unforgivable ➸ finnick odair

E I G H T E E N

There was something in the air today, I thought as I trudged through the forest. A sort of buzz, an agitated hum that resounded throughout the arena. Every animal - avian or land dweller - seemed to be on edge, as if something was waiting around the metaphorical corner, preparing to pounce. This, combined with the whole final four situation, put me on edge, and paranoia invaded my every sense as my eyes nervously darted around and my grip tightened on my weapons. And as I walked onward, I desperately tried to remember the endings of the previous games - excluding the 65th, for obvious reasons - in an attempt to not walk into the finale blind.

The 67th Games had ended in a vicious, bloody brawl between the males from Districts 1 and 2, with Augustus Braun of District 1, aka the 'Cavalier Career' and Panem's 'Favourite Son' emerging victorious. The 66th had had a rather wed, muddy arena, and so the finale kept playing to the rules of that aspect, with mudslides, torrential rain and an incredibly slippery floor, though I couldn't for the life of me remember who had won those games.

The most notable feature of the 64th and 63rd Games had been the fact that they had been won by a pair of siblings, brother and sister; Gloss first, and then Cashmere a mere year later, both from District 1. The endings of those games had been standard stuff, as both victors had been favourites and the main candidates to win from the very beginning. The 60th, 61st and 62nd had played out in a very similar fashion - the years had been very career dominated, and so lacked too many twists and turns.

"Well that was bloody useless, wasn't it?" I grumbled to myself crossly as I leaned back against a random tree trunk to rest. 

"Yes... yes, it was," said a voice behind me that was all too familiar. A voice that had remained imprinted in my brain even after her death. Subconsciously tightening my grip on my weapons, I turned around, coming face to face with someone whom I had only ever dreamed of appearing again.

"Aren't you happy to see me, Ellie?" Breeze asked, her soft, lilting voice echoing in the sudden silence of the forest. Her grey, colourless hair swayed gently in the invisible breeze as she floated a foot or two in the air, sad grey eyes staring into my own shocked ones.

"But - but you're dead," I whispered, drawing closer to this... this mimic of my little sister. Because Breeze had always been colourful, full of energy and infectious joy. She was never meant to be grey, solemn and lonely; even in death, I had always imagined her happily skipping around in the meadows of Heaven, singing songs with her newfound friends sand taking advantage of her new life with her endless optimism. Had I been wrong?

"I am," her ghost confirmed, sighing sadly, her lips turned down in a frown that looked so out of place on her young, delicate face. Then she took a step back, away from me. "It's your fault, you know. All your fault."

Her whispered words caused me to abruptly stumble back, shocked and confused. I opened my mouth to protest against her accusation, but something stopped me. Was she right? Was it my fault? After all, I had been her older sister, had supposed to have been her protector - and I failed. I let her get reaped and did nothing to stop it. And yet I had volunteered for the other girl from the district, who had reminded me of her - had it been my guilt, calling for me to try and right my wrongs?

"You know it's true, don't you?" Breeze asked, skirt fluttering in the light wind. Her fatal stab wound still remained on her chest, the area around it a darkened, murky grey, and although I tried not to look at it my eyes always seemed to be drawn to it. My silence was her confirmation.

"Come with me. Join me," she pleaded, her voice suddenly sounding childish and dreadfully lonely. "I don't like it here, it's all cold and creepy. Why don't you come with me... big sister?" Her words tugged on my heartstrings as her eyes widened in a begging manner and her bottom lip jutted out in a pout. 

"Don't you want me to win? For you?" I asked weakly, but my voice trembled and sounded pathetic even to my own ears.

"But don't you want me to be happy?" Breeze countered, still wearing her adorable expression. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I let my katana fall to the grassy ground as I lifted my gleaming golden trident off of the ground. A fitting send off - dying in the same way I had let Breeze die. 

And then I stopped. My arm fell back to my side and my fist clenched around the handle of my trident. Because Breeze had never been selfish, would've never said something like that. She would've wanted me to win, to be happy when she couldn't. And she would've never tried to get me to kill myself 'to join her'. It had never been in her nature.... but the Capitol wouldn't have known that.

"You're not Breeze," I said quietly, but I was really talking mainly to myself. Because my gut was telling me that the only way to get this specter to dispel was to 'kill' it, so to speak... and I didn't know if I could really kill something that walked, stood and sounded like her.

"What do you mean?" she asked, a fearful note in her voice as she took a step back. Shaking my head, I took a step towards her and raised my trident, trying desperately not to look into her wide, terrified eyes.

"You're not Breeze," I repeated as I pushed the trident down, right through the imitation's 'body'.

"You're not Breeze," I repeated as a scream tore from the ghost's throat, sounding exactly like the scream I had heard from the television during the finale of the 65th Games.

"You're not Breeze," I repeated as I dully watched the artificial mutt float back up into the sky in a truly ghostly fashion, wide, accusing eyes still staring at me from afar.

"You're not my sister," I repeated to myself as I picked up my katana and walked on, barely registering the cannon that boomed loudly throughout the arena.

"You're not Breeze."