#maysilee

WHEN YOU LISTEN TO THE RIGHT MUSIC AT 11:30 PM YOUR ART IMPROVES TRUST

"get away from me," I hiss, brandishing my stone. it's not very intimidating, and ringina doesn't appear fazed in the slightest. if anything, she seems amused.

"I'm not trying to hurt you," she says, her voice now flat and even. her smile is gone, the creases snaking across her face fade quickly, and as they do, I notice the sharp gashes cutting across her left cheekbone. deep, red cuts that ache but don't bleed, shallow enough to heal over. fresh, jagged cuts.

she notices my gaze and the skeleton of a smirk flits across her face for a moment.

"Let me help you," she says, taking a slight step towards me, and i react without much thought.

I hurl the stone at her with as much strength as I can muster and quickly grab another, larger and unfortunately heavier one. she hardly attempts to dodge my throw, and the stone strikes her leg without much effect. "stay away from me," I spit, winding my arm back, hoping it's a threat enough.

before i can use the last of my energy to send another stone at her, she catches my arm and snatches the rock from my hold. I writhe in her grip, kicking at air as she dodges me and tosses the stone aside.

"Your friend told me to watch you," ringina says, still grasping my wrist. "haymitch."

my jaw slackens. he wouldn't have. why would he have? he didnt think i was going to run, he couldn't have known, I didn't even think i would've. how could he have known? why was he still trying to help her, and why was ringina helping him?

i didn't even think he really liked me.

"yeah, haymitch," she says, a mean smile coming across her features. "look," she continues, her features returning to a blank, serious rest, "we can help each other. we can help each other survive."

"you're naive," i say, ripping my arm out of her clutch as soon as her grip slackens. she's alarmingly stronger than i'd assumed in my initial analysis. "we'll all end up killing each other. there's no use helping anyone else." I meet her gaze, and her features have locked, brow furrowed in what looks like frustration. "You're sending yourself to your grave listening to haymitch. he's naive."

for a moment i think i have her pinned, almost convinced, but her features soon shift into her strange, downward-turning smirk.

"how do you know the newcomers thing won't work out?" she asks. she doesn't sound sincerely curious, but earnestly interested. her features seem harmless, but her voice carries with a mocking gait.

"it's the system," i snap. "it's the fucking hunger games. only one of us comes out, every single year for fifty years, only one of us comes out. fuck the newcomers, you're putting yourself to death helping anyone. alliances are going to kill you, they're going to kill haymitch." my breath is scant, and i wheeze as i speak. ringina's face is impossible to read. "listen to me. you can't win these fucking games if you try to help somebody else. it doesn't work like that. it never works like that. you're digging your own grave. don't you have anything to live for?"

ringina is silent.

"you're so fucking naive and you'll get the both of us--"

"we're going to die no matter what," ringina hisses. her brown eyes are sparked with a burning light and her smirk has morphed into a scowl. her brows weave together, her teeth barred, lips drawn back. her face is so close to mine that I can feel the heat emanating from her like a flame, something close to it dancing within her eyes.

"you're the naive one," she says, slowly drawing away from me. "we're all going to die, all of us. do you think any of us stand a chance against the careers? they've put their lives to this. they were made to kill us. you think we stand a single chance against that?" She meets my eyes, and i can see her anger.

but also her devastation.

behind her rage is a powerful, flooding pain, a haunting pain. she knows she'll never escape this arena. whether her body is hung from a tree or torn to pieces on these deceptive glades, she will die, her spirit forever trapped within this beautiful cage.

"you can't know that," i say, but my voice is meek and i feel defeated. her terror is earnest and it inflicts itself in me.

a sad laugh escapes her, cold and miserable.

the gong rings out through the air, singing through a silence that's fallen over us. the girl beside me turns abruptly and dashes away from the cornucopia, her long black hair ripping through the wind as she moves. I glance to my left, and the small boy who was there moments ago is lithely darting towards the center, towards the noise. Towards the bloodshed.

My legs are frozen, my heart pounding in my ears, blood rushing through my veins, and in that moment I feel so acutely aware of each beat that pulses through my body, the warmth that slowly drains out of me as I see Silka emerging from the cornucopia.

her white cape, torn and now draped like a gown across her body, is splattered with crimson that seeps deep within the fabric. Her long blond waves are held behind her ears with a scrap of fabric, and in her sculpted hands she holds an axe glistening with blood, blood as red as the pigment that dyes her cape.

And that's when i run. I turn on my heel, departing the podium I've been cemented to and I break away from the center where I can hear shrieks cutting through the morning sky. no birds sing. no one mourns the little boy once to my left that now lays in pieces, bleeding out into the vibrant green lawn.

my feet tear the through grass and my thighs burn but a fear claws at my throat and my breath escapes me as i begin to stumble. my feet tangle amongst an invisible bramble, slashing at my ankles with vicious carelessness. the hill i've defeated the apex of now glowers at me as I tumble to the bottom.

all the air in my lungs rushes out as i land on my back with a definitive crash and as I part my eyes, sun bears down at me. It scowls, staring at me with something akin to disappointment. i wouldn't run, i'd promised myself. i'd promised merrilee that i would not run.

but i got scared.

I got scared and i ran and what does that say about me? when it truly matters, i was selfish and i ran. i was supposed to get supplies and find hay, i was supposed to look out for him. but i was selfish.

how useless can i be, lying here, moping to myself? pitying myself?

I push myself up from my back, propping myself up with my arms and slowly blinking and allowing in sunlight. sound returns to me, and i hear the soft trickling of a stream to my left. I turn my head, a deep throb and ache consuming my skull from my neck to my temples. breath labors me, but i shift my weight so i can see the water.

a teal stream ripples before me, water crystal and trickling along smooth, grey rocks, glossy with water. sunlight reflects along the stones littering the side of the stream, a shimmering light that reaches my legs that are turning purple with bruises.

I've given up on the idea of standing, no less walking to the water, so I crawl on my knees to the rocky shore. the fabric of my pants scrapes against the stones, and gravel presses against my knees through the clothing, but the pain washes away as I dip my fingertips into the water.

cool liquid winds between my fingers, stones tumbling as i swirl my hand through the stream. it's peaceful, truly calm and peaceful, and I stare out at the innocent and gorgeous landscape of sloping green hills that stretch out before me.

something shifts behind me, maybe a stick or some stones, but I turn around as quickly as I can, my neck screaming with distress, but I snatch a stone in my right hand and brandish it at whatever it was behind me.

it's the girl.

my hand shakes as i clutch the stone, but she bears no visible weapons and she stands a few feet away from me holding a small satchel, one of the ones that littered the field around the cornucopia.

she stares at me without a trace of fear and I glare at her, mustering as much confidence as i can as my arm trembles from the act of holding a stone once light that now weighs my entire forearm down.

i can see her face better now, her features defined by sun. her long nose and bridge cast a shadow over her face, but her narrowed brown eyes glint in the light, bits of gold shining speckled throughout. her deep gold skin is scattered with freckles, likely from time in the sun. she's tall, taller than me, but she's thin and poorly built, with long, nimble fingers that are worn from use.

she takes a step closer to me, and although i brandish my stone, i instinctively back away, closer to the stream. She laughs.

Her laugh is not cruel, but little humor rings through.

"I remember you from training," she says. her voice is kind but unforgiving, and I can't help the wariness I feel.

She feigns hurt when I don't respond and continues approaching me.

Quando todos somos jogados em salas diferentes no trem, já há quase 10 minutos parado, finalmente estou chorando. Sento no chão e sinto o frio, está chovendo lá fora. Penso em respirar fundo e me acalmar - podem estar filmando - mas as lágrimas insistem em sair. Parece que o mundo está caindo. Tento me situar no mundo novamente, quando olho pra janela gradeada e observo alguém na chuva. Vejo Lenore Dove, com o cabelo ruivo escuro e o rosto cheio de sardas, molhados. Ela está linda.

...

Uma vez na escola chamei Lenore Dove de Lenore, só Lenore, ela corrigiu dizendo que seu nome era Lenore Dove. Eu fiquei com raiva, ninguém me chama de Maysilee Donner! Ela tentou me explicar que seu sobrenome era Baird e que Dove fazia parte do seu nome, um discurso que fui teimosa demais pra escutar, mas engulo o meu orgulho pra confesar que ela estava certa. Então a partir dali sempre Lenore Dove.

...

Haymitch deve achar que estou a fim da garota dele.

...