A/N: Well, this is the first chapter of my first story in the fandom. I based Mags' appearance off of, well, my imagination…I guess you can picture her as Emily from "Corpse Bride" with strawberry blond hair…oh yeah, and alive, of course.
Her personality is based off of my own, so that I can really decipher her emotions at any given moment and figure out what she'd do next, I guess…I'm finishing the reaping before I post this, so the second chapter should already be up.
I back away from the tall brunette, holding a spear in her left hand. She smiles at me, just as wicked as Dorothea did with every kill years ago in her own arena. The name Savera comes to mind when I look into her terrifying, pale violet eyes.
"No, no please! I thought we were friends!"
"Friends? You're barely an ally!"
She lifts the spear over her shoulder, beginning to throw it down towards my heart.
I spring up in bed, my strawberry blond curls bouncing up with my sudden jerk. My mother, who had been laying out my reaping outfit, rushed to my side instinctively, subconsciously worried that I was having a seizure. When my sugar levels went too low, I'd break out, thrashing around, banging my head against the ground, only to black out and not be able to remember a thing that happened during this time period, often terrified out of my wits.
"Maggie!" she gasped, holding her hand to the back of my head. That's when she realized that I was fine…physically, anyway.
"…Did you have another nightmare, sweetheart?"
"It wasn't the regular one, mother."
I remember the very first Hunger Games. I was 7 years old. I heard the word "game" and instantly wanted to be a part of them. I was devastated when I was told that they were only for "big kids". I insisted that the day I turned 12 I would volunteer.
I still remember the cruel smile Dorothea; the Games first victor, wore as she killed each tribute. Her false horror as she "accidentally" burned her district partner, my 12-year-old next-door neighbor, my best friend's brother, to a crisp. His true agonizing fear was burned in my own mind that day, and that's the regular nightmare.
I hated her, even if she was my cousin.
Needless to say that in all of my years of being eligible for the Games, I've been reluctant to volunteer. Though I have trained, just in case my name is pulled. There's only one more reaping I have to sit through before I can stop worrying about heading off to my certain death.
I look to the outfit my mom had laid out and frown in disgust. Pale blue and frilly. Frou-frou. All in all, reminds me of Dorothea. She's the preppiest girly-girl I've ever met, and I'm pretty sure this is what she wore to the first reaping.
I groan. "Mom…"
"I know, you don't like your cousin much, but she loves you…plus, with your major growth spurt, nothing fits you, anymore!"
Up until recently, I was about 4'5". I know it's crazy. But I grew 3 inches short (ha, short) of a foot within a short 2 months. My once full-length PJ pants were now capris and too big in the waist due to the weight it made me lose. If we'd been prepared for my unexpected final chance at growing, we may have been fine and I wouldn't be stuck wearing my tall cousin's hand-me-downs from when she was 8. I now stood at 5'2" and weighed only 80lbs. I was flat-chested and had no visible curves, actually, a quite boyish build.
I'd always hated dresses and skirts in general. I was pretty much the perfect stereotype of a tomboy. The only time I'd ever wear my kilt was when my uniform pants were dirty and I had to last the rest of the week. Usually I only caved when I'd fallen in a puddle of mud or got into a fight.
I examine one of my curls. I'd had it short for a few years, but I'd found it too annoying to be constantly asked whether I was male or female, though I miss not having to deal with it being in my eyes or having to take an hour to brush it out.
"Why can't I just wear my new uniform? It still fits!" The uniform company didn't make high school uniforms for teens of my size, so we'd had to buy the smallest and pin it. It's still a little big, but that was to be expected. People tend to be much larger in district four, being favored by the Capitol, along with the first two consecutive districts, 1 & 2.
"Because you have to be formal in case you go to the Capitol this year, Maggie."
"Mom, you know that I hate that nickname."
"My point is still the same."
"Your point is still irrelevant. I have nice dress pants and a lovely blouse for this year."
My mother rolls her eyes.
"No. You're wearing Dorothea's first reaping dress, and that's that."
"But why?" I whine
"You're just awful today, aren't you?"
"Haven't you noticed the trend these past six years?"
She closed the door behind her, leaving me to myself to get ready. I stare at the dress and feel disgusted all over again. It had been the dress she'd worn to the first reaping at age 15. I smile. It's too big. I pump my fist and walk from my ocean-themed bedroom.
"Mom! The dress is too big!" I shout down the stairs
"It's better than Capri-length formal pants! Just put it on, I'll pin it!"
I growl in anger and slam my door shut.