𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐏𝐈𝐄 ━━ finnick odair ✓

𝐨𝐧𝐞. ( district 4 )

   I wake to the sound of the sea. The gentle waves of the morning tide drift through the window facing the beach. My eyes open to find that the sun has risen above the horizon while I slept. I draw a breath laden with the smell of saltwater through my lungs and slide out of bed. My foot catches on the bed frame as I make my way to the bathroom and I pause to curse. This house is still new to me, things don't ever seem to be in the right place. It feels like just yesterday I was roaming the city in District 3.

In reality, the move to District 4 happened just over two weeks ago. Sixteen nights slept in a bed that never feels quite as comfortable as the one at home. Sixteen days of a wretched sense of displacement.

After regaining my composure, I head to the bathroom. When I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the ornately outlined mirror, I pause. The dark circles under my eyes have only grown heavier with every sleepless night. I'm thankful for this new home, but it has been challenging to transition to.

It's my first time away from my mom for more than one night in the sixteen years I've been alive. It was her decision to move me here and, though I know it can't have been easy for her, it still stings like an open wound. She assured me with one final kiss on the cheek that my father would be waiting at the end of the train ride to take me to my new home. He had been there to take me, but this feels a far cry from a home.

It's not his fault that the adjustment has been tough. He's tried his hardest to make me feel welcome, but he's a stranger to me in everything but biology. I've spent my entire life living in District 3's victor village with my mom. After winning the 56th annual Hunger Games, she was allotted the privilege of living in a house among a neighborhood of other District 3 victors. There weren't many of them, so the majority of the houses around us stood vacant.

It wasn't luxury, but we always had enough. In retrospect it could have been lonely, just the two of us out there with sparse neighbors that never seemed to come out of their houses. But I never wanted for company, we did everything together. Visits to the market were done side by side, hand in hand until I outgrew that, then hand in hand again when I decided I didn't mind so much. Then abruptly, two weeks ago it was over. Now I stand here, in a room that belongs to me but doesn't feel like mine.

The smell of something slightly fishy cooking catches the attention of my nose and draws me out of my room. Everything here has a fishy smell. The food, the clothes, the people even. From over his shoulder I can see my father frying up what must be this morning's catch in a large cast iron pan. The slightly green looking loaf of bread that he brought home yesterday now sits finely sliced on a wooden plate.

"Good morning, Fara." His voice is gruff but warm.

"Good morning," I reply, immediately having to cough to clear my voice of morning gravel.

"Catfish this morning. Had catfish before?"

"No." In truth I'd never eaten fish before coming here. It was fairly expensive to import to District 3 and I had no taste for it anyway. Fish is all anyone eats around here though, so I've grown used to tolerating it quickly.

"It's good when it's fresh." That's it for conversation. We sit and eat in comfortable silence. The quiet was difficult for me at first. Where Mom would spin strings of poetry with her words, he seems to be a man of few words. After trying to chatter to fill in the gaps in conversation those first few days I gave it up. He's been alone for a long time, hasn't had much of anything to say to anyone for a while now I suppose.

The catfish has a slightly sweet taste, less strong than the other dozen types he's brought home for me to try so far.

"I like this bett-"