The Story of a Mad Girl [Annie Cresta x Finnick Odair THG Fanfic]

Tradition

(Annie's POV)

"Seashell!"
"Come on, its time!"
"Annie, you need to wake up!"

With the feeling of a slight nudge, my eyes flicker open. I see my father sitting on my bedside with his hand on my shoulder.

"Hey, Seashell, it's time to wake up. We don't want to miss it!" my father's voice calls from beside me.

Yawning, I stretch my arms and sit up to look at my dad, and while rubbing my sleepy eyes to reply, "I'm almost eighteen, I think I'm getting too old for nicknames don't you?"

Grinning from my remark, he jokes, "Not until your old and wrinkly like me" and leans over and to place a kiss on my freckled nose.

Laughing, I ask, "How long do I have?"

With my question, he turns to look out my window. The sky outside is clear but still stained black by night. His brows furrow as he responds, "I'd say about ten minutes, I've already made the tea so just put on something quick and meet me out there okay?"

I nod. Satisfied with my response, my father slides off my bed and leaves my room, closing my bedroom door behind him. I grab my covers and throw them off me as I hurry off of the bed and walk over to my mirror. With my bright green eyes staring back at me, I reach over to a bail of water on the table beside my mirror and cleanse my face. I then turn my attention to my hair, reaching the end of my long autumn braid to untie it, letting my copper curls loose. After giving my hair a quick brush, I turn to my closet and pick out the only dress I have. I take off my nightgown and pull on the short cream strapless dress. Zipping the back, I turn back to my mirror for the final approval.

This dress was my mom's wedding dress. My father gave it to me after she died to help me feel closer to her. I gaze over my reflection, starting with the cinched waist; I work my way up, glancing over my protruding collarbones. I quickly brush my hair forward to cover them. Four was never a poor District like District Twelve. However, food was becoming scarcer, and it was starting to show. Finally deciding I looked okay, I left my room and rushed through the house towards the front door where my dad was waiting patiently with two flasks.

Hearing the front door open, he turned and smiled at my outfit.

"No shoes?" He laughed.

"I want to feel the sand today," I reply as I look out toward the coastline. Today is the last day of our tradition. Every year on this day, my father and I watch the sunrise. The memories of previous years begin to flood my mind making me smile and look back towards my father. I see his eyes lower to examine my dress, and his smile weakens.

"She will be watching over you today," he whispers as if to hide the falter in his voice. It's only been seven years since my mother passed away, but we still think about her often. I inherited most of my physical traits from my mother, so in this dress, I must remind him of her.

"I know, that's why I wear it," I reply confidently. My father nods, and we take off towards the beach. After a few minutes, we reach the beach, and I can feel the cold sand caressing my bare feet. I can smell the salt from the ocean, and despite the crisp morning air, I feel warm again. My mother always loved the sea. She would take me down to the beach all the time. We would free drive (holding our breath for minutes at a time which scared my father to death) to collect seashells so she could make jewelry to sell with the fishing nets my father made. I would always find the biggest and most beautiful shells, which eventually led my father to start calling me "Seashell." During those days, I also learned how to work with knives to cut and tie knots for the nets. Cutting my memory short, my father asks, "How about here?"

I nod as he hands me a flask, and we sit down on the sand. As I open mine, the aroma of warm vanilla tea fills my nose, and the steam caresses my frostbitten cheeks. We sat there in silence for a few minutes, sipping our tea and enjoying the sound of crashing waves. I begin drawing circles in the sand to pass the time until I feel my father nudge my shoulder.

"Look, Ann! Here it comes," he says excitedly, pointing towards the horizon.

I look up and see the sky begin to lighten. The dark blue haze is giving way to the yellowish-orange radiance of the sunrise. We look upon the rising sun in awe, and I close my eyes and feel its rays warming me. For a moment, I feel safe, protected by the sun's warmth. But like the tide, that feeling quickly recedes, and I'm left thinking about today. Reaping day.