Finnick Odair 6. 5th Hunger Games (fanfic) - Page 4. He felt the flames warm the surface of the water; he could almost feel the fire’s rage at being unable to devour him while the water protected him. Air bubbles trickled past his lips, brushing his cheek in a gentle tease. The 65th Hunger Games took place 9 years prior to the start of the series. These Hunger Games were won by Finnick Odair of District 4 when he was only fourteen. Finnick Odair was a male victor from District 4. Finnick won the 65th Hunger Games at the age of 14, where he was mentored by the previous District 4 victor, Mags. FINNICK ODAIR - A HUNGER GAMES FAN FILM Enter the. the dangerous arena of The 65th Annual Hunger Games. Finnick Odair is a famous character. Finnick Odair (Character. for The 65th Hunger Games. to be the most expensive gift ever received in the history of the games. Finnick became extremely popular. Follow/Fav Finnick's Games The 65th Hunger Games. By. Lucia Twill, with her frizzy light blue hair that reminded fourteen year old Finnick Odair of clouds. Finnick Odair was the Victor of the 65th Annual Hunger Games and one of District 4's Mentors. He. Finnick Odair was the Victor of the 65th Annual Hunger Games and. Finnick Odair - The 65th Hunger Games Jaime Graham. FINNICK ODAIR - A HUNGER GAMES STORY - FAN FILM - Duration: 18:28. Joshua Chislett 343,929 views.
Fear struck him then. He was weak, and therefore unable to hold his breath as long as usual. He would have to surface, and soon…and the fire still roared above him, and he was too weak to tread water for a prolonged time. How on Earth was he going to get out of this predicament? With great reluctance, Finnick swam about a hundred metres upstream, back towards the Cornucopia. He pulled himself onto the bank, and flopped in the mud. He felt drained. He just wanted to leave the arena. He heard footsteps, with renewed energy he leapt to his feet, trident in one hand and the net in the other, ready. The first tribute burst from the treeline. He didn’t even get close. Finnick threw the net, entangling the girls legs, Finnick ran forward and stabbed her through the heart. The cannon boomed. The next hour or so, he had lost track of time, Finnick rounded up the remaining tributes as they fled from the trees. Fire illuminated the horizon, decorating the dying tributes with a mocking beauty. His net flew through the air trapping arms and legs alike. One tribute, eyes wide like a petrified lamb. Finnick saw that they were broken. The games had robbed them of the last thing they had. Their sanity. Disgusted he thrust his tritent between the boys ribs. Blood oozed from the wound, but his death was quick. Finnick didn’t know how many tributes were alive, but he kept fighting, though wary enough to stay well back from the trees. He didn’t want to go any nearer the fire than he had to. The tributes will come to him. After Finnick had killed three tributes, it happened. One of the careers appeared, but they were almost unrecognisable. Half of his face had been burnt, and blackened. The other half was shiny red and blistered. Blood dribbled down his eyes, and his hair was practically gone. One eye was swollen shut, but looked more like it had melted due to his excessive burns. Finnick shuddered in revulsion and fear, and hefted his trident ready. The tribute from District One was dying. They both knew it. It was only a question of whether he died before he could hurt Finnick, or if Finnick, who was at the point of exhaustion, would tire first and falter in his attack. The boy stayed with his back close to the edge of the trees, looking almost like a mutt himself. The stark contrast of his burnt and mutilated flesh, to the silhouette of the trees and the blazing bright fire above him, made him appear uglier. The flames danced in the boys eyes. It told Finnick that this tribute still had some fight left, despite his dire circumstances. He wasn’t broken, or scared. He wanted to live. He wanted to win. The boy from District One, remarkably, had managed to keep hold of his sword. He slowly spun the handle around his fingers. His fingers clenched tight on the grip, and loosened. This would be a close fight. The boy from District One, prepared to attack, Finnick bent his knees, ready to meet his attack. The boy charged. It looked awkward, clearly the back of his legs were burnt too. Finnick tried to counter by throwing his net at the tributes feet, but the boy slashed it with his sword and leapt over it. Finnick stabbed forward with his trident, trying to keep the boy at a distance, but he dodged around it and plunged a dagger into Finnicks stomach. Finnick doubled over in pain. His free hand grasping the gaping wound. Blood poured from his body in thick rivulets. His fingers came away sticky with blood. Black spots appeared in front of his eyes, temporarily blocking his sight of the boy. Finnick realised he was kneeling on the floor, his trident clenched tight in his fight on the ground. It hurt to move. It hurt to breath. Shit’ he thought, ‘that’s gonna cause problems’ with enormous effort, he managed to get to his feet before collapsing again. Shit!’ it was worst then he thought. The boy from District One lashed out brutally kicking Finnick in the side of his head, knocking him to the floor. The boy swung his sword in a wide arc, but Finnick rolled at last second, and the sword stuck in ground. As he heaved the blade from the ground, Finnick dived forward with the last of his strength. He knocked the boy backwards. Had it been level ground, he probably wouldn’t of even stumbled. Unfortunately, he was standing on the bank of the lake. His foot came down, but the ground was further then he was expecting, and he fell backwards. His head hit a rock with a sickening crack. What was left of his hair had blood dying thick across it. But there was still life in his body, And Finnick pushed his weight forward, and forced the boys head beneath the water. His deformed body thrashed, almost throwing Finnick off, but Finnick was muscly, and kept his knees locked. Keeping the pressure on the boys jaw. Bubbles exploded across the surface of water, as the boy scrambled to free himself from Finnick and the water. He couldn’t breathe.’ His lungs must feel like they are on fire’. Finnick thought. He himself had nearly drowned once. It was not a pleasant way to die, but he had no strength to do anything else, so he held the struggling, burnt boy beneath the water, until his thrashing weakened, and then, finally ceased. He held him a minute more, in case it was a trick, but the boy was lifeless. Already his body started to feel clammy and cold. A cannon blasted. Finnick sighed heavily, and with enormous effort, rolled off the body. He had no strength to move further. His vision was almost completely black, he felt cold. Death was enveloping his body like a welcome embrace. He hears dimly, an echoing voice, “Citizens of Panem, I give you your victor, Finnick Odair!” He managed a slight grimace if a smile. This was no victory. He was drowning in blood, figuratively and literally. Even if the Capitol fixed his wounds, he knew he could not go back. The Games had changed him. He had lost his own identity. That was no victory. Just before he blacked out completely, he saw a claw descending towards him, dangling from a hovercraft. His last conscious thought was “I’m coming Annie. I’m coming home.”.
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December 2016
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