Waves Crashing (Finnick Odair)

Allies

My fingers touch the cool, firm sand,

They let it sift between them, lovingly.

The little waves, with rhythmic melody,

Hush, and whisper, and break forth in gentle song

-Katherine Taylor, Where The Waves Meet The Shore

'I'm hearing things. I have to be hearing things.'

All eyes were on me. I was not hearing things.

Too much attention. Too much going on. Just because I didn't eat breakfast that morning didn't mean I wouldn't throw up. I was actually really close to throwing up when I felt the peacekeepers coming up behind me. 

I was dazed. I was sure. I was so sure that something was going to go wrong that year. I had hoped and prayed that this wasn't what I had felt. But it was and it was too much for me to process.

I finally snapped out of my daze as I felt gloved hands grab my arm. I pulled away quickly from the peacekeeper. I didn't want them to be near me, much less touch me. I wasn't going to embarrass myself by being dragged to the stage.

It was with that thought that I finally uprooted my feet from the ground and headed towards the stage. I could feel so many eyes on me. The eyes of the men, women, and children of District 4, the people of The Capitol, and the victors. 

I heard a loud sob when I finally reached the steps. I didn't have to look to know that it was my mother. Her sobs seemed to grow louder with every step up I took. It finally came to a crescendo when I made it up on the stage. I trudged over to Laylette, who laid her dainty, velvet-gloved hands on my back. I put my head down, my hair covering my face from view, trying to ignore the heart-wrenching sounds coming from Mama. 

"Well, aren't you a pretty little thing!" Laylette squealed.

"You're going to be a treat!" harmonized Lunette.

Lunette stepped up while Laylette kept her hand on my back. "Now, it's time for the gentlemen!"

Then Lunette, with the same flare for drama as her sister, plucked a slip from the other glass jar.

"The male tribute for this year's Hunger Games is... Thomas Steele."

"I volunteer as tribute!"

I looked up. I knew that voice. No. Not him. Why would he be so stupid to volunteer? I felt my tears flow freely as his blond mop of hair separated from the rest of the eighteen-year-old boys. He strode up the aisle,  confidence in his every step, his eyes never leaving mine. 

Lunette giggled ecstatically, 'We have a volunteer! How exciting! What's your name, darling?"

With all the confidence of a lion, he crossed his arms over his chest and smiled charmingly, "Silas Hayes."

Laylette put pressure on my back, moving me forward. "It seems we have our tributes from District 4 this year! Odessa Blackburn,"

"And Silas Hayes!"

"Give it up for this year's tributes!"

There was some polite clapping from the adults, a fair amount of clapping from kids who went to The Academy, and none from the rest of the teens.

"Shake hands, if you will!" There really wasn't much of a choice. 

I turned toward Silas, the stupid idiot who volunteered for the Hunger Games, and shook his hand. His handshake was firm. It felt like reassurance and... kindness. I let out a quiet cry that no one would notice except for Silas. His grip tightened, and his eyes softened for a moment. He was trying to tell me that I would be okay, but what I knew and what he also knew deep down was one simple fact. I wouldn't make it past the first day in the arena.