How I Went Insane ~An Annie Cresta Story~

~Annie POV~

I love the water. I was even, according to my Dad's legend, born in the water, on our own small fishing boat. Water soothes me. The waves rock me gently, to the point of lulling me to sleep. Even if I'm not in the water, just the mere sound of the ocean puts me to rest.

I can do flips and backflips and splits in the water, letting the waves manipulate me. Sometimes, I dive down to the sandy bottom, just to remind Keith that I can.
Keith is my older brother. I'm sixteen, he's nineteen.

He somehow ended up with sandy blonde hair, even if the rest of our family has, or had, dark hair. I say had because of my mother's death when I was eight. An awful hurricane came in and wiped out all of the huts on the shore, ours included, and killed her.

I try not to think about it. All of the Crestas, however, have sea-green eyes. Keith, while being older, isn't the best swimmer. Most of the population of District Four can swim, aside from young children, the elderly, and the beggars, but Keith never really learned.

He can stay afloat, but not what one could call "swimming." I tease him about it all the time. He's an expert fisherman, however, so I gave no worries about him finding a wife.

I make the nets that he fishes with. I work well with rope, being able to manipulate it and twist it to my will.

Even now, as I swim gracefully through the water, I grin as I think of the complicated knot I'd just mastered. I dive down to the bottom, letting the sand tickle my feet. As I surface, the water pushes my ling hair from my face.

"Annie!" Keith calls from the shore.

"Keith!" I call, smiling.

"Come on! Get out!" he whines.

I grin. "Why? Can't come in here and get me yourself?"

"No, the Reaping is in twenty minutes and you're soaking wet!" I immediately swim for the shore, taking long strokes. I loathe the Reaping, and it's just like me to forget it was today.

I crash onto the shore with the waves, scramble up, sling my bag over my shoulder, and sprint barefoot across the sand for our house.

"I'm here!" I yell as I enter the house, running for my room.

"Hurry up, Annie! We need to leave in fifteen minutes!" Dad calls. I wring my hair out, letting the salt water drip to the floor, and yank a brush through my hair. I change out of my dripping swimsuit and throw on a sundress that matches the color of my eyes. I step into sandals with small shells on them before flinging my door open and bolting for the door.

"Right on time," Keith says, smirking.

"I usually am," I reply, sticking my tongue out.

"Quit it, you two. We're going to be late," Dad reminded us. I dragged my feet along the sidewalk, sighing. "Walk like you swim, Annie." This was Dad's catchphrase. I'm the fastest swimmer I know, but the slowest walker, so he always told me this.

We passed sullen parents and young girls. We didn't have a volunteer this year for the girls, but the boys did. The boys usually had a volunteer, and a brave girl would sometimes crop up and volunteer.

Four was technically a what was known to the other districts as a "Career District." What they were mistaken about was that it was mostly One and Two that were the big Careers. Four would sometimes crank out a victor or two, but our most recent was five years back, in the 65th Annual Hunger Games.

Finnick Odair, a legend in all of Panem. He might as well be a god. But not like Neptune or Poseidon, gods of the sea and protectors of our district. A sex god. Ever since he's turned sixteen, he's been hounded by Capitol women and, sometimes, men.

He'll go with them all, thin or fat, man or woman, hideous or only somewhat hideous. This is why I've decided I loathe Finnick Odair. He's my brother's age, nineteen, and he'll mentor our male tribute this year.

Our other mentor, Mags, is old and frail, about seventy or eighty. She's had a stroke, so her words are slightly garbled and hard to understand, but we can mostly manage. I'm sure when she speaks to people from other districts, they can't understand her, between her district accent and speech.

Our escort this year is Crystal Hallsworth. She always flirts with Finnick, and her accent is ridiculous. Her hair is blonde, but very shimmery, and she loves to wear tight bodysuits with high heels.

I look longingly toward the ocean, wishing I could skip the Reaping and spend all day in the waves.

"Names?" I blink and return to reality. A stern-looking lady with her brown hair pulled into a tight bun is holding a clipboard, looking at us through horn-rimmed glasses.

"Ken, Keith, and Annie Cresta," Dad tells her. She checks our name off of the list, and motions me toward the sixteen-year-old girls section.

"Good luck, Annie," Keith tells me.

"Thanks," I say, smiling a little. My hair is dry now, so I run my hands through it, letting it hang straight down my back. We're a few of the last people here.

I get stuck on the outside of my section, feeling shunned as the other girls flip their hair and giggle and look at Finnick.

"The only good thing about being Reaped would be him. Don't you agree?" the girl beside me whispers to her friends, who giggle and nod vigorously.

I look up to the stage, and Finnick is up there, the wind playing with his hair, a smile creeping onto his lips. His sandy-blonde hair is in his usual tousled style, and his eyes are flitting around, making eye contact with several girls.

His eyes lock on mine for a second, and I turn away. Our mayor comes up then, and walks smoothly over to the podium.

"Welcome to the Reapings for the 70th Annual Hunger Games." A few boys cheer. "I'm going to start by reading the Treaty of Treason and the History of Panem." Groans. No one likes the boring speeches.

It's about how Panem broke out of the ashes of some place called North America, thirteen districts and a Capitol. The districts rebel, and District Thirteen is wiped out completely, and thus started the Hunger Games, seventy years ago. He reads off our list of victors.

A few are dead, but there's still Sapphire, Reid, Helia, Mags, and Finnick. A group of girls cheer when Finnick's name is called, and he smiles and waves to the crowd.

"I'd like to introduce our escort this year, Crystal Hallsworth." Our escort teeters over, smiling in such a way that you can clearly see her molars.

"Who's ready for this year's spectacular Hunger Games?!" she calls. A few people cheer again. "I feel so honored to be able to represent District Four and get to know such wonderful people!" Her eyes sneak over to Finnick when she says this. "As usual, we'll start with the girls!"

My stomach flips upside down. I close my eyes and think, Water, water, water. After this, I'll go swim in the water. I'll make fun of Keith for not getting in the water. Things will be normal.

My eyes are still closed when Crystal calls the name. "Our lucky tribute this year will be . . . Annie Cresta! Congratulations!"

Annie Cresta? Where have I heard that name before? It sounds so familiar. . . . That's . . . That's my name! They called my name! Have I been Reaped? Is this some sick turn of events?

Will I be dead in a week?

In a daze, I force my suddenly stiff legs to walk up to the stage. I'm not fully aware as I shake Crystal's hand, which is clothed in a purple this year, from her bodysuit.

"Nice to meet you," she whispers, and I nod slightly, still not quite believing this isn't some horrible dream. I go to stand on the girls side of the stage, in front of Finnick and Mags.

I slowly survey the crowd. A few girls are still sighing dreamily at Finnick, a few boys are looking nervous, despite the fact that there's a volunteer this year.

I pause. There isn't a volunteer for the girls this year. I have no friends, either, so there's no getting out of this. I feel sick. I feel like crying. I feel like curling into a ball. I feel like swimming.

Crystal's voice snaps me out of my sorrow. "Mark Parrow!" she calls cheerfully, and a seventeen-year-old with jet black hair strides up to the stage. "Are there any volunteers for Miss Annie Cresta?" Crystal asks.

No one moves. I feel panic bubbling inside of me. I want to scream and drop to the ground, thrashing around. But I don't. Instead, tears slide uncontrollably down my face. Tears are the one kind of water that doesn't comfort me.

"How about for Mr. Mark Parrow?"

"I will!" a boy calls, throwing his hand in the air and making his way to the stage. He's eighteen, with shaggy brown hair and hazel eyes. He's rather tall, too. "I'm Paul Whaler."

Mark sighs with relief and steps down. "Well, then, let's welcome District Four's tributes, Paul Whaler and Annie Cresta!"

I can't help it. I break down into hysterical sobs, because at this point, it's clear no one will come forth to rescue me, that this isn't a dream, and I'll be dead in a mere week.

How'd ya like it? Was it absolutely amazing? Terribly awful? Don't y'all love Finnick and Annie as much as I do? They're so flippin' adorable together!
~Foxface ^-_-^