no escape from reality.

finnick

( plastic smiles and paper kisses )

:: Runner-Up for Best Oneshot in the Winter 2010 The Hunger Games FanFiction Awards ::

disclaimer: not mine.

Is this the real life?
Is this just fantasy?
Caught in a land slide
No escape from reality.
- Bohemian Rhapsody, Queen

Finnick Odair.

How I've come to hate that name, I think as I sit down heavily in a chair in the infirmary. I watch an unconscious Katniss in her hospital bed, wishing I could sleep too. I haven't been able to lately. Nightmares. Every time I close my eyes, Annie is waiting, screaming as the Capitol people torture her, trying to get information out of her.

I bring my hands to my head, rubbing my temples with my fingers. Finnick Odair, I think again. I grunt in disgust.

That name is the cause of so many of my troubles…

"And District 4's male tribute for the 65th Hunger Games is..." Our ridiculous, blue-skinned escort, Rhea Preston, pulls out a crisp, white slip of paper from the large glass ball, and smoothes it out on the wooden podium in front of her before opening her mouth and squeaking out in that annoying Capitol accent, "Finnick Odair!"

I suck in a breath suddenly. In that moment, more than any other in my lifetime, I wish with every fiber of my being that my name was not Finnick Odair.

Maybe this is just a dream, I think desperately. Yeah. This is a dream. I just have to wake up is all. I pinch myself with high hopes. They're immediately crushed when Rhea calls out, "Finnick? Are you out there?"

I shake myself. I know I need to look strong for this. I force a cocky smile on my face and raise my hand, starting forward for the stage. "Right here."

"Oh! There you are!" Rhea trills. She sounds like a mouse, squeaking like that.

I stride up the steps, seemingly confident. Inside I'm screaming. No. No no no no no no. "Yes, I'm here." Time for some acting, I think dejectedly. "And I'm so glad I am." I wink at her.

Even though I'm just fourteen and she's… ancient, Rhea blushes and giggles. "Oh. Well, I am too!" She shoots me a blinding smile. "Finnick."

It's then that I decide I don't really care all that much for that name.

I flinch as the memory comes back. I clamp my hands over my ears, as if it will staunch the flow of memories flooding back into my mind. It's all too vivid, too real. I can't bear to think of my Games. I never want to go back there. And yet, I'm forced to, every year since I won. I won. I think. What exactly did I win?

"Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you the victor of the 65th Hunger Games, Finnick Odair, the male tribute of District 4!" Claudius Templesmith's voice blares out of the Capitol speakers in the arena.

For the second time in less than a month, I wish wholeheartedly that I had a different name. That the person up there, in the screen in the sky, that person covered in blood, a small smile on his face, waving with one hand and clutching a golden trident in the other, wasn't me. Finnick Odair, I think miserably. I'm the winner.

What did I win, exactly? Nothing. Fame and fortune, life as a victor, it was all nothing. Not when twenty-three families in Panem were all weeping, grieving for their dead children, children who were gone because of me.

Finnick Odair.

How I loathe that name.

I smile sadly as I remember. I more or less had wished that I could have been like some of the victors when they won, celebrating and whooping, pushing the thoughts of the twenty-three teenagers whose eyes would never again see, whose mouths would never again smile, whose bodies would never again live, to the backs of their minds. But I wasn't. When I won, I just stood there, a grim look dominating my face, and waited to be picked up by the hovercraft.

After that, I went back every year to mentor. I still remember that worst year, though. I feel sick suddenly, thinking about it. I put one hand over my stomach and close my eyes.

They rigged it! They must have! It takes all I have within me not to jump up and start punching anyone Capitol-related. Annie. Annie's going to the 70th Hunger Games. This is impossible. She never took out tesserae. The odds were in her favor. She's eighteen, one year from being safe forever. Safe from the monstrosities of the Hunger Games.

I knew I shouldn't have gotten close to her. I knew I should have been more discreet. But it was all over now, and Annie was headed to the Games.

.::.

"Any last advice?" Annie asks, her face solemn.

"Don't die?" I joke, a smile playing on my lips.

"Finnick, I'm serious," she scolds, but I can tell that she's trying not to laugh.

"Fine, fine. Stay alive."

Annie can't help it now. She's laughing that wonderful, intoxicating laugh of hers, and it's so contagious that before I know it, I'm laughing too.

When we've finished, I wrap her in a hug and tell her, "I'm serious, though. You have to come out of there alive, okay? You promise?"

"I promise," she mumbles into my shirt.

"Good." I say, kissing the top of her head. I savor these last few moments with her. I have a terrible feeling that this may be the last chance I have to say it, so before I can stop myself I blurt out, "I love you, Annie Cresta."

She looks up at me, smiling. "I love you too, Finnick Odair."

As she says that, I actually kind of like my name.

.::.

No. I think. No. Annie's lost it. She's just screaming now, screaming long and hard. Her partner's head is disconnected from his body, lying on the ground near her feet. She has no chance of winning now. That boy, Tristan Raley, was her protection, her security. Annie only pauses in screaming to kill the girl that beheaded her partner, striking with her sword, slashing over and over until the girl's body is nothing but a mutilated, bloody mess. Then she sinks to her knees and starts sobbing, horribly loud, pained sobs.

Annie has no chance now. She's not stable. She's not in her right mind. She's not going to win. She can't win.

I accept it. Annie's not coming back to me. Ever.

.::.

I stare at her in disbelief. Is this girl on the hospital bed in front of me really here? Really alive? I approach her and touch her forehead lightly with my fingertips, brushing her hair out of her face.

Annie's eyes shoot open as my fingers leave her face. "Annie?" I ask.

"Who are you?" she asks suspiciously. "What are you doing here? Where's Tristan?"

"Annie… Tristan's dead."

"What? I thought he was with me. Where are all my weapons? You took them," she accuses.

"No, I didn't. Annie, you're not in the Games anymore."

"Who are you? Where's Tristan?" She's screaming now. She wails and screams, pushing her hands over her ears.

"Annie! It's me! Finnick Odair! Don't you remember?"

She just sobs.

And then, I hate my name more than ever. Because Annie doesn't even recognize it anymore.

I hate the Capitol for doing this. For doing that to Annie. I guess I was right, all along. Annie never came back. I let out a pitiful little laugh. "She broke her promise," I whisper to no one in particular.

I look around the room. The electric lights cast a synthetic yellow glow on the dingy, whitewashed walls. The hum of the engine can be heard throughout the craft.

Katniss hadn't taken the news about District 12 well. But after her shock, she sunk back into unconsciousness, and her friend, Gale, left. I sit here, watching her, simply because I have nothing else to do. I can't bear any more planning, and I'm tired of pacing.

I've always been fascinated with Katniss. Since I've joined the rebellion, I've heard nothing but good words about her. I always wondered if she was really all that great.

Katniss Everdeen, I think as I look around the room. There she is. She's standing by her chariot, stroking the horse's neck. She's dressed in a fitted black unitard, and her face is done up with large amounts of dark makeup. She looks dangerous.

I'm curious to know if she's really all that they say she is. I wonder if the "Mockingjay" is what she's cracked up to be.

Well, only one way to find out. I think.

I slip into my mask, the one I wear around everyone save for a few people, like Mags and Annie, the one that gives off the appearance of indifference. "Sexy Finnick." I grab a few sugar cubes from the bucket on the wall and saunter over to Katniss, popping one of the sweet cubes in my mouth as I go. I lean down. "Hello, Katniss," I say coolly.

"Hello, Finnick." She says just as coolly. Except her voice is more like ice. She sounds almost… disgusted. It bothers me.

I shake it off and hold out my hand. "Sugar cube?" I ask. "They're supposed to be for the horses, but they have their whole lives to eat sugar. Whereas you and I…" my voice trails off. "Well, if we see something sweet, we'd better grab it quick."

Her gray eyes bore into me for a few moments before she replies, "No, thanks." She looks me up and down. "But I'd love to borrow your outfit sometime."

Ah. Sarcasm. Two can play at that game, Ms. Everdeen. "You are absolutely terrifying to me in that getup. What happened to the pretty little girl dresses?" I lick my lips ever so slightly, hoping to faze her. No response. What is she, a robot?

"I outgrew them." She says simply.

I finger the collar of her outfit. "It's too bad about this Quell thing," I say. "You could've made out like a bandit in the Capitol. Jewels, money, anything you wanted."

"I don't like jewels," she says, "And I have more money than I need. What do you spend all of yours on anyway, Finnick?"

"Oh, I haven't dealt with anything as common as money in years."

"Then how do you pay for the pleasure of your company?" she asks, tipping her head to one side.

"With secrets." I whisper. I tip my head so that my lips barely brush hers with every word. "What about you, Girl on Fire? Do you have any secrets worth my time?" Hah. Let's see you shake that one off.

She blushes, but besides that, no response. "No, I'm an open book," she whispers back. "Everyone seems to know my secrets before I know them myself."

"Unfortunately, I think that's true," I say, pulling back. I look past her head, seeing Peeta step out of the elevator. He doesn't look too pleased that I'm within this close proximity of his fiancée. "Peeta is coming," I comment. "Sorry you had to cancel your wedding. I know how devastating that must be for you." I pop another sugar cube in my mouth and walk away, not giving Katniss a second glance.

Huh. She really is unmovable. They picked the right person to represent the rebellion.

As I walk away, I can hear Peeta ask Katniss, "What did Finnick Odair want?" He sounds disgusted as he says my name… like Katniss did earlier.

Who is this person I've become? This, "Finnick Odair"? I wish that it wasn't me, but I know that it is.

That name has become the bane of my existence.

Katniss stirring rouses me from my reminiscent thoughts. She opens her eyes. "Where's Gale?" She asks, her voice devoid of emotion.

I shrug. "Dunno. He left after you fell asleep." She nods before fixing her eyes on a spot on the wall. She stares at it blankly until I leave. Her eyes dart to me once before moving back to their spot.

I close the door softly behind me. This is just all too much. I need to get out of here. I jog down the hall, stopping when I reach my room. I step inside, close the door, and sink onto my bed. I put my head in my hands and let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding. I don't cry. There's not enough left in me for that.

I look around the closet-like room they've given me. The only light is a stark light bulb, hanging alone in the middle of the ceiling. It casts an eerie golden glow across the room, making the shadows long and disfigured.

How did I even get here? It all started with the calling of my name, at that reaping ten years ago. Had it not been for that, I would be at home, safe, with Annie. I'd probably be a successful fisherman with a big family back in District 4. Happy, content. Not at all the mess I am now.

But what about the rebellion? Where would that be?

It sounds arrogant, but the rebellion wouldn't be as far along as it is now were it not for me. The Capitol knows I'm not content with the life they've given me. They know that I didn't rejoice in winning, that I felt the guilt of it all. That's why they rigged the reaping, I'm sure. To punish me. To take Annie away.

The rebellion represents one thing: freedom. Without that, I could never be truly happy. No one living in the Districts would. My name doesn't change that, nothing does. I'm doing this for everybody; Mags, myself, Annie.

I then realize how selfish I've been. As I'm sitting here, sulking, people are suffering. Annie is suffering. Others have suffered. How can I concentrate on my own personal sorrow when I know that it's contributing to the rebellion? This revolution could bring peace to so many people. It could destroy the Capitol, take down the Games, bring equality back again. No more hunger. No more dead teenagers. Simply, peace.

It's this thought that convinces me more than ever that I, Finnick Odair, must make it my mission to take down the Capitol.