Chapter Text
Maysilee couldn’t erase the scene from her mind. Her, Haymitch, Louella, and Wyatt were all standing in the chariot, making the usual route for the tribute parade. All of them standing there in their miners costumes that reeked of sweat and dirt. Maysilee and Louella smiling and waving in the front of the chariot, while Wyatt and Haymitch stood behind, waving. Haymitch was flashing his usual charming grin towards the crowd as the hooted and hollered at them. Wyatt, oh Wyatt, Maysilee was sure he was not smiling, keeping his stoic and neutral face, trying not to elicit any emotion from the crowd. They weren’t happy, far from it actually, but they all alive. But so many things can change in a minute.
Maysilee didn’t have a faulty memory, but at this moment she wished she did. She felt a pair of arms wrap around her as she flew into the air. Maysilee felt like she was flying, soaring away from her impending doom. Then with a loud thud, she hit the ground, but something—no—someone had broken her fall. The broad, muscular, arms around her had gone limp, with small twitches in the fingers. Maysilee felt a warm liquid coat her hair, she knew it wasn’t water. It was blood. Maysilee rose up quickly, and then she saw who had protected her in the soaring and the fall. It was Wyatt Callow. His stormy grey eyes were glossed over, perpetually looking up at the sky. His mouth was a gape, and blood was running out his nose. The crowd was stilling shouted insults and laughs at the poor, dead, oddsmaker. Drunkenly mocking him with different phrases like “Get up 12!” Or “Don’t go to bed now 12!” Or Maysilee’s least favorite, the one she had a hatred for, “Come on! He didn’t even make it to the games! I was betting on him!”
Maysilee cried out as she desperately shook his body, knowing it was no use, “No! Wyatt!! Please!!” Haymitch and Louella ran towards them, the other chariots coming to a halt. Haymitch covered Louella’s eyes with his right hand as his left covered his mouth. “No…” Haymitch whispered. Maysilee sat there over his body, rage fueling her, her eyes were now blood shot. Tears streamed down her face, falling over his dead body. Blood soaked Maysilee’s pants and hands, the remains of his life, dripping down her hands.
“Looks like someone couldn’t make it to the Arena!” Silka Sharp, District 1 career, daunted from her chariot.
Maysilee was done with her.
Without even realizing, she had got up, anger fueling her steps as she marched towards the District 1 chariot, her hands balling into fist. Maysilee had no idea what she was doing, or knew what she was going to do, but she just let the anger in her body guide her steps. She stopped in-front of the halted District 1 chariot, all of them grinning and snickering at her. “Someone’s mad her boyfriend’s dead!” Panache chuckled. “I’m surprised someone like her can get a boyfriend-“ It was quick, too quick for her to recall, all she saw was her fist flying. All Maysilee greatly remembered is Silka crying out in pain:
“SHE BROKE MY NOSE!”
Maysilee looked back to see Silka, as ugly as ever, being hoisted up by her fellow district partners, who just glared at her, shouting insult after insult. ‘Hope that nose job will do your looks some good.’ Maysilee thought. But did Maysilee care about what she just did? No. She had another mission that was carried by her rage. Maysilee donner had a message for the Capitol—No. A message for President Snow himself. She started picking her knees up, pumping her arms as best as she could. She wasn’t the fastest girl in 12, that honor went to Lenore Dove Baird, it was fitting that her and Haymitch were dating, both being the fastest kids in Twelve. But Maysilee guessed she was doing a good job, because she was outrunning all the peace keepers running after her. Maysilee ran to the stage where President Snow was, peace keepers having their guns and batons at the ready to defend their “honorable” president. When Maysilee got up there, she heard her heart pound in her ears, adrenaline pumping through her veins. Two peace keepers charged towards, but lucky for her, she could jump pretty high, for a Town kid. Maysilee jumped over the 1st peace keeper as he tried to tackle her, then tripped the next by kicking him in the back of the knees as hard she could. Maysilee then jumped high once again, but not high enough to reach the microphone President Snow would be using, speakers that would be blasting all over the stadium and Panem. “Cut the feed!” Maysilee heard President Snow say to someone behind him, his stoic image cracking in-front of her eyes. “It’s not working.” The game maker said frantically. This was her moment, her moment to paint her poster, her poster as the worst tribute in history.
Two more peacekeepers from either side charged towards her again. Maysilee then realized, that this big red wall with the Capitol symbol on it wasn’t a wall, it was a banner, a banner she could climb. Thank Panem for Asterid and teaching her how to climb trees. Maysilee started scaling the banner, bit by bit, expecting gunfire to go off and reign bullet hell on her at any moment, but still, she kept climbing. She climber all the way to the very top of the banner, kicking it off one of its screws, causing the Flag of Panem, to fall. But before she could fall with the banner, she grabbed the microphone of the stand, then holding onto the banner for dear life. Maysilee hopes Merrilee is watching this at home. After the banner stopped swinging, revealing a blank, marble wall. The top right side and bottom right side of the banner still holding up, causing it to flop ungracefully in the wind as Maysilee held on. She raised the microphone to her lips, and started doing what she did best, speaking her mind.
“You’re a murder President Snow! Every last one of you Capitol Mutts are killers! You all grovel in submission because you live “pristine lives” you all are horrible! Every last one of you!”
Maysilee looked at herself on the big screen of the stadium, then looked at the camera pointing directly at her, then flipped it off.
Maysilee felt something invade the side of stomach, the world around her began to spin, her vision blurred. She looked down to her side, dart with blue and white frills had penetrated her side. Maysilee had seen these types of darts before, they had used them on wild dogs, or wild people, if they caused too much of a ruckus. She saw one of the Covey members, Clerk Carmine, get shot with one while preforming at the hob when she was younger. The peacekeeper back home said that “he had caused too much of a ruckus, and had to keep them in check.” It was incredibly stupid. She felt herself slipping down the banner, as her hand’s strength had faded. And then it all went black.
It was later, a lot more later. Maysilee woke up with a jolt, as she looked around, it was all unfamiliar to her. Well, everything was unfamiliar, she was in the Capitol, after all. Then, a man in a dark green suit and a white ascot came forward, looking at her while hanging up his swan shaped phone. “Where am I? What happened-“ Maysilee was cut off by a scarily familiar voice.
“You’re in Heavensbee Mansion, my dear.” President Snow cooed from behind Maysilee.
Maysilee whipped her head around to see president snow in a deep red suit, a cherry red and white rose in the pocket of it. Her heart started racing at 100 mph, like it was running on a bullet train track. Maysilee’s eyes darted from President Snow, to the fella in the green suit. She finally put two and two together, that green suit man was Plutarch Heavensbee, there photographer for District 12. Plutarch walked and stood behind the president, with an unreadable expression plastered across his face. Maysilee was still in her stupid miner outfit, that was covered in dried blood, Wyatt’s dried blood. “You put on quite the show for Panem, my dear.” President Snow smiled at her. But not a warm smile, a cold, sadistic smile that was going to haunt for the rest of her short life. “Don’t call me that.” Maysilee snapped back at him. “If you’re going to address me, then do it properly, I’m not your daughter.” Maysilee snarled. If she wasn’t bound to the mahogany chair, she would’ve lunged at him with the knife on the table, stabbing him in the neck. “Well then, Ms. Donner, no need to be so snappy—“ “I can be snappy all I want, Snow.” Maysilee said, anger lacing her voice. Snow chuckled, toying with the flowers in his vest pocket, he looked back at her with his old and worn down blue eyes, something was going to happen to her, and he was the mastermind planning it. “Im guessing you cut the feed before anyone could hear my eloquently put speech?” Maysilee said sarcastically, rolling her eyes. She was hiding the fear that pounded in her chest, masking it with her sharp words. “You have a sharp tongue, Ms. Donner, be a shame if someone removed it.” President Snow laughed, finding it amusing to removes someone’s right to speak, but he did that daily, so was it that shocking? “But no, One of out Game makers from Two, who was in charge at of the feed, didn’t cut it until after you flipped off Panem. Can’t trust a person from Two to do the dirty work.” Snow said, his voice becoming more serious. “If you’re just going to kill me, do it now, I’m not going to beg for mercy from someone like you.” Maysilee said, sticking her nose in the air as if she was better than President Snow, and in every aspect, she was.
“I’m not going to kill you, Ms. Donner. I actually have a surprise for you. I take it you like surprises? Especially the ones with others flying from a chariot.” Snow mocked her. Maysilee was incredibly done with President Snow. She would’ve did what she did to Silka to him, if it weren’t for these stupid ropes binding to the beautifully carved chair of the Heavensbee mansion. Then it became gross, real quick. President Snow started vomiting blood all over the dark green carpet floors. As if she wasn’t covered in enough blood already. Plutarch emptied a large bowl of fancily wrapped candies, different from the ones in the Sweet Shop. He handed the bowl to Snow as he vomited his guts onto the ground. Maysilee closed her eyes and looked away, the smell of iron filling her senses. She then felt the binds of rope that held her to the chair loosen, then soon drop to the floor. “Please, get him some milk! It’s in the small fridge over there!” Plutarch pleaded with her, but there was a look in his eyes, telling her to do something else. Maysilee doesn’t know if it was just her imagination talking or that he was telling her to drop the milk with his eyes, but she was planning on doing it anyway. Maysilee knelt down, and opened the mini fridge, seeing a glass bottle of milk with an eagle stopper at the top of it. She grabbed and rushed over to them, but then purposefully tripped on air, and she fell, the glass bottle slipping out of her hands and up into the air.
“Oh no!” Maysilee cried, her voice thick with sarcasm.
The glass bottle of milk hit the ground with a clang, shattering on impact, the milk seeping into the dark green carpet. It looked like Snow was about to say something, but his vomit forced his words down his throat. Maysilee grinned at the sight, she was about to watch President Snow die. Plutarch looked at her with a knowing look, then rushed out of the room. It was now just her and President Snow, while he was at his most vulnerable moment. Maysilee Donner, the mean girl of Twelve, is about to kill the president. Then Plutarch rushed in with a tray of milk and bread, the bread still warm and steaming from the oven. It reminded her of her neighbor, just across from her, The Mellark Bakery. They always had the best and most fresh this side of Panem. Maysilee watched in disgust as Plutarch force fed milk and bred down the Presidents face, blood and bread crumbs flying everywhere. She wasn’t sure if she could look at bread the same every again, if she where to ever see bread again.
After an hour of Plutarch giving President Snow his pills, milk, and bread, the President finally returned to normal. As normal for a dictator to be. Dried blood covered the outer ring of his lips. “Now, as I was saying, My surprise to you, Ms. Donner.” Snow said, his voice hoarse and croaky, taking away all of his scariness that made Maysilee so afraid. “Come out my dear, she doesn’t bite.” Snow said calmly while motioning towards a purple door with sunrise handles. Maysilee wondered who or what this surprise could be. Maybe peace keepers coming to execute her? Or a bunch of poisonous snakes coming to bite her death. Maysilee sucked in a breathe trying to look like the surprise brought her no distress or anxiety. The door opened slowly only to reveal…
Wyatt Callow, standing in the doorway.