Fame • Finnick Odair

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Do you ever look at someone and just, for some random reason with no logic behind it whatsoever, know what kind of person they are and what your opinion on them is.

Of course, there is the whole 'don't judge a book by its cover' thing but when that book is about to choose two children's names out of a bowl, one of which probably only has the name 'Amber' in it, and send said children to a murder arena, the whole 'judge before you know them' thing is probably deemed acceptable.

Besides, when you live in a world where your parents educated you on the inequalities between District and Capitol growing up, you instantly hold a strong dislike for anything of the sort. For example, Havana Whiffe.

Havana Whiffe is District 4's new escort as of this year and by first glance Lyra already knew she didn't like her.

She stood, looking slightly disgusted by the crowd, with a largely fake smile on her paper white face.

Her skin had been surgically coloured to be permanently snow white and platinum blonde died hair to match. Her hair was styled in an odd shape that could only be described as a bee hive. Her dress was a flat white colour from first appearance but as she moved and the dress creases opened, it revealed colour. Today's colour was deep red. Blood red. Her long fake nails were the same red colour as well as her lipstick, eyeshadow and shoes. Her eyelashes were so long they could touch her blonde tinted eyebrows. She had a few small beads stuck under her eyes too.

Her voice sounded exactly like Lyra guessed it would've. Annoyingly high pitched. It could make you go deaf, or wish you were deaf.

"Welcome all, and a Happy Hunger Games. May the odds be ever in your favour. As always, we have a special film, brought all the way from the Capitol, for you all to watch today."

'War. Terrible war. Widows, orphans, a motherless child. This was the uprising that rocked our land. Thirteen districts rebelled against the county that fed them, loved them, protected them. Brother turned on brother until nothing remained. And then came the peace, hard fought, sorely won. A people rose up from the ashes, and a new era was born. But freedom has a cost. And the traitors were defeated. We swore as a nation we would never know this treason again. And so it was decreed that each year the various districts of Panem would offer up, in tribute, one young man and woman, to fight to the death in a pageant of honour, courage, and sacrifice. The lone Victor, bathed in riches, would serve as a reminder of our generosity and forgiveness. This is how we remember our past. This is how we safeguard our future.' President Snow speaks through the video.

"Well, I just love that," Havana exclaims. "Now the part we're all here for, the best bit, the time has come for us to select one courageous young man and woman for the honour of representing District 4 in the 62nd Annual Hunger Games. As usual, ladies first."

The annoying clicking of her shoes on the floor was the only indication that the woman was moving. She plunged her hand into the bowl and hovered her fingers over the papers, pulling up two before taking a moment to decide which one she'd pull out. She finally picked the one she desired, dropping the other one back down and walked back over to the microphone before opening it, "Amber Holland."

Despite expecting this, Lyra's heart catches in her throat, her legs are shaky with fear for her sister, feeling as if they'd give out beneath her at any moment. She feels her father's hand tighten comfortingly on her shoulder as she rests her head against his chest.

She watches as a familiar head of red steps out of the crowd and makes her way to the stage, escorted by peacekeepers as Havana 'encourages' her with obvious excitement evident on her face. "Well, what do we have here!? A Holland, my my, hello dear, come on up."

"And now for the boys." She did the same thing, pulling out a paper from the bowl and reading it aloud, "Samuel Ash."

A small boy steps out of the fifteen year old section with a smile on his face, pride filling his expression as the thought of being a Victor fills his mind, with a hint of nerves too. He's up against the child of a Victor, there's no doubt Isabella Holland didn't teach her kids a thing or two. He was clearly the son of a fisherman with his muscular build but he was still rather small having not had his growth spurt yet. He wasn't the most attractive tribute with a wonky smile and buzz cut blonde hair so might struggle with sponsors whereas Amber would be blessed with as many sponsors as she'll ever need just because of her last name alone but also because of her obviously striking beauty inherited from their mother.

"Here we are, our Tributes from District 4. Shake hands, you two." They turn to each other and shake hands formally. "Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favour."

Jared Holland, with tears in his blue eyes, took his youngest child in his arms and held Lyra's hand as he followed a peacekeeper to say goodbye to his eldest child, getting flashbacks from when he had done the same as he said goodbye to his girlfriend Isabella so many years ago.

Thoughts could be a dangerous place, especially to someone aware of the dark effects of post hunger games, constantly trying to drag you down into that place in the mind that's dark and depressing and lonely. The No Man's Land of the brain, the place where no positive thoughts reside. The place your emotions shut down to everyone but family, and sometimes even them. Where you give up and let the darkness consume you, covering every inch from head to toe. Eyes darkening with anxiety and tears, heart (once filled with childlike joy that long dissipates with time and reality) breaks again at the thought of losing another person, lungs struggle to breathe having to fight for oxygen, stomach full of anxiety and nausea, legs shaky and unstable.

Lyra wouldn't let herself be dragged into such a dark place, though. She couldn't. Because right now, her sister needed her so that's where she'll be. And after that, whatever the outcome of the Games, her family will need her. They'll need each other, to stay sane.

Lyra Holland cursed herself for not being a year older, for not being able to volunteer, because she had to just watch as the Capitol, as President Snow, sent her sister into the same fate of their mother when she had to fight for her life so many years ago. No one should have to fight, to murder other kids, for their life. For a future.