Day of the Reaping for 11th Hunger Games
MAGS FLANAGAN
PART I
The air is warm today, Mags takes a slow breath, reaching for a few hooks and line on the counter.
"You're not going out today, are ya, dove?" The voice is a soft whisper, barely rising above the sound of her own breath.
Mags turns to her father, his greying red moustache curving into a sad smile. She tries to offer a smile of her own, but it feels more like a grimace. "Pa, I need to try and catch something for the little ones, in case-" she stops herself short. It's best not to put words to those thoughts. "In case." She finishes.
Her father's smile drops, "don't talk like that, dove. Please. Ever since your ma, well, you're keeping us all together."
She knows. That's why she is going to try and catch something, trade for some salt to preserve the fish. Mags pulls her woven bag off the hook and collects her things and heads to her father, offering him a light kiss on the cheek. "I'll be back before they wake up. And I promise I'll get a good catch and trade." Tiptoeing outside, Mags silently shuts the door and walks down to the dock. No one is out this early, especially on a day like today.
She was five, nearly six when they started the Games. Her first memories of them is when she was about eleven, all she remembers is her parents harsh whispers of concern and sad looks across the table. She remembers when she turned 12, dressed in the nicest dress she had, an old green dress of her mothers, it hung down to her shoes. Mags remembers standing in a crowd, while Mayor Pillvale looked upon the faces of children, Mags would twirl the loose threads of her dress and hope they didn't call her name. She had heard the stories of what your name being called meant, it was just empty words til the last Games. She had really watched, they all did. When they weren't out on the boat, or trading, they watched. Mags made the little ones go to bed or play outside, but she, Aegis, and her father watched. Watched the girl, Lucy Gray, sing in a pile full of snakes and sit with a dying boy. Watched Coral, the District 4 tribute, kill and die horribly in a mass of snakes. Mags had never met Coral, never seen her til her name was called, but it still shocked Mags. And now, at sixteen, Mags was again going to stand among all those children, in a dress that was a bit too small for her height, and tug at the threadbare fabric, and hope that she wouldn't be the next Coral.
The Capitol said that the 10th Hunger Games was issuing in a new era of prosperity for the Districts. They would be rewarding the Victor and their District now, a house to live in and money for the rest of the Victor's life. Lucky Flickerman held an interview with a Gamemaker spokesman to share this new "generosity" to encourage the Districts to see the Hunger Games for the importance it serves. It did sound nice, to bring money and food home with certainty. The Capitol even said they'd be sending some rations to the Victor's District. The Capitol hadn't said exactly what they would be giving, but even more grain or oil would be pivotal for many of the families in District 4. However, it is not worth my life. Mags bites at her lip, images of the last Hunger Games flashing in her mind.
Mags shakes off the thoughts in her mind and slips off her shoes, toes padding along the warm sand. The sun is just beginning to crest over the sea. It was a beautiful place, the ocean. She didn't know what other Districts looked like, but Mags is certain that none could compare to the open sea. Humming softly to herself, wading into the cool ocean, Mags casts out her fishing line and stares into the dazzling sea, pretending today is just like any other day, ignoring the gnawing fear curling in her belly.
When she gets home, her father is making a bowl of porridge. He looks up, eyes full of worry, "how was it?"
"Not bad, got enough to get some salt." Mags sets the small parcel down, smiling at the relief that drowns out her father's worry. "We'll be okay, Pa. Tomorrow, I'll even go a bit further out and see if I can get anything bigger."
Her father sighs, "you are truly a dove, Mags. Go get ready, I will finish up in here. I don't want to wake the little ones, I think I'll leave Aegis to look over the others. He's eleven now." The rest remains unsaid, it's best to let him enjoy his last year before he has to come too, Mags thinks to herself. Her father has shared his relief in knowing the entire families attendance isn't mandatory. It's bad enough participation is enforced, for now at least, is an option.
"You and I will go to the Main Square." Her father smiles gently and looks at her for a moment, "I'm proud of you, dove. And I love you, fiercely."
Mags smiles "I love you too, Pa." Mags heads to the wash basin, looking into the tin mirror hanging haphazardly from the wall. She smooths her hair down, hoping to tame the curls that frizz around her face. The dress has faded with age, hanging above her knees. The sleeves are worn and fit loosely, stopping awkwardly between her wrist and her forearm, but its her mothers. Sometimes, Mags is certain she can smell her mothers scent, warm and sweet still on the fabric.
A quiet knock echoes off the doorframe, Mags turns to see Aegis, his red hair a mess of unruly curls. "Ah, you're up, little fish. Did you sleep well?"
He smiles sleepily, "I'm not little, Mags." Aegis is growing into a strong boy, he's already up to Mags collarbone. His arms and legs are outgrowing his clothes, his ears stick out a bit too far and he has the smallest gap between his teeth, like their mother. Aegis tugs at Mag's hand, "are you scared?"
Mags takes a sharp breath in, before fixing a relaxed smile onto her lips as best as she can. "Not even a bit. I have nothing to be scared of, and neither do you." Next year, he would have to go to the Reaping. And then her fears won't be just for herself, it'll be for Aegis. Mags straightens her shoulders and offers Aegis an overdramatic frown, "do you think you can braid my hair for me? You're so good at weaving the baskets and nets, I know you can give me a lovely set of braids."
Aegis grins, tongue poking out between the gap in his teeth. "Of course, you'll be the prettiest girl at the Reaping. My beautiful sister, Mags!"
Mags squeezes her father's hand one last time before taking her spot next to Marina Odair. "Nervous?" Mag's adjusts her sleeve and smiles.
"Of course, Mags. Isn't everyone?" Marina has eyes the color of sea moss and hair the color of spun gold. Freckles like grains of sand dusting her nose and cheeks, Marina is a District 4 beauty by everyone's standards. It's truly luck that her personality is just as lovely.
Mags nods, peering over the countless heads congregating together. Mayor Pillvale walks up, head shiny and red from the sun. He's a short, portly man with splotchy red skin and tanned creases under his eyes. "Welcome to District 4's 11th Reaping Ceremony. Let us begin by reading the Treaty of Treason."
Mags suppresses an eye roll and Marina lets out a huff under her breath. The Treaty reading always drags on, a soft breeze offers a reprieve from the unrelenting sun and the droning voice of Mayor Pillvale. The camera's crane over a bit as Mayor Pillvale moves from the middle of the stage to the two patched sacks sitting to the left of him. He sticks his arm all the way down the bottom of the sack and spends far too long poking around for a slip of paper. Finally he pulls out a small thin strip. Mags grasps Marina's hand and holds her breath. This is always the worst part. Mags just repeats, it's not me, over and over again softly from her lips, hoping the words alone will make it true. She's always done that and so far the ritual is protecting her, at least that's what Mags tells herself.
Mayor Pillvale returns to the makeshift microphone stand and clears his throat, "the District 4 female tribute is...Mags Flanagan."
The ocean is lapping in her ears. Pounding, the sound of waves crashing. She's drowning, she thinks. She can't breathe, her lungs are burning. Someone pushes her forward, her grasp on Marina's hand slips. Some other part of her brain says to walk. So she does.
Mags walks all the way to the stage and she still feels like she's drowning. Can still hear the ocean flooding her ears. They call a boy, she doesn't even hear or see who it is. There's some words and some gestures, but all Mags can hear is the ocean drowning out everyone and everything. The Peacekeepers start to pull Mags from off the stage and suddenly, the water rushes out and she can breathe and she's frantic. She pushes past them running towards the crowd watching. Her father, her Pa. Where is he? Mags has to say bye, to say so many things in case. In case. She had thought that this morning, in case. Mags eyes search wildly for greying eyebrows framing warm honey eyes, and as if the sea parts, she finds him. He's running to the stage, tracks of tears along his cheeks, Marina is behind him. Her face is wet and blotchy, they run to the stage as Peacekeepers pull Mags back, rough hands pulling at one of her shoulders, another grasping at her waist.
Mags thrust out her hands, reaching for the outstretched hand of her father. "I'm coming back, Pa. I'll win! I'll be back, just hang on for me. I'll be back!" She's struggling against the Peacekeepers. Heart pounding, tears falling along her skin. Marina is saying something, but she can't figure out what.
As they shove her into the Mayor's building she sees a last glimpse her father's heartbroken face, his desperate eyes and his tearful nod and the words "dove" curving off his lips.
Mags screams, she screams and screams and screams until she thinks the ocean can hear her.