want to speak to me? I turn around, face full of fear, expecting to come face to face with the helmeted face of one of District Four's Peacekeepers; instead I see my best friend, Sebastian Currents, with his stupid, mischievous grin planted on his face. Apparently, my reaction was utterly hilarious to him as his smile erupted into uncontrollable hysterics. I punch him playfully in the stomach, "I'm going to kill you," I tell him, with no real venom behind it.
"Hey, maybe the Games will do that for you," he jokes back. Sebastian is my best friend- we're practically inseparable and, despite not looking anything like each other, everybody always presumes that we are brothers. Yes, we share the tanned skin, athletic figure and charming smile but his eyes are blue whereas mine are sea green and his hair is so dark, almost black like the wings of a raven. "Your face though Finn, absolutely hilarious," he tried to tell my after his laughter has calmed down.
"Asshole," I retort back, which only makes him grin even further. He chuckles loudly once and then leans his body over and plants a kiss on the centre of my forehead, "Happy Hunger Games," he says to me in an eerily accurate impersonation of our escort. "And may the odds be ever in your favour," we both finish in unison with laughs bursting from our lips.
This kind of joking happens all the time throughout most of the Reaping and it should definitely be taken with a pinch of salt. The older boys scowl and roll their eyes, calling us immature as we laugh and joke; some of the younger boys turn around, too terrified to laugh or too scared to understand that it's just one of our long-running gags. Sebastian and I make jokes because it's the only thing that calms us; it's our only way to handle the situation- if we didn't, we'd be too terrified to even breathe. Also, it's helped some other people get through the Reaping, being able to laugh and ease the tension- and if it's helping people then it can hardly be a bad thing, can it?
The bright blue doors swing open wide, and the mayor of District Four and his family walk outside and take their seats on the stage. Then the Peacekeepers follow next, carrying two large circular containers that hold all of our names in them. They place the one with the boy's names in front of us on the right side of the stage and they place the girl's names on the left side. After they have been secured in place the final person out, the final piece to the puzzle, is District Four's escort straight from the Capitol. Celosia Ascella. She has definitely outdone herself this year. Mounds of bright blue curls are piled in a bouffant on the top of her head. Today she has attached various jewelled star fish, sea shells, coral reefs and colourful fishes into her hair. Her hair, already over the top, is accompanied by her dress- apparently an example of Capitol fashion. Her dress- all the tones of blue, green and purple of the ocean seemed to move and flow effortlessly like waves themselves, over her entire body. To top the entire outfit off, Celosia has wrapped a sea green fishing net all over her body- intertwining between her legs, then over her dress, covering her shoulders and finally, twisting up to a point next to her left ear.
She taps the microphone three times, the harsh, unexpected noise echoing across the square. She then light clears her throat from a blockage that was never truly there. Then the Reaping begins.
"Happy Hunger Games! Welcome, Ladies and Gentlemen, Boys and Girls, to the 65th annual Hunger Games," declares the falsified, high pitched voice of Celosia Ascella, the Capitols' escort for the District 4 tributes. She holds her smile a little too long for it to be natural. "Oh, and may the odds be ever in your favour," She calls towards us all in the square. I am Finnick Odair, and I am from District Four. I am fourteen years old. And I will not be reaped today. Sebastian looks at me and winks.
"However, before we begin with the excitement of the Reaping," she says with another forced smile at us all, "We have a very precious message from the Capitol."
We both roll our eyes. 'War, terrible war' I mouth at him, with the same overused theatrics by the voice in the video; he has to cover his mouth with his hands to attempt to stifle his giggles. The video finished and all eyes turned to Celosia, who apparently thought that the entire video was utterly moving and was dabbing at her eyes to stop her tears. Once she had composed herself (and we had made sarcastic comments), she turned to the crowd- and there was that fake smile again.
"Now, the time is finally here. The moment that we have all been waiting for. It is time to select fearless young man and woman for the ultimate honour, no, privilege of representing District Four in the 65th annual Hunger Games!" Celosia excitedly flourished her arms into the air after this; she received a few cheers but mainly just stone cold silence. Her bright smile faltered a little but, like the professional she is, she quickly repaired it and carried on.
I am Finnick Odair, and I am from District Four. I am fourteen years old. And I will not be reaped today.
"Let's start with the Gentlemen today, I think. You do all look especially handsome today." I am Finnick Odair, and I am from District Four. I am fourteen years old. And I will not be reaped today. And I will not be reaped today. Slowly, she sticks her claw like fingernails into the bowl, followed by her hand- she swirls it around carefully. In this moment the atmosphere grows even tenser and silence falls. Nobody breathes, even the gulls are respectful- the only sounds are of the distant waves flowing onto the shore and the slow swirling of the cards in the bowl. And I will not be reaped today. And I will not be reaped today. Dramatically, she pulls a name out of the bowl and I squeeze my crossed fingers together, ever tighter. And I will not be reaped today.
"And the male tribute from District 4 for the 65th annual Hunger Games is," And I will not be reaped today. And I will not be reaped today. Slowly, why does everything seem in slow motion today? Slowly, she unseals the tape, unfolds the card, and edges closer to the microphone. "Finnick Odair," she announces.
A moment ago I was laughing and joking and praying, the next minute my entire world has changed. They said my name, my name. They weren't supposed to say my name. My throat goes so dry that I can't even breathe and my heart, oh my heart is racing so ferociously that I think it may rip out of my chest. Everyone is staring at me- boys have turned around, girls are peering curiously from the other side. People are staring but not like they usually do- they stare like I've got an infectious disease and the crowd parts in the same way to let me pass through, even Sebastian. 'Move away from him,' I can hear their brains telling them, 'he's got the plague, he's cursed.' I am, I'm cursed. Sebastian doesn't look me in the eyes, even though I'm searching for a friendly smile or a comforting look, he just pats my shoulder but not long enough for it to give me any relief.
"Finnick Odair," she calls again, a little louder. I move slowly through the crowd of boys and out to the main pathway, everyone gapes at me like fish, eyes bulging and mouths wide open. Somewhere in the not so far distance, I can hear my sister screaming, crying but I have to ignore it, I can't listen, I can't cry. My feet scuff against the stone pavement as I'm escorted to the stage by four Peacekeepers. I look up to the two giant screens displaying my face and there I am, chewing my lip like a madman. I can't cry. Odairs are not afraid. But seriously, when did it get so damn hot? I lift my eyes up from the ground to see that stupid woman from the Capitol smiling at me and reaching her arm out, waggling her fingers like I'm some sort of child.
"Finnick! FINNICK! No, no, no, Finnick, no," I can hear Aria's cries, hysterical and interrupted by loud sobs, even clearer than before from my place on the podium. I permit myself one glance over to them- my family. Aria is crying, protected by my Dad's strong arms; his face is stern but I can see him chewing on his lip, I can see the pain at the inevitable loss of his only son. And Astrid, the strongest of them all, is whispering calming things to my littlest sister, holding her hand with her arm wrapped around my father, holding them all together. It's okay, I want to tell them, there'll be volunteers. There will be someone to take my place, there has to be. I turned my head away and look directly as Celosia, stood in front of me with that plastered on smile.
"And how old are you, darling?" she asks me, in her usually shrill voice. I am about to retort with a sarcastic comment about being old enough for the slaughter and then realise that that probably isn't the best idea at the moment. 'Be charming, Finnick. Always.' I hear my Mother's voice telling me.
"Fourteen," I say, shooting her my most charming smile which flusters her a little. I'm a better actor than she is, at least.
"Brave," she comments vaguely. "And what beautiful eyes you have, they match my dress," she says motioning toward the fishing net wrapped round her. Strangely the smile she sends me seems more sincere this time, almost as though she is sorry for me- I won't have that, I won't be made to look weak in front of the Capitol.
"I'll have to borrow it sometime, Celosia," I reply with half-seductive wink and, again, my signature charismatic smile. I try to keep a hold on that smile, and try not to grimace as she bats her ten centimetre long blue eyelashes at me. She coughs lightly again, "And now I ask: Are there any volunteers?" Of course there will be volunteers; that's what I'm relying on.
Silence. Stone cold silence. No. There are always volunteers, always. I stare back at the hundreds of faces looking back at me, housing vacant expressions. I look to the back, to all the 18 year olds- the ones who are supposed to volunteer for me- they're standing there exchanging glances. Volunteer, I want to scream, please, you want this, live for this. Please, I can't die! Nobody does. I stare blankly at the audience, I cannot bear to look at my family again or I will start crying and I can't let anybody see my weakness. Why didn't anyone volunteer? Maybe everyone wanted to see handsome, over confident, irritating Finnick Odair finally get his hands dirty, or finally get his comeuppance.
I didn't hear the name of the girl who was reaped. She was twelve years old, with long honey blonde curls cascading down her back and freckles splattered across her nose and cheeks. The little girl seemed too frightened to breathe. "Any volunteers?" asked Celosia, and sure enough there was. A monster of an 18 year old girl, with dirty blonde hair and forgettable blue eyes. The girl was taller than me by far and stronger by the looks of it and she had two giant legs as thick of tree trunks.
"And what would your name be, sweetheart?" Asked Celosia with mock sweetness, piled on thick to hide her discomfort at the giant stood in front of her.
"Ondine Pierce," she replies. Pierce it rhymes with fierce, which no doubt this girl definitely will be.
"Well then, shake hands children. Be good sports won't you?" Asks Celosia; we both roll our eyes. As I came face to face with my competition a smirk grew on the corners of my mouth, and the first thing that came to mind was a sarcastic comment about trees and District 7 but realised that now probably wasn't the best moment for me to mention it, particularly when she was looking at me with ferocious eyes and a sinister smile, like I was her next kill. Shit, I probably was.
"I am proud to present District Four's two tributes for the 65th annual Hunger Games: Ondine Pierce and Finnick Odair!" Celosia declares, lifting our arms into the air like we are victorious. I smile charmingly to the crowd, to the Capitol's cameras- it's all a façade. My fellow tribute doesn't wave, doesn't smile, and doesn't act charming- she doesn't do anything at all. The personality of a fish this one has, is the only thing that I can think. She'll have no problem getting sponsors, our Ondine Pierce.