Mara Griffith

District 5 Female, 17
Train Rides

We're watching the recaps and I find myself talking more than I have in the past four years of my life combined. It doesn't come easy, but I know Triss expects it of me and Andy…. Andrew Vickens, he needs this. And it's all killing me inside, a little bit, but I just describe the people on the television screen, on autopilot.

"Cira Dupont, another eighteen-year old. She's shorter than the first guy, stockier, but she's elegant-looking."

"There's something up with her. Her eyes…they're twitchy. Jazz doesn't usually bring twitchy tributes as far as I can remember," Triss adds, by way of commentary.

The next tribute is a skinny but menacing-looking boy from District 2, who knocks another much larger guy out. He looks a little bit like Andrew and I, in a distant manner, but I can practically feel the violence seeping through his every pore.

"Luther Szeto, eighteen, looks like a psychopath and his mentor clearly isn't happy."

"Ouh spicy. Sounds like drama," Andy adds, helpfully. Andrew, I correct myself. It's Andrew Vickens now.

"Seeva Andino, also eighteen, no surprise there. She looks like the calmest of the bunch, so far. She is big, bigger than her partner, and she's looking at him wearily. She's clearly the brawn of the bunch," I summarize, as I watch the girl get on stage with a spring to her step and an inner determination shining in her dark eyes.

Triss pauses the broadcast.

"So, these are the Careers. They all look competent enough. I'd say the weakest link is the D1 girl. She looks a little unstable, but it might be an act. On a completely different note, I heard Mags is heavily lobbying for District 4 to be included in their exclusive alliance, but we'll see."

The program focuses now on the District 3 tributes.

"Cassius Fleur, fifteen but looks slightly younger than his age. Lanky. Kid's got hair for days."

I pause, because there's something exciting going on on-screen, and I try to understand what it is.

"He's reaching out to someone, his older brother maybe, and he's muttering something under his breath," I continue.

Triss sighs. "Doesn't look like a threat but that's what everyone said about Pulse. He won at fifteen so let's not count him out yet."

There's further commotion when a tall, dark and extremely skinny girl volunteers.

"Salamandra Mitch, seventeen. She looks tough. She's saying something to Cassius, but he seems really scared of her. "

"That's odd," Triss adds. "District 3 rarely has volunteers, but she seems like a wildcard. She looks like Eli's archetype too, so I'd be really careful with her. She seems proud to be there, and that's always dangerous."

The screen changes yet again, projecting the clean square of District 4.

"Scout Trinian, thirteen. Looks small for his age. He's not crying though, and he looks more put-together than the boy from Three. Probably just shocked, but bonus points for keeping it together. Doesn't look like a threat," I conclude, looking at Triss for approval.

He silently agrees with me.

An angry-looking girl bursts out of the seventeen-year-old section, rushing on-stage even as another muscular dark-skinned girl tries to break free from the crowd to get onto the podium before her.

"Another volunteer, Orla Ferraris, seventeen. I know a disaster when I see one," I comment, rolling my eyes as she ostentatiously shuts that other girl's claim as a volunteer.

"I'm not getting good vibes from her," Triss says while rubbing his chin. "Could be an airhead, but she definitely comes from a privileged part of town. She might have some secret training under her sleeve. We'll have to wait and see."

Andrew interjects, "She sounded pissed off. Any idea why?"

I shrug. "No idea. Girl seems like she's got a bag of cats instead of a brain. As Triss said, we'll have to wait and see."

Andrew nods pensively.

"That's us," I continue quietly, wishing Triss would speed up the broadcast.

Andrew looks resigned as he makes his way up the steps of the podium. If it wasn't for his pale clouded and unseeing eyes, he would have looked like any other boy, accepting his fate quietly with dignity. I look downright insane, smiling, crying silently and shaking like a leaf. That demented smile… I wanted to die so bad in that moment. I was so happy my suffering was finally coming to an end. I'm not really sure I want to end my life, anymore.

It's funny how things change in an instant, like that.

It's a little horrifying. My eyes, one light gray and the other a deep dark brown looking on gleefully as the crowd laughs at my perceived misfortune, while I want to scream at them how glad I am they finally picked me. That I was moved to tears because of the sheer joy of it all. That I'm finally going to pay for the torment I've caused. The dark circles under my eyes makes me look haggard and tired, and the white streak in my hair frames my face awkwardly. I look like I'm as good as dead already. Like I'm roadkill.

Triss picks up on my discomfort almost immediately.

"You both look like quite the pair. We can spin a really cool narrative, and with your whole aesthetic going on," he gestures at his eyes for clarification, "I think we can pull something off."

I shudder and he notices.

"I'm sorry, I know it sounds cold, but you're both grown-ups and I'm telling you how it is. I'm telling you that you have a chance, the two of you. Especially with this rich history together," he adds, looking at Andrew who nods imperceptibly.

I don't want fucking allies, I don't want anyone coming close to me. I stay quiet though.

A younger boy appears on screen.

"Roizer Loudon, fourteen. He's clutching something in his hand."

I squint, and I see a notebook of sorts that he has a vice-grip on, as he climbs the stairs. Another lanky boy tries to volunteer for him, but Roizer stops him.

"Seems like a sweet kid, if not a little on the awkward side," Triss says. "Little guy doesn't seem all there, but refusing to get volunteered for is definitely going to get him sponsors."

"Looks mature," I add, for a lack of a better descriptor.

"Looks introverted as hell, to a point where I doubt he'll score any allies. I don't think he's worth your time," Triss counters, and ouch, that's harsh, but he's probably right.

The girl that comes on stage next looks like someone wrung her forcefully through a meat processor.

"Daisy Jackson, fifteen, looks somewhere between twenty and sixty," I announce, and both Andrew and Triss smirk.

"She's another volunteer, but there's clearly something wrong with her. She hissed at the crowd which is…concerning," I say, keeping in mind what most people must think of me, from my own reaping. The girl takes the microphone in a spasmodic manner and screams into it that she just wants to die, repeatedly, as the crowd looks on, hollow-eyed. I share the sentiment, but she just comes off as manic. I really hope I didn't look that bad.

"She looks sick," Triss adds. "She's either an addict or she's got some sort of disease and she's clearly desperate. Don't underestimate her."

Understatement of the century.

"District 7, Logan …" I pause, finding his last name difficult to pronounce. "Arte-fi…Arteficavitch, aged fifteen." The kid looks like the living hell was scared out of him.

"He doesn't look too good," Triss highlights, as Logan's hands start shaking violently and he walks up the stairs, his eyes as big as saucers. Even when he reaches the escort, the terror doesn't subside in his feature. There's not an ounce of resignation in this guy's face, only absolutely unmitigated horror.

And then a girl parts the sea of people in front of her, walking assuredly onto stage. There's actual genuine cheering from the crowd.

"Morgana Foster, eighteen. Looks as ready as she'll ever be, calm and collected," I comment. "Dark hair, fit, very pretty," I add, for Andrew's benefit. A ghost of a smile graces his lips.

"The girls are really doubling down on the volunteering thing," Triss remarks. "It's starting to get a little unoriginal. I wouldn't be surprised if she tried to join the Career alliance. She seems put together and has a clear goal in mind, so I'd see them actually taking her in."

"District Eight with Jean Taylor, sixteen. Guy looks cracked. His eyes are jumping all over the place, but he's smiling, so good for him I guess." Two adults who I'm guessing are his parents are hysterically screaming his name, but he isn't letting it bother him.

"He's clearly trying to act like this isn't phasing him, but he's scared out of his mind. Kind of reminds me of myself, and you can see for yourselves how that worked out for the tributes in my Games," Triss says darkly. "I don't need to tell you I don't like this guy."

A strong-looking girl is reaped, and she glares at everyone while she climbs the steps with urgency.

"Bexley Ward, seventeen, looks older. She's tough too, but she keeps searching the crowd for someone. Might be a relative or a child."

Some younger kid starts running towards the stage, but Bexley takes the mic gruffly from the escort and yells "sit the fuck down, Renzo." The kid stops in his tracks, looking petrified. There's a murmur going through the crowd and from that I gather she's well-liked throughout the district. The Peacekeepers look confused, which I tell Triss.

"I don't what that's about, let's keep watching," he replies, eager to see the next set of tributes.

District 9 offers another volunteer, this time a male.

Triss takes over for me. "Geoff Windsor, sixteen, blond, average height, looks moderately pissed off. He's got that what-the-fuck-did-I-just-do look on his face, so I'm guessing this wasn't a planned decision. These guys usually tend to be delusional and a bit of a firecracker. He looks like an orphan."

Triss pauses when he sees me glaring at him. "What, it's true, orphans have a certain vibe to them, sorry."

I correct him. "He looks like someone living on the streets, so he might have picked up some handy skills. Use of weaponry shouldn't be overlooked."

Triss nods, grinning. "Exactly what I was going to say."

"The next girl is small, button nose and her skin is sun-burnt. She probably works in the fields. Mona Tillery, thirteen. She looks terrified, classic helpless little girl," I squint at the screen, seeing a stir in the eighteen-year olds section, the camera picking up on it immediately.

Mona looks that way too, narrowing her eyes in silent plea. Two identical-looking girls murmur, but keep their hands at their sides. Adults and children alike look upset at Mona being reaped.

"I wouldn't say helpless," Triss retorts, and at second glance, from the girl's stance and eyes, she has some bite to her.

District 10 has two strong tributes reaped.

"Valentino Ricci, eighteen, tall muscular dark-haired guy. Has the calmest facial expression I've seen so far, which means he's bullshitting. He smiles a little bit at the end too, so either the man is a psychopath and will rip our faces off, or he's confident in his chances," I finish.

A fifteen-year old girl named Adderyn Klossner is reaped, and I have to refrain from laughing at how everyone physically shrinks back under her murderous gaze. As she stomps towards the stage if I read her lips correctly, she mutters "Fuck, fuck fucking fuck" punctuating every stair with yet another "fuck".

"She's a feisty one," I contribute, as Triss describes how she looks to Andrew. She has curly hair and caramel skin and her eyes are spewing fire and daggers and whatever else could be considered terrifying.

"The girl doesn't look nearly as scared as she should be. I'd be careful with her," I admit, getting nods from Triss and Andrew.

District 11 yields an odd pair.

"Tyree, no family name. Twelve years old. There's something wrong with him," I say hesitantly. The boy is tiny.

"What the fuck, he volunteered?" Triss asks, incredulous.

The little boy doesn't even say a word, he just makes it on stage quietly and places himself where the designated male tribute would go. The escort is confused out of her mind, and when she hands him the microphone, he quietly says his name.

Everyone is clearly disturbed by this episode, and the escort selects a tough-looking girl.

"Jessamine Law, sixteen. Very skinny, wiry, dark brown hair and wide eyes. She clearly looks surprised but she's keeping it under control."

"She almost looks relieved," Triss notices. He's really good at reading people, and he's right. For one micro-second, she looks like a huge weight was taken off her shoulders, but she reigns that in almost-immediately, looking surprised and crushed all at the same time. I've rarely seen that many conflicting emotions pass as quickly on a person's face.

Tyree refuses to take her hand as the crowd claps half-heartedly.

"Onto the last district," Triss sighs.

"Abel Collingwood, sixteen. The boy looks mature for his age, strong-looking, contrarily to the tributes we've seen from Twelve recently."

Triss scratches his chin. "Is it just me, or the kid seems almost excited about this?"

I disagree. "I wouldn't say excited. I'd say relieved? It's weird, I can't quite figure out his deal. He looks half-dead already, emotionally speaking."

Triss agrees with me, nodding thoughtfully. "Yeah, I can't tell you right off the bat what this guy is going to be like. You'll have to keep an eye on him though. Might be a potential ally, or a strong enemy. People don't expect strength from District 12, and they've got a fighter here."

"Sparkle Aire, eighteen," I say finally, feeling out that name on my tongue. The girl is uncharacteristically blond, beautiful, although her features are marred by an annoyed expression which doesn't suit her.

"Definitely not native to District 12, with that name," Triss echoes exactly what I'm thinking.

"Sounds like she's from the Capitol, or more likely, District 1," Andrew muses, and I'm guessing his assumption is correct.

"Both tributes from Twelve are peculiar," Triss summarizes, turning off the sound on the television in order to not distract us from what he's saying.

"Apart from the Careers, from what I understood, we have to watch out for the girl from Three, the female volunteer from Seven, the boy from Ten and maybe the boy from Twelve. There's others that could have some secret hidden talents, but those are the ones that physically display the most prowess."

Triss agrees, wearily eyeing the television flat screen. "Yeah, I'd say those are the primary threats, although you never know. Don't disregard anyone."

"We've got our fair share of weirdos, though," Andrew remarks, smiling at me. "From what I could hear, that District 6 girl, Daisy, she could probably chew someone's ear off. Didn't seem all there. That little boy too, could barely hear him at all, but he volunteered so he must have something going for him."

Andrew pauses, and sighs. "Or maybe he's got nothing going for him at all."

Suddenly, now that the curiosity has been satiated, I find myself wondering off in my own thoughts while Triss and Andrew joke around quietly. I feel like I don't belong. Like I shouldn't be here.

As Triss asks Andrew about his thoughts on the tributes, potential alliances and the like, I can't stop myself from thinking back to my goodbyes. To my best friend Scorpius and to our complicated relationship that just became infinitely more complicated. He barged in, right after my uncle Ron told me what a good riddance my reaping was. I hadn't even had the power to object, I just stood there like a complete idiot. I should have left you to rot in the hospital like the roadkill that you are, he said, alluding to my white streak amidst a full head of black hair. See you in hell skunk girl were the last words he spat at me. All I could think of was that hell would be nice, for a change, and with any luck, I'd get there sooner rather than later while he still had a couple of years to go until his liver failed from his chronic alcoholism. After Ron left, stinking of liquor and sweat, Scorpius ran in. He hugged me tenderly, and I clung to him because I knew the last of my humanity, of my dignity, would remain here with him. He admitted to me the most important thing of all.

"I love you Mara, I've loved you for so long," he said, and I imperceptibly smile at the memory alone. I loved him too, I realized, just as we were separated by Peacekeepers. It was too goddamn late to realize it, but I loved him. I wasn't going to die unloved, which was the most beautiful realization. A realization which lasted only for a moment, overshadowed by my desire to keep living, because Scorpius loved me. To make this situation infinitely worse, I was ripped away from the one good thing I didn't realize I had, and now I am most certainly going to die.

It's too fucking much, sometimes.

I abruptly stand up, and announce that I'm going back to my room.

I quickly walk away without waiting for anyone's approval, just as the emotions resurface and tears spring to my eyes. I don't want them to see how much of an emotional wreck I am.

"Hey Mara, wait up…"

I don't wait up. In fact, I almost run out.

I hate myself, I hate everything, I hate the scars I bear from the accident, and I hate that no one here seems to despise me for it. Andrew should. He has every right to, and yet he's seeking me out as though talking will solve anything. It won't give me back my fucking parents. It won't stop me from making the accident at the powerplant happen. It won't give me back my old life. It won't let me avoid a full four years of verbal and physical abuse at the hands of my uncle Ron who never liked me and only tried to diminish me in any way he could.

I hate my stupid hair, I hate the nickname my uncle gave me because of it. Skunk girl, he called me, even as he came to say goodbye. You're good-for-nothing roadkill, he said. These words keep clattering in my head even as I try my best to tune them out. I hate that I might never see Scorpius again, just as he finally worked up the courage to tell me the truth about his feelings.

"Vickens, I can't do this. I did the stupid recap, now I want to be left alone," I stammer, aware of how selfish it is to be pushing him away like this. He doesn't like me, though. He has no reason to.

"Okay, but I thought we were just starting to …you know, reunite? I don't know. I just want to talk about that accident, Mara. I want to know how your life's been. You were my best friend."

The tears in my eyes spring up. He can't see them. That's good. Scorpius is my best friend, not Andrew. He can probably tell my voice is trembling like crazy though.

"I've been fucking bullied, threatened to be killed for what I've done. It fucking sucks. I just wanted to die in peace, by myself and you can't even afford me that luxury."

I swallow the fact that maybe I'm reconsidering everything.

"Dude, I've literally been quarantined as though I'm a fucking leper or something. No one wanted to see my face, and if truth be told, it really sucks too," Andy admits, even though his tone is still light.

I hum in agreement. Yeah. It must have been horrible, and it was all my fault.

"Scorpius…"

Andy interrupts me. "Scorpius? Scorpius who? Even his name sounds angsty and evil and misunderstood."

He waves his hands around for emphasis. "So edgy. The ultimate teenage fantasy."

I scowl.

"I'm just joking. I remember Scorpius just fine and he was a sleezy, annoying, fact-checking asshole who only hung around because he had the biggest crush on you."

I choke.

"Oh don't act so surprised, Mara."

"I'm not surprised," I say bitterly. "We had our…moment. At the goodbyes. That's why I don't want to die anymore. Not completely."

"Ouh, how romantic," Andy counters, his voice pitched high, waving his hands around some more. I swat at them.

Having Andy make fun of me, me swatting at him in annoyance... it's almost easy to forget the guilt that turned me into a husk of the human being he knew four years ago.

"Well, it's none of my business Mara, but I never liked Scorpius, as a matter of fact," Andy adds, just as I go into my room. As he says his name, I can't help but superimpose Scorpius' beautiful green eyes on Andy's milky unseeing ones.

I'm so fucked up.

I close the door and start hyperventilating. I don't even know why, I can't put my finger on it. But one second I'm outside and the next I'm near the shower, sobbing. I miss Scorpius so much. No matter what Andy says, Scorpius is my best friend. He's stuck with me through thick and thin, comforted me when I needed a shoulder to cry on.

A small insidious voice in my head remarks that Andy would have done the same, had I given him the chance. That I avoided him like a coward, effectively cutting him out of my life with a scalpel and cauterizing the wound, like I saw doctors do at the clinic I visited once I was in recovery after the powerplant accident. I prioritized a boy who I had a crush on over the person who had meant so much to me.

"Shut up," I whisper, looking in the mirror, seeing my mismatched eyes staring back at me with such anguish that I almost throw up. How can a single person hold so much hate? So much sadness?

I turn on the shower, and cry. I don't know how long it takes, but once the hysterical hiccups subside, I come out of the shower, my face blotchy, but my head clearer than it has been in the past few hours.

I make myself comfortable in bed. It's plushy and humongous, and an involuntary sigh escapes my lips. Scorpius would have liked it here.

I have so many regrets. I wish I had realized my love for Scorpius sooner. I wish I hadn't distracted my father that day. I wish the sparks hadn't flown everywhere. I wish all these good and innocent people didn't die electrocuted because of me. No matter what Andy says, my father took me to his work, and I distracted him to make that one fatal mistake. I wish he hadn't.

So many wishes.

So many empty wishes.

As I lie in bed, I revisit all the times I was called a mindless idiot, a monster, a heartless bitch, a disgusting whore. Believe it or not, I remember every single taunting word, every single instance that I was bullied because of what I did. I deserved it, after all, so why did it hurt so bad?

Maybe I'm roadkill or skunk girl to some, the object of their derision and hatred for others. Maybe I don't deserve anyone's sympathy but here I am. Andy must be here for a reason, with me. It's time to mend things, he's right. I realize that somewhere along the line, I started calling him Andy again, and I have no idea what prompted that switch. We can't go back in time, but there is still hope to fix something.

I already know I'll have trouble sleeping tonight, I haven't slept properly ever since the accident, but for the first time in a very long while, something like determination bubbles within me.

I can make things right. Maybe.

Notes: Angst galore! Here's to Mara Griffith, the instigator of the great fire in Powerplantville™ of District 5. She doesn't have a lot going for her, she's got mood swings for days, and I want to know exactly what you think of her. Is she being fair to Andy? Is she a little too Scorpius-obsessed for her own good?

We're almost half-way through the introduction chapters, folks and you can probably tell I'm going fairly linearly. We'll see if that continues because I have zero planning, but I promise you that I'll deliver to the best of my capabilities. Also, I am going to be working a blog, which should come up eventually in the next couple of weeks, perhaps month. I am also getting incredibly busy with work/graduate studies, so updates might get a little less frequent, but I will still try to stick to the "at least once a week" schedule since I'm as excited as some of you are to get this show on the road. Thanks for bearing with me!

Peace and love.