STILETTO┃Finnick Odair

Chapter 2

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As we strolled along the winding path, the sun casting a warm glow on our faces, I took in the familiar sights and sounds of the woodlands in district 2. My mother, with her infectious laughter and vibrant spirit, walked beside me, her arm linked with Malachi's.

"So, Malachi, are you absolutely certain that you know where we're going?" My mother's voice carried a hint of annoyance, a testament to her growing impatience.

Malachi turned towards us, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "Of course, my love! We're simply taking the scenic route," he replied, his words laced with an air of mock assurance. The subtle shake of my mothers head conveyed her disbelief.

I glanced at her, and we shared a knowing look. "Dad, I swear, if we end up in district 5, I won't be held responsible for my reaction," I quipped, my tone filled with playful exasperation.

Malachi's laughter filled the air. "Ah, you wound me with your lack of faith. Fear not, I shall navigate us back on course in due time," he replied, theatrically. His words were met with eye rolls and playful groans.

The weight of the looming Quarter Quell announcement remained unspoken, tucked away in the back of our minds for just a little longer as we continued finding our way back home.

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My father, mother and I are staring at the capitol logo on the screen waiting in anticipation for the announcement of the Quarter Quell. My mother is sitting on the edge of the couch, knitting to keep her mind off the announcement that will kill children, her knuckles turning white from her firm grip of needles, while my father stands by her side holding the yarn.

I stare unblinking at the screen when the anthem starts playing and President Snow's face pops up, the mere sight of him makes me feel ill, my mother and father shift in their seats.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, This is the 75th year of The Hunger Games. Written in the charter of the games that every 25 years there would be a Quarter Quell to keep fresh for each new generation the memory of those who died and the uprising against the Capitol. Each Quarter Quell is distinguished by games of a special significance and now on this, the 75th anniversary of our defeat of the Rebellion we celebrate the third Quarter Quell as a reminder that even the strongest cannot overcome the power of the Capitol on this the third Quarter Quell games the male and female tributes are to be reaped from the existing pool of victors in each district..."

a hushed silence settles over us. But as the truth sinks in, a gasp escapes my mothers lips, her hands frozen in mid-stitch. Anguish cries pierce the air, the sound wrenching my heart into pieces.

My father quickly rushes towards her, Fury burns within his eyes while enveloping my mother in his arms. As if he could shield her from the cruelty of the Capitol.

My mothers body shook with inconsolable sobs, her voice a broken melody of pain. The possibility of losing me, her only child, broke her heart.

I stand wordlessly, watching the scene before me. It was in that instant, as my father's eyes met mine, that an unspoken understanding passed between us.

We both know what I have to do. Before I can comprehend the enormity of the situation, I turn away from my distressed parents and slowly start walking towards my weapons room. There is a 25% chance that I might get picked.

For the rest of the day I go through every stance, technique and manoeuvre I know, perfecting and memorising them trying not to remember what happened. I practiced tirelessly, the sound of blades slicing through the air becoming my only companion.

The world outside ceased to exist as I immersed myself in the rhythm of each strike, each throw. Sweat trickled down my brow, mingling with my tears, as I poured every ounce of emotion into my training.

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After 6 hours of drilling myself I walked into my room with heavy steps, I sink onto the edge of my bed, my eyes stare blankly ahead. My mind is racing, reliving the horrors and bloodshed. I caused so much death, so much pain. And now they're going to force those who survived to do it all over again.

The memories are suffocating, and I feel a familiar lump forming in my throat. The tears begin to flow, and I can't stop them. My body shakes with sobs, and I felt like the weight of the world was crushing me. I try pushing the memories away, try to forget about the Games, but they won't leave me alone.

I feel like a puppet, a mere pawn in their twisted game. I'm angry at the Games, at the Capitol, at everything. But most of all I am angry at myself for thinking I was ever truly free. The truth is I'm just another victim of their cruel world.

I don't know how to handle all these emotions. So I just let them flow, like a river of pain and sadness I cry until there are no more tears left. I made a promise to myself. I would fight, I would survive, and I would never let the Capitol break me. No matter what it takes.

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I stand in front of the bathroom mirror, wiping away the tears that had stained my cheeks just moments before. The announcement of the Quarter Quell has hit me harder than expected.

I hear a soft knock on the door and my mother enters the room, her presence a beacon of comfort. Her eyes, red and puffy from her own tears, meet mine.

My mother approaches me standing behind me tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

"You okay, honey?"

I give a small nod, not trusting myself to speak just yet. She reaches and takes a washcloth, dampening it with warm water. With delicate strokes, she wipes away the tears, the coolness of the cloth provides relief to my weary skin.

I watch as a faint smile graces my mother's lips, her eyes twinkling with a bittersweet nostalgia. She gently guides me towards the chair, As I compile, she begins to comb through my damp hair.

Her gentle fingers begin to weave my hair into a braid, moving with ease as memories flood my mind, painting vivid scenes of my innocent past. I could almost hear our laughter echoing through time as my mother and I sat in this position, when she used to lovingly style my hair every morning before school.

"I'm... I'm scared Mum" I begin, my voice trembling slightly. "I don't know if I can do this again" I sat there, my vulnerability laid bare before my mothers eyes. Admitting fear was not easy for me, but in this moment, I knew I couldn't keep my facade up any longer.

She places a comforting hand on my shoulder, grounding me in her presence. It was in these moments that I realised just how fortunate I was to have her by my side.

"I know CC... I know," she begins, her voice steady but filled with emotion, "but, you are stronger than you give yourself credit for. The challenges you have faced in your young life have tested you in ways that no one should ever have to endure. But here you are, still standing, still fighting."

I look at her through the mirror, my eyes lock with hers, there's a fire burning within her gaze. It's a reflection of the unwavering belief she had in me.

"Whatever may come, know that my love will be with you every step of the way. We cannot control the hand we are dealt, but we can choose how we respond to it. And you, my dear, have always chosen courage." her voice tinged with unwavering love.

""Thank you, Mum," I whisper, feeling a little bit more grounded. Her hands leave my hair after finishing her braid and she places a gentle kiss on top of my head.

"Sweet dreams CC," she wishes as she walks out of the room. I slip into bed and attempt to push away the fear, focusing instead on my mothers words as I close my eyes and try my best to get some rest.