Mona Tillery

District 9 Female, 13
First Night at the Capitol

My hands keep fidgeting, searching for something to do and I can't for the life of me figure out what. My ma' always said I was way too eager, way too agitated for my own good. And I guess I understand what she means now. Thump thump.

I bite my lip, but even the small burst of pain doesn't distract me from the stuff that really bothers me. I'm still in shock about what happened, and while I was able to keep it together during the reaping the chariot rides, everything's kind of crashing down on me right about now. And there's that annoying incessant thumping that just won't stop.

I fiddle my thumbs a little bit, rolling over and over in the bed that feels like it's swallowing me whole, like some sort of horrible creature. I hope there's no monsters in the arena that will eat me. I wonder what it feels like, to get eaten alive. I shudder at the thought, and I can feel my lip trembling. It probably looks pathetic, but I'm not in front of a crowd now, so I can afford to look scared because I am. The only reason that I didn't drop everything and start crying right at the reaping was because of the shock. I know I was only vaguely aware of what was going on during the Chariot rides, the excessive noise threatening to make me shrink further in on myself. Now that I'm alone, the thoughts are running wild in my head, like feral beasts that feast on my sanity.

I just…I can't believe my sisters didn't volunteer for me. I guess it was stupid of me to think that they would, but come on. I'm thirteen, last time I checked, and how the hell do they think I'm going to fare? I'm not stupid, I know I don't have a chance at winning, and up until maybe an hour ago, I wasn't even that terrified of dying because I was just so hurt by everyone abandoning me like that. A little insidious voice in my head adds that Georgina didn't even look particularly sorry that I was leaving. And that hurts more than anything else.

I just can't believe no one volunteered for me… no one even tried.

The worst part is that when we were on the train, Geoff told me he volunteered for some random kid. I almost lost it, right there and then. I mean, he didn't even know the guy! I wish this wouldn't turn up the most disgusting and worst aspects of me, but I can't help but feel so angry with him too. How could he just throw his life away like this? Why couldn't another idiot just like him volunteer for me? Does no one think I'm worth saving?

I know I'm pretty well-liked around District 9, and my sisters always told me they loved me. I know Arla couldn't volunteer because she's twenty-one, but the twins are eighteen and could have… I don't know…I guess that kind of sacrifice is only portrayed in movies and I'm just a stupid kid with stupid delusions about how life should be, but… at least one of them should have done something.

At the very least, I expected them to. Even Georgina, because I know I got on her nerves sometimes. But no one volunteered no matter how much they said they cared for me. Dying knowing that is probably the worst fate I could possibly imagine. It's that all-consuming thought that just keeps eating away at me until I feel like I'm going crazy.

At the goodbyes, my ma' broke down crying and kept saying how she was so proud of me, but what was she proud of, exactly? I've never seen her cry before, either, so the whole thing just felt so awkward and alien.

I didn't even get to say anything important. Just stood there while ma' and Arla fussed over me, Zia hugged Georgina and Barric just cried.

I kind of regret not telling them all how it really is. They sent me in like a lamb for slaughter, and Zia or Georgina didn't even lift a finger. I always admired Zia so much, and I would have given anything to be like her, but I guess she didn't think her life was worth mine, in the end.

She's probably right too, but I just wish I had gotten the chance to grow up to be like her. Less of a coward, maybe.

I know my brother Barric was sad, I saw it in his face but even then…how many things were left unsaid between us? How many things I would have liked to apologize for, but didn't have the opportunity?

The thumping noise I've been hearing for the past two hours intensifies, and I hear half-muffled shouts coming from across the hall.

Fear grips my insides and my first rational thought is to throw the covers over myself. I sit there, in my bed, shivering underneath my blankets, wallowing in self-pity as the shouts become more agonized. I don't want to be here.

THUMP. Thump thump.

I can't take it anymore. Even though I'm scared, I need to go see what it is.

I throw the covers off and run quickly to my door, open it, and race out into the hallway. I hear the thumps coming from our mentor's room.

If I can even call him that.

He won those bad games, the ones where the arena collapsed. He can't speak no more. Maybe he never could, but I remember him standing before, and now he can't do that either. I'm terrified that this could happen to me. Broken Mona on a broken wheelchair for the rest of my days. I shake my head to banish that horrible thought and get up.

I creep quietly towards the door, jumping startled as a loud crashing noise is heard right on the other side of the wall. A loud undignified squeak escapes my lips.

The thumping doesn't let off.

"Come on Mona, get in the room, no one can hurt you right now," I whisper to myself, and count to three in my head. I brace myself, turn the knob. I'm actually surprised when I find it unlocked and my heart sinks a little. A part of me was hoping it would be closed so I wouldn't have to deal with whatever is on the other side.

I take another deep breath, and push hard against the door.

I find myself inside the room, which looks as though a particularly devastating hurricane from the south of Panem came and went ham on the furniture around the bed. A wheelchair lies upturned at the bedside, and in the middle of it all, is Momo. In the epicenter, my brain helpfully supplies, as though naming things properly will make this situation right somehow.

I stand there, like some dumb scarecrow, with my lips slightly ajar.

Momo looks at me momentarily, but he doesn't see me. That's the really terrifying part. He looks as though he's in his own world, thrashing around, hitting his bed against the wall. I guess that's where the thumping came from.

He can't even stand up, his legs skinny and frail under the blankets, but his huge arms swing out wildly, and he reaches an armchair at the edge of his bed and hurls it across the room. I duck as it shatters and pieces of wood go flying everywhere. He looks like a mindless beast on a rampage.

"MO!" he screams, gripping his head and shaking it with such force that I'm afraid he will rip it off his neck.

"Hey!" I yell, and the sound comes out shrill and helpless in the middle of this chaos.

I try again.

"Hey Momo, stop!"

He turns around, his eyes focusing on something behind me. I have to help him, I realize. It's been going around the District that Momo's crazy or mentally disabled. People have used worse words, too, but my sister Arla always said it's not nice to say those things about people, even if they don't understand.

It's not his fault he's like this.

I reach out one arm, shakily. It looks so thin and sad, probably like the rest of me. I scrunch up my nose just as he reaches for another heavy-looking lamp. I don't want him to throw it at me.

"Hey Momo, it's okay," I approach him cautiously, even as he seems to calm down a little. I extend my pinkie, a gesture meant as a universal peace sign in District 9. It means I don't mean him any harm.

He shies away slowly, and then, as though possessed by some sort of demon, starts hitting himself. I jump back in horror.

"MO MOMO MO-" he bellows, tears leaking out of his crazed eyes even as his fists come down from above him to hit him in the side, on his legs, in his jaw.

Oh. I understand something. He's reliving his arena.

"Momo, please," I plead, even as his screams skyrocket in intensity.

I can't do anything.

The panic rises in my throat and I stumble towards him, reaching out my arm again, thinking that maybe the human touch might jerk him out of his nightmare.

He grabs my arm. He doesn't stop moaning and screaming and hitting himself.

"Stop Momo," I beg more insistently, trying to get my arm out of his huge hand.

When I was little, when ma' was gone out late at work, Arla used to tell me and Barric stories about the universe. She'd take us out into the fields, and explain constellations, which were taught to her by our older brother Reed. He's gone from the house now, but Arla wanted his knowledge to be passed on. So, she'd talk and talk, and I'd be fascinated at how small we were, compared to the universe.

I'd often feel as though I have no control over my fate, and it felt so magical back then. Right now, I feel helpless and I can't control this, but it's not magical.

It shakes me to my core and something in me snaps.

Something that's been bubbling up ever since my name was called and my sisters left me to be sent off to my death.

I have no control over anything. I can't even control this stupid man who will break my arm in half before the Games even start and he won't even know how to feel sorry about what he's done.

So, I do something I haven't done in a really long time. I start crying.

And with the slow-coming tears, an inhuman-sounding shriek erupts from my chest and out of my mouth.

Momo's grip loosens, and through the cascade of tears, I can see his eyes focusing, bearing that permanently confused look cattle must have when their led to be slaughtered in District 10.

That's the look I'll have right before I die eaten, die eviscerated, die strangled and he won't even do anything to help he won't know where I am he doesn't even know who I am –

"Mo- MoMo … Mo," he struggles to enunciate. Possessed with an animalistic anger, I rip my arm out of his now-limp grip, tears streaming down my face. I know he's a cripple, but I can't help but feel absolutely unstoppable rage towards the fact that he can't help me, he can't even be bothered to say anything useful –

"STOP SAYING MO MO MO, IT DOESN'T HELP, IT DOESN'T HELP," I start screaming. I'm vaguely aware of the fact that I'm full-on crying right now.

He weakly protests intelligibly, lifting himself slightly out of his bed. I know his legs and back got busted in his Games, and on a normal day I would have even felt horrible. But now I throw myself at where his feet are covered with a blanket and start hammering at his legs with my fists and sobbing uncontrollably. I just can't take this anymore, the agonizing thoughts in my brain, his stupid moaning. Did my sisters really hate me that much to let me die like this?

My ma' and Arla have always taught me how to be polite, considerate of people's needs and kind, but right now I couldn't give less of a rat's ass about their lessons because I'm about to die and all I've got is this desperation which grips at my insides.

I sob harder as I collapse onto my knees. I hit the ground hard, screaming and pounding my fists on the bed for emphasis. At the very back of my mind, I think that it's very unbecoming of me to have a temper tantrum like this in the middle of the Capitol, but the emotions threaten to drown me when I try to stop.

"Mo…Momo…"

I'm too young for this, but this is exactly what heartbreak must feel like. It's a mix of a sense of complete betrayal, your heart being sliced in two by a sharp sickle and torn apart by stray dogs.

"Mmm…Momo…"

He's not screaming anymore, he just sounds very confused. I calm myself a little bit as well.

I sniffle, sob, and look up into his muddy ugly brown eyes. Flecks of gold and green permeate the brown, I realize absentmindedly. Most of all though, it's the depth of his gaze that strikes me dumb.

"Momo…Mona…Mo-mo," he continues insistently and wipes the tears off my cheek with his huge thumb.

Mona. That's my name.

The kindness in his gesture makes fresh tears spring up in their place just as quickly and I can't seem to be able to peel my eyes away from his. In those pools of brown, green and gold, there's a deep emotion hidden, almost too far down for anyone to notice. But I see his deep pain… he understands what I feel.

And he said my name. My name.

"Moooo," he says for emphasis, "na."

I nod at him, while wiping my nose with the back on my hand.

"Yeah, Mona," I repeat weakly, smiling a little bit. I can't stop crying.

He said my name and I'm not sure he's ever said anything other than his own little moniker. I don't know why, but I feel sudden pride.

That pride is quickly overwhelmed by panic when he grabs a strand of my blond hair and pulls it gently towards himself like a giant needy child that wants to inspect a new toy.

I jerk myself out of his grip, rolling a little on the floor near his bed and painfully hitting my knees, which were bruised when I collapsed on the ground during my tantrum. I hiss at Momo, because it seems we've both been reduced to sounds and one-word sentences which involve our names. Go figure.

I don't know why he wants to touch me, but I'm scared he'll hurt me just because he's so much bigger than I am. If he thinks I'm a toy, he might just snap me in half.

He sits up higher, and the blanket falls slightly to the side, revealing his useless legs which are outfitted in fuzzy pyjama pants with horses printed on them. He pats them affectionately and with deceptive speed grabs at my hair again. Weirdly enough, it's the gentleness in his gesture that catches me completely off-guard.

I didn't move out of the way quickly enough and I stumble into the bed.

He's going to rip my head off because he thinks I'm in the arena with him again.

Oh.

Oh god, the fear threatens to crush me, I can't even scream.

Instead, my body goes into survival overdrive and I pant with exertion trying to get away, but it hurts. Momo sits me up in front of him as though I weigh nothing more than a feather and suddenly all the fight is drained out of me. So, I do the only sensible thing and I quit, resigning myself to whatever fate there is for me. After all, I never had any control over anything at all. I'm smaller than a speck of dust. I close my eyes, trembling.

Instead of something horrible, I feel Momo's large fingers make strands of my waxy hair. Stray blond filaments fall onto my forehead and he gently brushes them to the side.

I open my eyes that I squeezed shut in anticipation of my head being separated from my body, turn my head slightly and see his face scrunched up in concentration.

He hums a tuneless melody, and the sound is rich and deep.

I try to pull away my head once again, my hand roaming through my hair, to find a way to escape his fingers that are interwoven with the beginning of a complicated braid on top of my head.

Wait.

A braid?

He's…he's braiding my hair?

I'm beyond confused now. He gently pats my head for emphasis.

"Momo…Mona," he says, as though that explains anything at all.

As I sit there, with this huge gentle giant who I thought was going to kill me minutes prior braiding my hair as gently as a mother would, I start crying again. My mother almost never braided my hair, she never had time.

And I know he probably doesn't even understand why we're here, why we're both stuck in this horrible situation, but I have a primal need to tell him about my life, for what it's worth.

It all slips out in fragments, and if anyone else was listening, it would make zero sense, but I talk at Momo as he hums.

I tell him about my father, Carter Tillery, who fought bravely in the war and died a hero. I tell him about all the adventures my father had, and how he could make the sun come out with a smile. I didn't know him, being the youngest and all, but I just embellish for Momo's sake to a point where I believe it too.

I tell him about my hardworking mother Aviva, and how much I wish for her to be actually proud of me. I don't want her to just say that because she knows I want to hear it, I want her to really notice the things I do and say to herself "I've raised Mona well".

I spend a lot of time talking about Zia, and how beautiful and smart she is. I even admit how heartbroken I am that she didn't volunteer for me, but even that pain feels dulled down now that I can actually process it. The pressure seems to be relieved from the top of my head even though the heartache is still there.

Zia always had such beautiful braids, and I was always so jealous of her, because my hair never got that luscious. Momo pats my half-finished braid, as though to prove me wrong.

"Mmmmm," he replies, as though ruminating on the things I just told him.

"And Arla, you'd love Arla, she's my oldest sister but she's always taken care of us all, when my mom was at work all the time," I keep going, getting excited to finally have someone listening. She's always babied me and Barric and the others. We felt like we could be kids around her. I tell him about the stars we talked about.

"There's also my friends, Kasha and Shiloh, you'd really love them both, oh and Mila from the fields…"

My sentences come out in a hurry, as though if I stop, I'll be silenced forever.

I even spend some time describing Georgina, Zia's twin, before passing on quickly to Barric.

"If I had to pick, Barric's the best, out of all my siblings," I confide in Momo. "We were always up to something, building bird shelters. He's a real clever one, and… and –"

My mood darkens a little bit when I realize those are things of the past.

"I didn't really get to say goodbye properly, you know?"

Momo tucks a strand behind my ear carefully.

"I just… I really didn't want to grow up. I never might get the chance to do that, now," I add nervously, before continuing. "But the point is Barric was right, and I really screwed up."

"I guess I just wish I could say sorry."

I remember now when he kept on asking me to stop playing around, to stop acting out in the fields. He got punished because I couldn't keep my stupid mouth shut when we were supposed to be working. I don't tell this to Momo, because what's the point in making myself the villain in this story, if he even understands a word I'm saying.

I turn around and see Momo nodding to himself, eyes fixated on my braid.

I take a deep breath.

"I'm sorry for you too, Momo."

I didn't even think hands that large were capable of such fine tasks, but he finishes my braid and without a word to acknowledge my apology, he turns me around, as though to admire his work.

I run my hand on top of the braid, and I don't even have to see it to know it's beautiful.

"Thanks Momo," I mutter quietly, wiping tears out of my eyes with my knuckles.
I look at the time and I didn't realize we spent all this time talking.

I feel my eyes get droopy, but for the first time in hours, it doesn't feel like my heart is about to leap out of my chest.

"Thanks Momo, for real," I repeat for emphasis, and lean in, extending my arms to hug him.

This gesture, he understands.

He leans in too, and his huge arms envelop me like a giant teddy bear.

"People really don't give you enough credit," I whisper.

Momo pats me on the back lightly, and I take that as a sign of approval.

Once I leave, I close the door quietly behind me and creep back into my room. I don't take my hair out of the braid, and lie down in bed.

I stare at the ceiling. I was too dazed to form an actual plan before this instant, but now that I've released the storm of emotions, I feel a lot better.

I'm still scared, but I think I know what I have to do. What would Zia do? What am I going to do, to give this my best shot?

These are all questions I have no answers to, but baby steps.

No more thumping can be heard from Momo's room, as I drift off.

Notes: Say hello to little Mona from District 9! I hope you enjoyed her as a character as well as her interaction with the gentle giant Victor from District 9. Let me know what you think. I love this little kiddo and a tantrum is exactly what she needed to get back on track, for what needs to be done. Next up, we're getting Val from D10, and that means we're really nearing the end for the introductory chapters.

If anyone has any opinions about the blog too, please share them in the reviews, I'll be super happy!

Peace and love.