Rising Tide

TWO

"I volunteer as tribute."

Thousands of voices roar around me at the words of Finnick Odair. As of now, no victor has ever volunteered to re-enter the games. Why would they? It would mean fighting off another twenty-three tributes in a horrible arena. It would mean leaving behind your family again, although that would not matter in Finnick's case. His family died some four years ago. I remember the funeral well. It had poured that day. I had waited around after everybody had left, wanting to say goodbye. I had not known them well but it had seemed fitting at the time. They were good people.

My head whips around to stare the blue-eyed monster behind me down. He already has his eyes locked on mine, searching further into my gray orbs than anyone has ever dared to venture. His eyes give off little, telling way less than mine probably are. I have heard rumours about this boy. Things about him liking secrets. Secrets as payment for the various jobs he does. I do not blame him for what he does or supposedly does. I would do anything to survive as well. Anything to get back home to my baby.

I can tell just by looking into his eyes that he can read me like an open book. I do not like that.

Please, Arista, you love it.

Alright, my subconscious may be onto something but I should not like that Finnick Odair is reading me page by scarred page right now. I flick my eyes to the ground and turn back around, willing myself to look away from him and at my district. The frenzy of the crowd seems to have died down to nothing but a harsh whisper. My father catches me eye with a wave of his hand. I smile at him and he returns it with a hollow eyed, tired grin. Me entering into the games is going to mean a lot of change on his part and he knows it. Maybe my death in the games will matter after all. My father will be the man he used to be because he has to. For Spike.

I train my gaze on my little ball of sunshine. His head rests on my father's, his sleepy eyes stare into mine. I will miss him more than anything. I would do anything for one more day with him. I remember just last week how we were swimming in the ocean and building castles made of sand on the shore. What ever happened to this world to make it force me from Spike?

"Hello, attention, everybody," Cerabelle's voice steals my attention away from my baby, "there seems to be no rules against victors re-entering the hunger games. Let us all give a round of applause to district four's volunteer."

Her words ring like bells in my ears. I am going into the games with a trained killer. I am never going to see my father or Spike again. I am doomed, as some might say. I turn to face my death, forcing a smile onto my face. Kindness is everything. A grin already adorns his perfectly, pink lips. I do not look him in the eye I just reach towards his hand and mutter the standard response.

"Good luck, Finnick." What else can I say.

He grips my small hand in his large one. Sparks shoot up my arm, stunning me in my place. I can feel his gaze burning into me, searing patterns where I can tell his eyes are tracing my features. I do not know what he is looking at so closely, I am nothing special. My blond hair is dull and my gray eyes have held the appearance of shattered glass ever since that night. My pale skin looks almost sick from lack of nutrients. I always give Spike some of my food. He needs it more than I do.

Finnick does something unexpected, which, in turn, breaks me from my thoughts. He pulls me flush against his chest, tightening his arms around my body. In all my years of watching the reaping of each district on the Capitol standard television set I have never once seen two tributes hug on the stage. Then again, in all of those said years I have never witnessed a victor volunteer either. I bet president Snow is loving this display. What a twist in his extravagant reality show. That is all this is, a show. A show that has been going on for sixty-three years. A show that has long over run its course.