The Winner Takes it All

The Reaping

     The Reaping day dawned with an oppressive air, a familiar dread settling in my stomach. I hastily adjusted my dress and smoothed my hair before hurrying to meet Finnick at the fishing ports.

Spotting him, I couldn't resist lightening the mood. "Hey, you," I called, playfully leaping onto his back and covering his eyes.

Finnick chuckled, "Okay, get off!" He caught me as I hopped down, and I clung to him momentarily, seeking comfort.

"I just... I'm so nervous," I admitted, my voice muffled against his chest. "All those slips with my name on them. Thanks to you, I've never had to take out tesserae, but there are still eighteen slips in there."

Finnick gently pulled back and placed a reassuring hand on my arm, his eyes earnest. "Even if you're reaped, Marin, someone might volunteer. You know how some girls dream of being in the Games."

Mags and Annie soon joined us, their presence momentarily easing my anxiety. Finnick's affectionate greeting to Annie with a kiss on the cheek and Mags's warm hug enveloped me in a sense of normalcy. I loved being around them, but their company also reminded me that they had competed in the Games at some point, and here I was, hoping not to join them in that group.

But it was time. "Let's get this over with," Finnick muttered, taking Annie's hand with Mags. I followed a few steps behind them, a silent solidarity between us.

At the Justice Building, I limped to the line, my heart sinking with each step. After the obligatory blood sample, I found my designated spot among my peers. My thoughts were a whirlwind of hope and fear, so much so that I barely registered the Mayor's speech or our Capitol escort, Tinsel Belle's striking appearance.

"Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor!" Tinsel chirped, her voice gratingly cheerful as she reached into the bowl of girls' names. My heart pounded, a silent plea escaping my lips. Her hand skimmed inside the bowl for what felt like an eternity as if deliberately picking out the name she liked best.

"And our female tribute is... Marin Odair."

Time stopped. The murmurs of the crowd turned to a collective gasp. From where he and the other victors stood, Finnick's face, usually so composed, mirrored my shock. This should be a moment of honor for me. After all, I was prepared for the arena like the other boys and girls within the Reaping's age range. But I couldn't shake the feeling of dread. Having seen what Finnick and Annie had experienced on screen, I knew I had to put on a brave face. I nodded to him, a sad acknowledgment, before stepping forward. As I walked onto the stage, a vain hope for a volunteer faded with each silent second.

"You must be Finnick's sister," Tinsel cooed, her attempt at subtlety failing miserably. "Such beauty in your family." Her blatant fawning over Finnick was almost as painful as the silence that followed her call for volunteers.

Annie's whisper barely reached me. "I'm so sorry, Marin."

"It's... it's happening," I whispered back, a lump forming in my throat.

Tinsel's excitement was palpable as she walked to the bowl containing the names of the potential male tributes, once again taking her time before announcing the male tribute. "Max Masters."

The crowd's reaction was instant – a mixture of disbelief and sorrow. Max, just a child, looked lost as he approached the stage. The injustice hit me then – the Capitol's cruelty laid bare. I never thought forcing the younger age range to enter the arena was fair since it was a sure ticket to the grave.

When Tinsel called for volunteers, several voices from the group of 18-year-olds responded. Relief for Max, but a sinking feeling for me. Why the eagerness to replace him but not me? I was glad to know that Max didn't have to go anymore, and I concluded my situation was guaranteed because I was a victor's family member. District 4 must've wanted their versions of Cashmere and Gloss and knew that since I hadn't volunteered in the past, I had to be Reaped.

The selected volunteer, Zale Nolan, was confident, almost a tad cocky, and had even flashed a wink my way. As Tinsel's theatrics continued, her gaudy mannerisms starkly contrasted the occasion's solemnity. As she wrapped an arm around each of us, I exchanged a bewildered glance with Finnick.

The Mayor's reading of the Treaty of Treason was a blur, not that I needed to hear them since I had already memorized Snow's speech by heart and didn't need to be reminded of the Capitol's "generosity" with the Games' victor. My last glimpse of the crowd was cut short when the  Peacekeepers ushered us away, and inside the Justice Building, the finality of the situation sank in. I was a tribute in the Hunger Games; everything had just changed.