AN: This is a character piece about Maysilee Donner: the brave, resourceful and original owner of the Mockingjay pin.
I've named Maysilee's sister myself since we know she had a twin sister (Marge's mother) who is never named. Hope you all don't mind! Haymitch will also feature strongly later.
Reaping
Children shouldn't have to deal with death.
That's one of my thoughts. One of my silly, unspoken thoughts that would get me into a heap of trouble, but it's true. I bet children in the Capitol do not have to face death on a daily basis. I bet food comes at the press of a button so they never go hungry. I bet they never see their friends starving in the street. I bet they never wake up in a cold sweat during the night before reaping.
I try to keep quiet. It's the middle of the night after all. I listen to the sound of my sister, breathing softly in the bed next to mine. Too softly. Only the craziest kids can sleep on a night like this, I think fondly. That was a particularly vicious nightmare. I try not to think about it, about what it means. Me and my sister holding angry looking spiked weapons, facing each other as a crowd cheers for our blood. I try to be rational. First of all, there would be no crowd in the actual arena. Secondly, the odds of me and Krista both being reaped are minimal. Though not impossible. Not this year.
I shake the thought away though terror washes through me, strong and astringent. I still remember the horror as the President made his announcement on the television a few months ago. They would require double the amount of tributes this year, he said. Two boys and two girls from each district. Twice the tributes, twice the carnage. How very entertaining.
I feel sick as I flop onto my side, pulling the bed sheets around me tighter. What did we expect? It's the fiftieth anniversary of the Hunger Games, the Quarter Quell. That meant something even more horrific just had to happen.
It's ridiculous to think that both I and Krista will be chosen. The odds are in our favour after all. I know I said I see death every day, and I do, but I'm also pretty lucky. My family, the Donners, live in the rich part of District 12, the merchant's side. That's still not very rich but it means we get by. We live above our little sweet shop that does alright, especially with the peacekeepers and the Mayor (a sweet tooth I guess). We've never come close to starving to death unlike some. My twin and I have never had to apply for tesserae. We never needed to add our names more times into the reaping in exchange for a meagre supply of oil and grain. Lucky.
I sigh. There is double the chance that me or my sister will be chosen this year. We're twins. Both fifteen. Equal chances. Our poor parents. We all knew it. Mum, Dad, Krista and I had our last meal together. Last dinner before reaping I mean, in case I sounded dramatic. There was something in the atmosphere that evening. We were quiet. There was no laughter. Mum hugged us extra hard before we sloped off to bed. Dad ruffled my hair like he hasn't done since I was little. Krista gave my hand a squeeze as we made our way to our room. We fell asleep like that, hands reaching across the gap between our beds. It feels like a gulf between us now.
"Maysilee?" I smile to myself. I knew she was breathing too evenly. She wasn't asleep in the first place.
"I'm awake," I say, flipping over so I can see her outline in the dark.
"Good," she says simply, before getting up and sliding into my bed. It's quite a struggle, as I had wound the sheets around me quite tightly.
She whispers, "It's like you're in a cocoon. Budge up fatty, let me in."
I huff like I mind when I really don't. I'm not fat either. No one can afford to be fat in District Twelve.
Krista is shaking. It's not cold in our room. There's always this muggy heat radiating from the smoky Seam. I wrap my arms around her, pulling her close. Krista releases a shuddery sigh as she holds me too.
"What if I-"
"You won't," I cut in before she can finish her sentence. I can't think about it. I won't.
"But if I do…" she insists, voice trailing off.
I trail my hand through her hair, down her back. I can't see in this proximity or darkness, but our hair is precisely the same golden shade of blond. We may not be identical, but she's still the other half of me. That's why she can't get chosen. I don't know what I'd do without her.
"Don't think about it." I aim to distract. And tease. It's my duty as big sister (only by two minutes but still). "Why don't you tell me more about that Undersee lad? He likes you…"
Krista stiffens her back a little, but refuses to rise to the bait. "Never mind him." She swallows audibly, "Krista. If I get chosen-"
"You-"
"If I get chosen," she butts in sternly. "You're not to volunteer. Yes?"
I'm shocked. It's the last thing I would have expected her to say. Take care of her cat? Sure. Look after our parents? Obviously. But this… My mouth falls open and I'm glad she can't see me in the dark. I'd look ridiculous.
How did she know? I had only considered it briefly, a quick scenario in my head. It had felt right. We always did have this spooky connection. Often would we say things at exactly the same time and burst into laughter. We'd do it on purpose to scare the other kids when we were younger. This goes beyond child's play. I wonder if she feels this deep sense of foreboding too. As if something sick and evil was creeping up on us ready to claim our happiness.
"I know how you think, May. And you're not to do it. Are we clear?"
There's no point in denying it then. Instead I seize this opportunity. "Well you can't volunteer for me either then." I declare triumphantly, before a flicker of uncertainly flares in my heart. Would she really volunteer for me? I know I would for her. Of course she would, if the angry breath puffed into my face is any indication.
"Hang on now-" she starts.
"Ah ah ah Krista Donner, fair is fair. I don't take your place, you can't take mine." I wonder if I really mean it. Could I really stand there and watch her be lead off into a fight to the death from which she'd never return?
She sits up abruptly and I follow suit.
"May…"
"Don't 'May' me. I'm your big sister now do as you're told."
It's meant to sound jokey, but comes out much more sternly than I had intended. Her breath hitches and she begins to shake again.
"Oh Kris." I pull her into a hug. "Neither of us is going to get chosen." Not the privileged kids. I briefly wonder if the words sound meaningless to her as well. If she can sense the self loathing in my voice. It's not my fault our parents are well off. It's not as if we run a place of any use. If we owned a bakery, I could smuggle the odd loaf out to my friends from the Seam. Sweets don't really help anyone in the long term. I sometimes think the other children at school hate us.
"Guess we better shake on it," Krista sighs, pulling away a little.
I grin as we conduct our mad handshake ritual. Spit into your left hand. Then the right, cross them over and shake…
"We need a more mature hand shake," I comment, rolling my eyes as we lie back down in my bed, inches apart. I can just see the outline of her face. Morning is coming without warning. Time always seems to go faster when you don't want a day to come. I suppose it's better to get it over with. So life can go back to normal. Or not.
I say: "So to sum up, if I get chosen…"
"You can't take my place." We say it simultaneously and burst out laughing although it's sinister rather than funny in this instance. I wait until we've recovered to emphasise my point.
"I mean it Krista. Imagine the guilt if I took your place," I insist, describing my own horrified thoughts. Seeing her go in my place would make me want to die. "There's no point in destroying both our lives."
"My life would be awful without you." She mumbles quietly into the pillow. My eyes threaten to well up.
"Mine too." I swallow. "But this is what I want. No volunteering. Promise?"
She hesitates. "Promise. Promise?"
"Promise."
Well that's that then. We've both promised not to die for the other, and all before breakfast too. How about that. We settle back into each other's arms and try to get some sleep. And although we do not say another word, I can tell neither of us actually manages to accomplish this.
