Never In Your Favour

My Final Reaping

The morning brought what was the day before the reaping of the 70th hunger games. I was incredibly glad that this was my last year that there was even a slim chance of my name being picked. After this point, I would know I was going to live at least a fairly long while. I lay on a sofa, in the sitting room with Finnick, Arabelle (who was now thirteen), Starl, and my parents. Since the dreadful 'accidents', my parents had taken Belle under their wing a great deal. I believe she viewed them as worthy replacements for her own parental figures, though of course nothing would ever be the same again.
As we sat there round the fire, Arabelle chatting, animated as always, to my mother and father, Finnick walked over and sat by me on the couch.
'Nervous for tomorrow? It's your last reaping.' He asked.
'Terribly. I know my name is only in that bowl once, but what if it gets picked? What if I have to compete?'
'You won't. I promise you won't. Someone would volunteer anyway.'
'... nobody volunteered for you.'
'This is different. This is...' he paused for a long while. After about a minute he said 'just different'.
I could tell he was hiding something from me. It was like he knew there was a reason I wouldn't be participating in this year's games.
'Finnick? What have you done? Oh my god, have you asked someone to volunteer if my name gets picked?' I asked, terrified.
'No! Maybe... ok, yes I did ask an old friend if she would volunteer. She said she was probably going to anyway. She's only going to do it if you get picked though... I may have lost the ability to be with you public in the way I want to, but I wont see you in the games. No way.'
'Finnick!' I cried, 'that's as good as murder! Who is she?'
'I can't tell you... you'll just go and convince her not to do it.'
I simply stared at him. It was an astronomically kind gesture, but I couldn't justify condemning another girl to death if my name got picked. I thanked him, then excused myself to get an early night. There must be some way that I can find out who that girl is before tomorrow, I thought. If my name did get picked, I couldn't let some poor girl die in my place. No, there was no way around it, I would have to find out who she was.
As I lay there, drifting into sleep, I heard the familiar voice of Finnick, laying in the next room, singing the district four lullaby just loud enough for me to be able to hear it. Somehow, I knew tomorrow wouldn't be the worst it could be.

~~

The morning was a surprisingly cheery one for a reaping. Blue sky swept away the grey cloud that had been present as of late, and mockingjays soared around the air, creating a pleasant sound world of chirping. Finnick was still depressed that although we had agreed to be together, we could never tell anyone, and he looked at me with such sadness and regret on the walk to the square, that it almost made me cry. That morning, we heard via a letter that the president had fixed him with a new lover: a man called Freidrik Enzyle. Although Finnick wouldn't elaborate this time, I got the sense from the scars Freidrik's previous lovers  carried upon their backs, that he wasn't going to be the most gentle of partners. After all the pain he had been through, the customary finger prick no longer made Finnick flinch, or even react. Arabelle and I, naturally, still felt the momentary pain, as well as the usual anxiety about seeing our bloody fingerprints stamped into the paper, ensuring that we would be found, should our names be called. Despite my constant begging, I had not been able to find out whom the child who had promised to take my place was: it was gnawing away at my nerves as I walked through the square.
We filed into neat rows, and I was separated from Arabelle, who had been holding my hand until that moment. I saw Finnick approach the steps of the stage, and take his place next to Mags as a mentor. He grinned into the crowd in his usual charming way, his eyes passing back to me every few seconds as I gave him a reassuring smile. I knew how hard the reaping was for him, wondering if the children he mentored would live or die, as well as being almost sure that he would be forced to sleep with at least one member of the Capitol for the duration of the games, no doubt diverting his attention from his tributes.
As the last of us filled up the gaps in the rows, I heard the familiar clack of ridiculously high heels on the plastic coat of the stage. This year, Harley was sporting a bright blue wig, with, admittedly beautiful eye liner, portraying foam-crested waves. Her voice, however, remained irritatingly shrill:
'Welcome to the 70th annual Hunger Games!' She read off her cards. 'This year is a particularly special one, as it marks the end of another decade of our fabulous tribute to the kindness of the Capitol. Of course, it compares in no way to the quarter quell, but it will be a year to watch nonetheless! We shall now see a short film that comes directly from the Capitol, reminding us of our duty to them!'
I swear they played the same film every year. The deep-voiced Capitol man droned on about the mothers, widows and children left alone by the first rebellion. A familiar shot of the district thirteen justice hall in ruins was shown, with the same mockingjay flying past, just like every time since I could remember. When the screen cut to black, Harley continued:
'This year, there will be a minute addition to the games, in that the game makers are planning to influence the environment a lot more! How wonderful!' She exclaimed, clapping her hands in excitement. Nobody joined her in her joy save for the more patriotic of the adults, who missed their chances to volunteer, but would certainly had done so, should the opportunity have arisen.
'Well, we should be getting to the matter of picking the tributes! I love this part!' Harley continued, unperturbed by the lack of enthusiasm (she had enough of that herself to fuel the whole of Panem!). 'Good luck, and may the odds be ever in your favour. Now, as usual: Ladies first!'
She clicked her way over to the bowl on the right hand side of the stage, in front of where the peace keepers sat. After rummaging in the bowl for about ten seconds, her blue-nailed talon emerged with a slip of paper. She returned to centre stage, and in a clear, loud voice, read:
'Arabelle Odair!'
Shit not again. My head snapped around to find her in the crowd. Her 'friends' were already parting around her, pushing her up towards the stage. She fell as she wobbled up to take Harley's hand in her's. It was all totally wrong. Arabelle was only thirteen! And what were the chances of her name being picked when it was only in there once? What were the chances of both of the only two remaining members of a family getting picked? Then it clicked. It wasn't chance. It was one of Snow's sick games to punish Finnick even more. What a spectacle it would be, seeing the sister of the Capitol Darling compete in the games. I looked to the left of the stage where he sat, mouth agape in horror, and silently shaking with fear and anger. He caught my eye, and, seeing how distraught he was already, I clenched my fist as if I were about to run to the Capitol and punch Snow myself.
'And now for the boys!' Harley crossed to the bowl again, but I didn't care about what she was doing. I was praying that someone, anyone would volunteer to replace Arabelle. Finnick couldn't lose her, not after everything. That was until I heard Harley speak:
'Starl...'
That was my brother's name! He couldn't be in the games, he was well over 18 now!
'...Kyr!'
Oh. It was just someone with my brother's name. I saw a boy, who looked to be about twelve, shuffle, petrified up to the stage to grasp Harley's other hand. My head was swimming.
'Now comes the dedicated minute in which anyone wishing to volunteer may do so!'
I had an awful flashback to when Finnick was reaped, and nobody volunteered in his stead. I saw Arabelle, scared and shaking up on the stage, glancing between myself and her brother with tears in her eyes. Looking over at him once again, I saw that he too, unusually, was crying. I had never seen him do that with cameras around. He wasn't fully sobbing, but I could see the tears rolling down his face. In a moment, my gaze locked with his, and I knew I was determined in what I was about to do. Clearly anticipating my actions in some way, Finnick began to violently shake his head. I maintained eye contact with him as I raised my hand and yelled up to the stage:
'I volunteer as tribute. I will compete instead of Arabelle Odair.'
'It appears we have a volunteer! Please, do come up.'
She turned to Arabelle as I approached the stage, telling her she could go and take her place in the crowd again. By the time Harley had finished speaking, Arabelle had fainted and was being carried off by a medical team. I caught Finnick's eye as I climbed onto the stage. He looked utterly broken, staring at me with all hope drained from his eyes.
'What is your name, dear?' Questioned Harley.
'Annie Cresta.' I said with confidence, staring at the camera.
'And how do you know miss Odair?'
'She's... my friend. And the sister of my best friend.'
'Do you mean to say you're friends with the former victor?'
I nodded.
She beamed. What a story this was going to make.
'Well then, to both of you, good luck, and may the odds be ever in your favour!'
I was going to compete in the 70th hunger games.