3Chapter One, Madge POV
Light filters through my bedroom window, the square below, usually bustling, is silent. The shops closed. Soon it will be full of people, though most likely, still quiet as the grave.
Today is the day of the reaping, and always one of my mother's worst days. On this day, my father and I always draw the curtains so that she can't see the proceedings in the square. It doesn't make much of a difference, she won't be moving from her bed anyway.
We try not to talk about it much, but I know the story of my aunt, how she got reaped for the second quarter quell, how she almost made it home. When I was a child, playing hide and seek with my mother on one of her good days, I had found a box of aunt Maysilee's things underneath my mother's bed. A pocketknife with an engraved 'M' on it. A book of pressed flowers. A photograph of two identical blonde babies sitting on a blanket. And a circular, gold, pin.
When my mother had found me, the box's contents splayed out on the floor, our game completely forgotten, her previously cheery mood immediately turned somber.
"Oh." She stood frozen in the doorway. "You look so much like her."
It was then that she told me the basics: She'd had a twin sister. She had been reaped. But more inquiries just led to my mother closing herself off. She had let me have the pin, since I'd admired it so, and insisted on no more questions.
Her mental state only got worse once I was eligible for the reaping. With each passing year, with each new slip reading "Madge Undersee" that was added to the bowl, my mother withdrew further. Some days it seemed like she didn't even recognize me. On others she'd grab my arm and cling to me, hard enough to leave bruises, begging me not to leave. Ever since I had learned about my aunt, I had felt as if my family was not complete, but looking at my mother, I couldn't help but feel as though the Capitol had stolen two family members from me.
Of course, I don't have it as bad as a lot of people. Compared to most of the kids in the seam, my five slips didn't even register. This was made especially apparent when Katniss and Gale had shown up to sell their wild strawberries. "What can you have, five slips? I had six when I was just twelve years old." Gale had said. And he was right. The Capitol wouldn't stop at killing teenagers, no, they would make the poor ones choose: starve to death, or willingly enter yourself into a death match.
It wasn't fair. None of it was.
Thinking of Katniss, I try to count up the slips she will have today. Five age slips, same as me, plus tesserae slips for her, Prim, and their mother for five years. That makes twenty.
Katniss Everdeen would have twenty slips in that bowl today.
I adjust the pin on my blouse. Maysilee's games were so long ago that it was unlikely anyone would recognize it, but I still wants to wear it. If only to hold the Capitol accountable for the family they'd destroyed.
Katniss's POV
Effie Trinket's manicured nails fumble through the girl's bowl, finally snagging a slip, she smooths it out, ready to call the name of the next child to be sentenced to death. I squeeze my eyes shut. Don't let it be me. Don't let it be me.
"Keena Murkier!"
I breath a sigh of relief, immediately followed by a sense of shame. My family is not the one being ripped apart, but I know Keena. She's Ripper's younger cousin, sometimes selling alcohol with her at the hob, and she has a two year old son. At eighteen, this should have been her last reaping.
As Keena makes her way to the stage, a wail rings out from the crowd.
"Mama. Mama!"
On the outskirts of the crowd, Ripper is struggling to hold Keena's son, who's pushing and crying to get to his mother. My heart breaks a little. I wonder who will take care of him now.
Effie Trinket smiles brightly.
"Well, can we get a big round of applause for our female tribute?"
Nobody claps. It's the strongest form of resistance we can muster in this moment. We will not treat this like the tournament for fame and glory the Capitol makes it out to be. All of this is wrong.
Almost without thinking about it, I press my fingers to my lips and hold them out in a three-fingered salute to Keena. Like a wave of movement radiating out from the center, the others do the same. A final farewell to Keena Murkier.
She looks as if she's about to cry, but holds back her tears.
"Well!" Effie Trinket says, "On to the boys then!"
She taps her way over to the boy's bowl in her ridiculous glitzy heels that probably cost more than three months worth of food on their own, and fished out a slip. I look over to where Gale is standing at the front, praying it won't be him.
"Peeta Mellark!"
Oh no.
My gut twists as the blonde boy walks up to the stage, because I know him, though I've never spoken to him. He's the one that threw the bread to me five years ago. He's the one that saved my family's lives. I stood frozen in the realization that I may never get to thank him for that.
A/N: I hope you all enjoyed this, please review because I'd love to hear your feedback!