Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger games by Suzanne Collins, or Finnick Odair. I only own any new characters of my own creation.

Finnick Odair was going to win.

Finnick Odair was going to be one of the youngest tributes to ever become a victor. He was going to bring honor to District 4.

The Careers hadn't wanted him. He seemed useless, a scrawny, handsome boy at the age of fourteen, he was nothing compared to the brawny boys and girls from District 1 and 2. They took his district partner instead, Selina. Instead of sticking around to see what his fate would be, he avoided the bloodbath and ran into the woods. They had underestimated him.

Finnick had been immediately deemed the most attractive tribute in this year's round. It would be easy to get sponsors, they'd said. If only Selina had stayed with him. If only she had listened to Mags.

With Mags convincing people, he was bound to get a lot of sponsors. Everyone loved Mags.

As he hid, the heat was excruciating. The arena was filled with extreme heat, and although Finnick was used to it from living in District 4, it was like any other he'd felt before. It was surely reaching into the hundreds. He took his shirt off and tied it around his head to cover his face from the sun. Having been hiding in a tree for at least two days, he was running out of water. As he'd ran into the woods, he ran into a dead tribute on the floor: some sort of mutt had already gotten to it. Finnick took his satchel, which held a bottle of water, some dried food, and a cutting knife.

Things weren't looking up for Finnick at that point.

After he climbed down, he stretched his body. He'd tried to sleep, but it was uncomfortable to sleep in such conditions. His clothes had hidden his muscles, something that Mags had warned him to expose; something Finnick thought was deprived of the Capitol to admire. He was still a child in most people's mind.

He sighed and began to walk towards the sun; west. At one point, he would have to find water.

As Finnick neared a small pond, he sighed with relief and kneeled to the ground, cupping his hands and taking a drink. He splashed his face with some, and dried it off with his shirt. He removed the shirt from his face, and looked at the water.

There was the reflection of a silver parachute.

Holding something that looked like a trident.


Blood.

Blood everywhere.

Blood ran down Finnick's hands, as he pulled the trident from the sole district twelve tribute. The youngest in this year's games, she had been crying over the death of her district partner: he'd stumbled on to a tracker jacker nest while looking for food.

They were down to six tributes now.

Finnick had been watching them for a few hours then, and they had been blissfully unaware of him. Well hidden, they'd thought.

This was the worst kill for Finnick Odair.

When he'd seen her partner stomp on the nest, Finnick had ran away as fast as he could. The young girl hadn't run as fast, in hopes that her partner could make it out alive as well. Not only did she have a nasty gash on her neck from a fight, but now a tracker jacker sting would only worsen her condition. By the end of the games, she would be already dead.

You could call it a sympathy kill, if you had been watching. Finnick Odair cursed himself for every innocent life that he had to take to survive. He had to go back for his father, and his mother. They couldn't lose another child to the Capitol.

"I'm sorry." he whispered to himself, tears stinging his eyes. He sat with her for a minute, before turning her over and closing her lifeless eyes. He kissed her hand and then stood, holding his trident, and moving over to the backpack she had dropped while running.

She would never hear his apologies.

Bang!


Finnick was on his last ounce of energy.

It was down to him, and the girl from District 4 . Selina. She was fierce, wielding a machete and a sword. She was bleeding from the recurring battle, the side of her face had a gash that was split open, with blood pouring down from it. The damage had been from the small knife Finnick held in the hand that didn't hold the trident.

"Are you happy then? You proved me wrong, pretty boy! But I guess, it doesn't matter, huh? Either way, District 4 is going to win this year. Isn't that sumthin'," Selina said carefully. They circled around the body of the boy from District 1-Selina's last kill.

"Selina, please," Finnick said confidently. He sounded much more like a child than Selina, who was almost an adult at the age of seventeen. He had gotten trapped in one of her nets on his way to find her; luckily, he had escaped. Not that his foot was in any sort of good condition.

"What, you want me to give up, pretty boy? I'm not going to stop fighting just because its down to you and me. I want the crown. The glory. I'm not going to let you get it. Your family doesn't deserve it," she grinded her teeth and Finnick sighed tiredly.

"Won't you just shut up!" He yelled in frustration, and she snarled like an animal. Ready to make her pounce.

That's what the games do to you.

Finnick threw his trident with perfect aim, and as it impaled her, her eyes widened. Fear suddenly filled her green eyes and she dropped her weapons.

Finnick hadn't realized what he had done.

He dropped his knife quickly, and went to her aid. As her hand slowly wrapped around the trident shakily, she looked up at Finnick. Her furious eyes, as they had been a moment before, suddenly filled with fear. Fear of what would come next.

Selina pulled out the trident quickly. Blood soon fell from the hole, squirting everywhere. The fear soon moved into Finnick as well.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he said to her as more tears filled his eyes. Her tears were now joined with his. As she swayed backwards, Finnick caught her in his arms and kneeled down, laying her on the grass and taking her hand into his. She gripped it, tightly, as she lived her last moments.

"Congratulations," she whispered softly, almost like the innocent girl that he'd met at the reaping. "The odds were in your favor, pretty boy."

Finnick didn't remember much else.

Just the sound of a loud cannon, and the beginning of a nightmare.