Well, I liked Mags, and we don't really know very much about her, so I decided to write this, her life story...
People always told me I was a pretty girl. Ever since I was ten, six years ago when the Dark Days ended. I suppose I am, long hair, perfect skin, not an ounce of fat marring my beautiful frame, and my best feature, my eyes, which sparkle blue like the ocean. I don't suppose it's that surprising all the boys in my class spend half their time just staring at me. Especially that fisherman's son, the one with the green eyes. He doesn't look too bad himself, and I might quite like him if he wasn't from the poorer part of Seven and had a slight smirk when he smiled, like he was constantly thinking something else in his head when he told you something. I don't like that, for all he is handsome.
This is my fourth reaping, and to tell the truth I'm a little scared. Well, more than a little. The girl from Seven last year came home in pieces, and her head wasn't the part they cut off first. I can't even remember her name.
My parents don't like The Hunger Games, none of the adults do, but of course they can't say anything or we'll become like Thirteen. My own parents just treat me like a child to be protected, even though I'm sixteen already and old enough to be married. Honestly, they treat me like one of my mother's old porcelain dolls, the ones she hides in her wardrobe and I'm not supposed to know about. Something fragile to be taken care of, their only child, only daughter. They're also the only people to still call me Mags, like I were some toddler. It's like they've forgotten my name is actually Margaret.
My teacher says I'm vain. What rubbish. I just know my own strengths. I'm a brilliant swimmer, even better than that fisherman's boy and his stupid brother. Not one of the other girls can hold a candle to me.
I like sitting here, down by the ocean, especially on Reaping days. No one else knows how to get here. You have to follow the beach line down towards the rockpools, and when you're a third of the way over them, to where the coastline curves slightly, you get this little ledge, completely hidden by the cliff and completely dry, and if you crawl back as far as you can there's a tiny sort of hollow place. Nothing's there of course, but it's nice to know that maybe you could have something there, something only you would know about, like my mother's dolls.
Looking out, there's only one boat, a small, rather dilapidated sort of thing, it's one sail flittering feebly in the wind. Two people are on it, and looking closely I can see it's that fisher boy and his older brother, the one who had a baby at seventeen. No doubt fisher boy will go the same way. Eerily, he looks over towards me with those strange green eyes, and just as quickly looks away so I'm left wondering if I'd imagined it. Looking at the sun, I know I should be going, the Reaping will start soon.
It takes a while to get back, and my mother is going frantic, as usual. I ignore her usual tears and make my way to my room, the one with the best view, of course, and put on my best dress. It does make me look lovely, but I hate pink. There's no time t find an alternative though, and not even time to properly do my hair, so it ends up just loosely curling around my shoulders, which I suppose looks quite nice anyway. Then it's time.
The courtyard is filled up already, all the 12-18 year olds in different sections. I wonder who will be chosen this year. Of course, a few of the older ones train for these Games, a new initiative some of the elders started to give us a chance against the Ones and Twos. It worked last year, our boy won, although he did cut his district mate, that poor girl, into pieces first. He never goes out in public anymore, just stays in that house in Victor's Village, cases of whisky going in and coming out empty. I would do the same. It's considered the lowest of the low to kill your own partner. Especially the way he did. The Capitol love him though, but then they love anyone who's vicious.
I register quickly and make my way to where the sixteen year olds stand, slipping in beside the two girls I know best, Lucie and Mara, both of them rather plain girls, no definition to either of them at all. I don't get on to thinking about their outfits though, because the escort is tapping the microphone for quiet. What was her name? Amanda? Anna?
The usual speech on the Dark Days begins, I mean, do they think we've all forgotten them already? Finally, it's time, and in the crowds I can see myself on the screen, my blonde hair setting me apart from the people around me. I smile radiantly, though inside I can feel my heart beating fast.
"Our female tribute for this year will be-"
A slight pause as her long fingers delve into the glass bowl, before finally catching the slip of paper and drawing it out. Another moment.
"Margaret Delaney" says the voice.
I look around me for the girl, and am met by endless pairs of eyes staring back at me. Then I realise, she just said my name.
I can see the Peacekeepers making their way towards me, obviously thinking they'll have to drag me, but I still have my pride. I walk in measured, dainty steps up to the stage, smiling hard. I know I have to make a good impression. Before I die, that is. I chance a look at the screen, and I'm glad to see I look as pretty as ever. Then I have to wait while she delves into the boys glass ball.
The name comes, and I see immediately she's picked the fisherman's boy. Wonderful. A few weeks in the Capitol alive and it had to be with him? He's clever though, that constant smirk proves it. He was one of the people to sign up for training.
He makes his way up to the stage just as calmly as I did, and I can hear vague wolf whistles from the girls. He is not that bad looking after all. Bronze hair, those green eyes.
We're told to shake hands.
He smiles at me, I have to return his gesture, though inside I'm working out all the ways to wipe that smirk off his face.
"You weren't listening to my name were you?" He says as we clasp hands, in a small whisper.
"I didn't see the point in remembering it." I return back, smiling sweetly.
That stupid smirk.
"Brandon Odair." He says, and we unclasp hands, before we are lead off the stage into the unknown.
Well, I really like Mags, and I promise she won't remain a conceited, stuck up person for much longer. It is the Games after all... And Brandon Odair? Well, I always did think Finnick and Mags had something going on...
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