Sugarcubes // Finnick Odair - Hunger Games Fanfic

I.

"Fucking hell Terry!" I scream at the sight of my one and only friend in this fucked up district, pulling out my axe that's now lodged deep into the tree behind him, having missed his skull by inches. "I told you-we've been over this. You don't interrupt me in the middle of a session. This is the third time this month that you could've died."

I just receive an annoying smirk in return, "Yeah, missing three whole times even after all that practice. You should work on that aim." He pats my on the back and takes the axe from me, feigning weakness and dropping it at me feet a few centimeters away from my exposed big toe that's chewing through a hole in my shoe. I've gone through this at least once everyday, so I don't even flinch, just picking up my axe from the ground and glaring at him.

"If the axe touches the ground once more because of you I swear to god you are sharpening it today evening." I say punching him in the shoulder.

He gives me a look of mock terror.

"Oh Kendria! Please don't do this to me! Forgive me!" He shrieks, making me instantly look around for peacekeepers coming our way.

"Oh, calm down they're not here. They're never this far in the woods - plus it's that time of the year." He says in response to my paranoia.

I roll my eyes at him: to let him know I'm displeased, and sit down on a small rock in the middle of these vast trees. District 7 is the lumber district: providing wood for the Capitol consumption. It's a weird thing to provide, because it's the only thing you don't really think about how much you need. Even coal, from the poorest district, gets used in its natural form for trains and fire, but lumber is never remembered. District 7 is never remembered. Because it's a district that's snug at the middle, not doted on by the capitol, not ignored, not rich, not poor, not important, not unimportant.

It well and truly sucks.

Everyone expects people from Districts 9 and up to be well off – but that's not the case with me. I lost my mom at the age of 4, due to childbirth. She died giving birth to Lia, my baby sister. My dad stuck around long enough to teach me the basics of the axe in the lumber yard, and to go over some carving techniques before he also got himself killed because he couldn't keep his damn mouth shut. My family has never been very Pro-Capitol. My father never bothered to keep those feelings to himself, not even for the sake of his three children at home. I hate the capitol as well, but I know that if something happens to me, the chances of survival for my family are slim. So, I take out my frustration in the lumber yard with my axe instead of on a podium with a microphone unlike my idiot father. It was his idiocy that got him killed as I entered my first reaping, at the age of twelve, where I put my name in once more every month because I now had a family to support.

Tesserae. That, and my art of carving is the only reason we've made it so far. The Capitol offers a small ration of grain and oils per month in exchange for putting your name in the reaping bowl more times. As I turn sixteen, my name will be in the bowl 64 times. The odds aren't in my favor of not getting picked this year.

"How's Danny-boy?" Terry questions, pulling me out of my thoughts again.

It's all I can do not to cry then and there, but I'm sure that my eyes glass over, because he seems close to taking back the question when he looks at me again.

"I don't know. He's not getting better. His fever isn't coming down. The doctor said he didn't know what was happening and then proceeded to take all my remaining gold for 'consultation fees'," I tell him, moving closer to him. He puts a hand over my shoulders and rubs my back comfortingly. But there are no words that can comfort me now. Danny is dying. We all know it.

We sit in a minute of silence, all the while I debate one option. I could go into the games. If I win, as victor, I'd be provided passage to the Capitol whenever I liked. And that means I could take Danny to a real life capitol hospital. He could be fine again.

To volunteer or not to volunteer, I debate in my head, still slightly concerned that the idea came to my head in the first place.

"You know, it will get better-" Terry starts, but he's cut off.

"I'm going to do it," I say, making up my mind in that moment. "But I need you to take care of them until I come back. Please. It's worth the risk. He-he needs to get better, and he can only do that with capitol doctors. And I can only afford capitol doctors if," I say in a rush, knowing there's not much time before they start calling for the reaping. But he understands.

"I know. I'll tell them." He says. I've always loved Terry because of this. He never tries to tell me that I'm wrong or stupid. He supports me. Unconditionally.

"And if Danny gets picked-" I start, voicing my concern. I can save Lia if she gets picked, but I can't save Danny. It doesn't help that he's in no position to fight, barely able to stand for two minutes before collapsing into bed.

"I'll volunteer."

And that's when I see how much this friendship has grown. I look up at him with tears in my eyes, unable to believe I got this lucky in the best friend department.

He proceeds to help me clean up, both of us acting as though we didn't discuss the gloomy topic of the reaping this morning. I put my axe back in the well concealed hole in one of the tree trunks and stuff all the carved knives, blades and various other items in my bag. Then we head back out of the forest, climbing a few trees for the last bits of fun this morning before we part ways. He heads for Victor's Village and me for the slums of District 7.

Victor's Village is where the Victor's of the hunger games reside. The Victors, and their children. District 7 has won 5 times as of today, with only two living Victors.

Published: 27th August 2022