*~Small World ~*
Our get-ups for the Tribute Parade were drastically less than mundane. To make up for the time our lethargic styling team spent lolling around instead of taking on our costumes, they spent 20 minutes (and that's rounding up) installing a lousy projector to the base of the chariot, screening a moving image of waves onto our dull, white, body suit. Our look came off as amateur District 3 technology and I could feel everybody in District 4 back home cringing in repulsion. I know was. I cannot help but ponder that this low-class treatment is a result of what I did back at the Reaping. The vision-less teenager kept wondering the reason I was scoffing to myself, but I couldn't disenchant her confident hope.
I need some sleep. God, I need some sleep. Little Finnick is frisking my mind and possibly he understands that without me, he wouldn't have a chance. If he came to that conclusion I wouldn't know what to do with myself. I have, yet again, failed somebody I care for.
It was nightfall but the only way I knew that was the transparent clock hologrammed onto my room's wall. The tribute rooms in the Capitol tried to fill that void of death by ultimately giving you what you have slaved over for your whole existence. And the existence before that. The lounge room, which was less than a stone's throw from my door, constantly streamed the Gamemakers reviewing the bets for every tribute. On the sides of the broadcast showed the bidding of all 24. All 4 tributes of 1 and 2 were all high up, no surprise. But what did surpise me was the male tribute of District 8 was second to the highest bet. District 8 was conclusively the poorest of the poor which, like the other outer Districts, rarely won. I passed it aside confusingly to search for Nerina and I. At number 5 stood Nerina Actassi which sickened me no doubt. The Capitol people knew she had no chance but bet on her anyway because, what? She was unique? To see how she would play out? I didn't even bother to check my standings. And that was when I peered down to find Nerina toe to toe with me. Her nose an inch from my chest. I was probably so silent she thought I was the door. She must of heard me gasp because she responded with a "My Harry!"
"My...Nerina! Wanted to chat? I can't blame you. It's uh...lonely."
"Yes, green-eyed Harry. Can I come in?" though she was already making her way into my room. A second from trampling over a desk chair before I maneuvered her to the edge of the bed. The huge hologram of a waterfall splattered over her face, casting shadows on her cheekbones.
I was in a trance with the facade of the waterfall that I noticed Nerina doesn't have anything visual to distract herself like I did.
"Do you miss your family?" I striked up conversation.
Ignoring her immediate family, she responds: "I miss my uncle and cousin."
"What are they like?"
"My uncle is a very bad man. He refuses to feed my cousin the shrimp he nets and instead trades them for...pleasure."
District 4 is either wound up into training or adultery. And my heart aches for the victims.
"They why do you still love him?"
She shrugs her shoulders roughly. Causing a collection of russet hair to fall from her back.
"What happened to your cousin then?"
"He ran away from my uncle. We don't know where he is anymore. I would help look but...I've got no eyes. I want Finnick to come back to us."
He told me his father was poor. All this time he was too embarrassed to admit his dad has fallen sick to adultery and greed. He has never mentioned his family. It all made sense. If he told me who he was related to, I would find out he was dubbed missing. But there was one element not blending together. It closed one door but opened 20 gaping windows. Who are Nerina's parents? And why didn't they help Finnick?