Finnick O'dairxMixed Race reader

Part II

Your POV:

Today is the day. I have to stand there and watch two helpless children get chosen to kill each other. I'm powerless no matter my status. The same look of fear in their face. Tears glinting in their eyes, their legs shaking with fear. I feel to powerless and mean but I can't do anything.

Is there any point in even going? My name won't be picked and I'm almost certain once the Reaping is over I'm just left here until further notice. It's what happens every year.

I get told to stand up all pretty on the stage then once the cameras leave so do I. After that I have to do the same thing as the rest of Panem, watch. Watch little baby's kill each other and/or get killed. So many families losing loved ones. A single death affecting many.

I go over to my dresser and pick up the outfit that has been chosen for me to wear. And just like usual it's more revealing then underwear. A see through white shirt with strips of cloth crossing around on the chest. It's paired with flowy pants made of the same material and cloth strips on the hemming. The only thing stopping you from seeing my knickers is how the pants are slightly more opaque. I have matching white heels so high my ears might pop.

Once I've changed into the outfit I make my way into my kitchen. I make some cereal and sit down at the table. I let my feet swing in the air as I chew my food and hum to myself. I wonder what arena they might use this year.

My favourite one so far has been when they used what's left of District 13. There was no natural food or water so they had to use what was in the Cornucopia. The Game-Makers added in random animals that store food and water inside of them in air pockets but they were massive and hard to kill.

•Time Skip•

It's been about three hours so I should go outside. The Capitol send me a car that delivers me to the justice building where I get my hair and makeup done. One year they shaved of all of my hair and thought it would just grow back, that was the last time a white person did my hair.

When I go out I can see a car that's already waiting for me. It's long black and shiny with tinted windows. A peacekeeper opens one of the doors for me and I sit down. It's silent apart from the low classical music buzzing in the background. There's a divider separating me from the driver who's sat in the front I cross one leg over the other and sit there hoping for this day to be over.

Eventually we arrive at the Justice Building and I'm led to the inside of the building. There's large, black, metal crates marked with the Capitol crest everywhere. Peacekeepers are putting up microphones and screens. While random civilians run around in worry like little chickens.

I'm inside a room that has white walls and tiled floors. There no curtains but there's a massive window that stretches up at least five feet. I spin around aimlessly on a white chair waiting for this year's stylist. There's a mirror with lights going around it and an assortment of different beauty products.

I sit there for about five minutes before the door creaks open. A tall women with skin slightly darker then mine walks in. Her hair is pulled up into a pony on her head but makes her look slightly like a pineapple due to how curly it is. She's wearing a black and white suit with black heels and red lipstick. I think that's the only makeup on her face because you can see small blemishes on her cheeks or maybe she's had her face modified like the rest of the Capitol?

"I'm Justine your stylist for today," Justine says walking over to me and shakes my hand, "How about something natural for your hair yeah?"

She uses her hands to fluff it up and smiles to herself. I haven't even known her a full minute but I already like her. She looks like she actually cares about how I look and doesn't want me to look like a prostitute.