Finnick's POV
It's a silver trident, sharp-edged and humming with a sinister energy. I swirl the thing around a few times, and the weapon connects with me somehow- the anger throbs inside both of us; intent on killing. Intent on destroying and maiming the people who changed our life this way. Snow.
The very thought that his name resonates with our District's forte is disheartening- water creates snow, and snow creates water. It's a silly thing to think about, but it hurts me nevertheless. Gemima's whispered words in my ear, as she pressed her body to mine last night in the Capitol, still ring in my ears.
'Snow killed over and over to ascend up the ranks. His secrets are disbelieving gossip..Finnick, don't ever give him the chance to reprimand you- else who will I make out with? Poor Gemima needs you Finnick baby..Beware of..' I stopped her words with a kiss that I didn't have the heart in. If my sole reason to live in this world is to be a plaything of numerous women; I'm better off in Heaven. I run the trident down my bare chest, and it leaves long white scratches, some of which have little drops of red; as if a cat has clawed over me. The women in the Capitol won't appreciate it, but it's a good thought to die with- them crying over my body. But then it repulses me, the mere fact that they only care for my body.. And now I'm choosing a spot near my heart to stab- a noose would have been less painful, but I rather want my blood to be spattered; another innocent's life taken by Snow- and one, place the trident perpendicular to my chest; two, prick the place right over my heart; and three, Staaab..
The bell rings. I throw the trident away in frustration. God. They won't even leave a man in peace when he wants to die. I consider leaving the door unattended, but some impulse forces me to go. Perhaps giving up my life is not easy as I thought it would be.
'Trinkets! Lockets and charms! What would you like, Mister Odair?' A young woman, bundled in a long and shabby overcoat shoves a tray and a box full of knick-knacks in my face. My anger at having been foiled doesn't keep at bay. I've become something of a joke at the Victor's Village, the man who won the Games and the Dames. And now they visit me in droves with stupid potions and love-letters. My own District that provided me in the Games, has turned against me now with unflinching honesty. 'Shoot! Leave me alone, woman! As if it isn't enough that I'm being tortured by the Capitol, stupid people like you have to come in barging like that-' And I slam the door right in her face, but not before I see her descending the steps; her long brown hair dancing in the wind.
I mutter a string of curses as I walk around agitated in my home. It's horrible indeed, not having anything to call my own- not this house, not my body, not my life even.
She calls again the next day, at the same time. But this time I'm not attempting to take my life; rather, I'm doing something constructive- burning the boquets and silk clothes they've sent me by the dozen. They're stained with the blood and wrongdoings of the Capitol- why else would they raise up such a stench? The smoke is rather overpowering, and as I open the door, I feel quite good- my own little rebellion gives me great pleasure. As a result, I'm inclined to give this girl a second thought. She doesn't have her tray today; but she clasps a little tub in her right hand. Her flowy long hair swirls around her in a mystic way, and for a few seconds I'm enraptured by the vision of her- she has plain black eyes, alive with joy,her lips are full and pink, and there is an air of innocence and beauty about her. She hasn't been harmed yet- she's a carefree soul. 'Mister Odair, I got you something for that' she says, pointing at my chest. 'What?' I look down, and see what she sees- there are the great big scars I gave myself yesterday, obscured by the fine white fabric of my half-buttoned shirt. 'Oh' I say rather self-consciously, as she hands me the tub of paste in her hand.
'It's a potent thing, Mister Odair- It can heal those scars in a night. I know you hurt yourself, but I won't let that happen again.' She takes a little paste with her fingers and swipes it rather hastily against my chest. 'You can do the rest, can't you?' she implores, and I feel like laughing. The hawkers and vendors who visit me have always been the snide, leering ones, the idiots who hide their intentions with charming words; and I could never really tolerate them. But something about this girl is different- she cares for me, and she remembers our previous encounter, and has the heart to bring me something when I scolded her before. I smile at her. She waves affably, and turns to leave; when I exclaim- 'Wait! You didn't let me pay you for this!'
