Flowers in May | Finnick Odair

Prologue

The front door of the flat burst open. The grip that I had on the spoon slackened, the piece of cutlery clattering to the floor, along with the small amount of rationed food. People in white uniforms barged into our apartment, voices muffled to my ears as I tried to calm my heart rate enough to distinguish their words. But all I could hear was buzzing as I instinctively raised my hands, palms showing as I stared in shock at the intruders.

My mother crept forwards on shaking legs, though her voice was firm as she answered their repeated question, "My husband is not here."

The two leading peacekeepers looked at each other, and even though they wore helmets that masked their faces, I knew they both suspected it was a lie. But my mother didn't let down her stance, did not drop the intense gaze that was locked onto the law enforcement in defiance. Not even with all of their guns trained on her.

Admiration. That is what I felt. Pride flooded through my veins as if it were a separate entity.

But when the nearest peacekeeper moved forwards, only to raise their hand to strike my mother, I couldn't stop myself as I flung from my chair. The ruckus I made as I clambered over the table was enough to delay the Peacekeeper from finding my mother's flesh, their head moving to look upwards in my direction.

Flaming anger was all I felt as I saw my mother shielding her face, preparing for the impact of the blow. A blow that most inhabitants of District Three had felt before. Only when my eyes locked onto a barrel of a gun did I stop my advancement.

"Stop right there, girly." A distinct male voice sounded from beneath the coverage of the helmet. "Tell us where your father is, and we won't harm either of you."

My face reflected off the helmet, almost startling myself as I saw the hatred that shone within my eyes. "My father is not home." I spat venomously, lips thinning as I waited for the hit, the punishment for taking such a tone with them. People had been tormented for less.

But the man edged closer, enough so that I could hear his breathing that rattled through his head gear. "How old are you?" He asked.

I could feel my mother tense besides me, though her eyes no doubt remained locked onto the peacekeepers within the room. With my peripheral vision, I did a quick headcount. Seven. Seven peacekeepers, fully armed, in my living room.

"Seventeen." I responded shortly, eyes thinning as I assessed the man in front of me. Tried to guess his intentions. Any way my mind span, the result was not good. The man would not judge me to be any less guilty just because I was underage. The brutality of the Hunger Games sometimes did not stay in the arena.

With one quick movement, the man grabbed my arm, his grip as strong as iron as he pulled me towards the exit. "Search the flat." The peacekeeper taking me captive yelled. "Find him."

My heels dug into the floor, trying to stop any further movement. To halt the excursion that was about to happen, hearing as they ransacked the one place I thought of as a safe. But most importantly, where my father lay beneath the floorboards, praying to a gods that have long since been forgotten for protection. For aid.

Though there was nothing I or any deity could do as we were dragged from our home, through the corridors of the flats that housed the poorest of District Three. No heads poked out of doors, no one exited to help the mother and daughter that were in desperate need. They all knew it was no use.

An exit door was flung open, the sun now beating down as my feet scuffed against the tarmac as I tried to find my footing. I could already feel the cuts opening as I was slammed to the floor, the butt of the gun crashing into the side of my head simultaneously.

My vision blurred as I lay flattened on the floor, blood trickling down the side of my face. Deaths cold touch caressed me, tantalising me with the presence of my impending sentence. There was no chance they would allow any of us to live if they found my Father, especially with the information he had tried to steal.

Information that could lead to the overturn of Panem. That could aid in rebellion.

With concentration, my eyesight became more focused, more distinct. My mother sat beside me, tears in her eyes that she was clearly willing not to fall. But she was set on staring at the entrance of the flat, waiting to see if they had found anything.

My mother's face dropped, the tears that had been building now falling like a stream down her face. Her mouth opened as a silent cry was released, her face morphing into one of despair.

I knew without looking what I would find. But I forced myself anyway. My heated anger begging me to stare evil in the eyes. If I lived long enough, I promised myself that I would burn them all to the ground, only so that I could smile in triumph over their ashes.

Though the sight of my Father, bloodied and bruised, bound and unconscious being dragged harshly towards the Peacekeeper vehicle was one that would ingrain into my memory. That, if we had enough money to buy paint, I would be able to draw with frightening accuracy. Could scar the eyes of those still untainted.

A peacekeeper gripped my arm once again, now though not bothering to pick me up, but to drag my body across the rough ground until they were at the vehicle. Lumped with the bodies of my parents, no one said a word. Silence rang out as only one thought ran through my mind; we were like cattle to slaughter.

Sunlight reappeared once we arrived at the square, my family to receive a public punishment. The crowd gathered as mandated in front of the justice building, forced to watch the people they knew and cared about suffer. I could see the faces of those I had worked with, that I had went to school with staring back at me. But my eyes locked onto a familiar shade of blue eyes in the crowd, seeing as he tried to force his way to the front. But I knew that even he could not stop what was about to happen.

And as I was tied to the whipping post, the Peacekeeper leant down to whisper in my ear in a mockingly soothing voice. "Don't worry, only your parents will die today."