Maala Mathilda

"I someone tells you that your sick, you shouldn't pretend like your sick―just move onto another obstacle."

-Maala Mathilda

Basic Information
Name: Maala Mathilda

Age: 12

District: 8 (6, 7)

Gender: Female

Personality: Maala is commonly seen as the "man" of her family―currently only her and her brother. Ever since her father died, she's listened to his word and made sure to protect Ikaika with all of her life. She's stronger and moves on faster than a lot of people―having very limited amount of space for emotion when she has to make sure her brother is grieving fine. Although her brother may mock her for being overprotective and demanding, both have an incredible bond to the extent of laying down one's life for the other. During the Hunger Games, Maala makes it seem like she's going to let her brother kill himself for her, but she's very good at manipulating people into believing what they want to believe in. So, in the end, she plans to commit suicide for him to win.

Weapons: Maala isn't training in any type of weaponry at all. She's only seen knives before and only saw someone use it before―her brother. However, she prefers not to use throwing knives or any types of knives, seeing them more as a utensil than a weapon. Instead, during training, she's trained herself into using a crossbow and arrows. It might be harder for her to reload it, but she has perfect aim with it and knows the perfect tragectory for any distance. Her secondary weapon would be the axe, although she's never used it. She hasn't really held one before, but learned quickly during the last day of training. Maala's still a little shaky on using the axe, so it won't be her top thing to get at the bloodbath.

Appearance: 

Backstory: My entire life has been terrible. I've been living with a deadly disease that has taken over my body. In fact, everyone in my family has a "designated" disease. My mother had vitiligo, dad had AIDS, brother has AIDS and I have cancer. Although we're always sick and the littlest disease might kill us, we live together and we helped each other out until the very end.

When I was a little girl, I was constantly scanned over and over to see if I had AIDS. My brother, Ikaika, was contracted with it at a young age, due to the genetics of our father. My mother, although risking her life, did whatever she could to have us children. But now, it seems like a waste. We're all slowly dying, faster than other families, but what caused ours to be so. . . sad?

When my brother was five-years-old, he got the cold―something that's usually gone within a day, but since he had AIDS, he was out of school for nearly a month and almost died. I was stuck at home the entire time, comforting him and making sure that he would hold on, just a little longer. I might have been only three-years-old at the time, but I still kept him striving.

After the cold left my brother, it attacked my father. My father has been living with AIDS for about ten years at the time and was ready to die. He talked to each of us individually about what we were supposed to do―how to make him proud once he passed. All he told me to do was be there for my brother, make sure that he doesn't do anything stupid and always watch out for him. I understood entirely.

Three days later, only a day before my sixth birthday, he passed away. My birthday―as you may assume―was terrible. We had to cancel my birthday party because we wouldn't even get out of bed. None of us were in the mood to make breakfast, lunch or dinner. I starved for nearly three days before we were forced to eat at the funeral.

My dad's words never left my mind, though. Every time I saw my brother, I saw my father and was going to do anything to protect him. We're siblings like no other, couldn't be any closer than you can imagine, so nothing could break us apart. When our grandparents died from Alzheimer's disease, we hugged each other until we were dehydrated.

Then, right when I was nine-years-old, I was being x-rayed because I fractured my ribs. I didn't know that anything else in my body was wrong, but the pain was unbearable in my ribs and I wanted the doctors to fix it. But, instead of fixing it, they set it on fire and let my drown in my tears. Instead, they told me that I had breast cancer, one of the main killers of infected women with cancer.

I was dumbstruck with the news. How could I have had cancer without knowing. I didn't feel anything different, I didn't notice anything wrong with my body until the told me. My throat was sore and my stomach dropped. The doctors decided not to tell my mother, saying that it would be better for me to tell her myself. Oh, that discussion at the dinner table was terrible! I didn't even eat food and my brother started choking as I told them.

It's not like having cancer made me any different, but there's things that make you feel different. I felt betrayed and sick and unwilling to live life like this. I had a limited time to live―there's not a lot they could have done since we weren't in The Capitol―so why couldn't I just die right now? Why couldn't I just commit suicide and let myself die out?

I received the answer that night, during my dream. I saw my father's face, staring me right in the eye. My mouth was dry and I tried reaching out to touch him, feeling his soft cheeks to make sure he was really him. He let me touch his cheek and told me the same words he said on his death bed: "Watch out for your brother. Don't let him do stupid things. Don't let him die like me. Don't let him die without being cared for."

When I woke up in the morning, I was slightly disappointed that it was really a dream, but I felt refreshed. I felt like I could do a million jumping jacks and that I wasn't sick anymore. My mind was cleared from the troubles our family faced and I was ready to get onto my life. To live my life to the fullest, but there's not a little nine-year-old could have done.

I remember walking down the halls, my body shivering as I noticed a blood stain in the carpet. I called out for my mother. No response. I called out for my brother. No response. I tried again and again, screaming from the top of our stairs, but still no response. As I slowly and cautiously walked down the steps, I noticed more blood and larger puddles. When I got to the bottom of the stairs, I slipped on a large puddle of mud on our wooden floors.

My vision was fading, I was obviously going unconscious, but I got back up to my feet. I followed the footprints along the floor and finally saw it a sight that I dreaded terribly: my mother and brother covered in blood with a note sticking on my mother's forehead. I picked it up and it said: We're sorry.

Tears filled my eyes and I pounded the floor in frustration. I stared at my mother, stroking her hair slightly and looked at my brother. Then, I noticed the slightest movement in him. He's still alive! He's alive! He's alive! But. . . he's dying. His eyes fluttered awake and he stared at me with surprise. Don't let him do anything stupid. My dad's words ring through my head. What would he say now?

I take the knife out of my brother's stomach and he let's out a relieved moan. My hands were shaking as I dialed the numbers into the phone and called for an ambulance, since my brother was dying. They came right away and my brother was brought to the hospital. Sadly, our mother had already died, slitting her own throat. The thought loomed over me like a shadow: Did I do this?

Surely, I didn't stab them in the stomach or slit their throat, but did I cause this. That night, I told them about my cancer. Did this trigger my remaining family members to want to commit suicide? Were they doing this because they wanted me to die too or they couldn't handle it anymore? My mother, she's always been very compassionate, but I never knew that one disease could cause her to try and kill herself! And what happened in the end? We were at an orphanage.

The orphanage was harsh and we were constantly picked on. We were a walking target for the bullies―since I had no hair and my brother was always keeping his distance. I was nicknamed "Baldy" and "Little Miss No Hair," but the nicknames just made them look like children. Plus, we all have our own ways to grieve. Nobody could be happy at the orphanage, because our parents either died or abandonned us.

When I was ten―Ikaika, twelve―Ikaika was extremely worried about the Reapings. The entire suicide incident blew over us, which was good because neither of us really wanted to talk about it. I didn't really understand the Hunger Games back then, but I knew that they weren't good. My brother was always telling me about the previous Games, describing them vividly which only brought me new nightmares.

The ways my brother knew how each kill was made in every Hunger Games within the last five years frightened me. Was he planning on volunteering? Was he learning new tactics in case he went into the Hunger Games? Why is he learning all about this? My brother became more independent after his first Reapings, but never completely left my comfort.

One day, when I was eleven-years-old, I was walking back from school and heard something. The hairs on my neck pricked up as I recognized it as the sound of a knife going into a dummy―something I never heard, but my brother told me about. When I found the source―an alley―I found my brother throwing knives into a dummy. I was never able to look at him the same way again.

By the time it was my first Reapings, I was extremely scared, but not because I was afraid of being reaped, I already knew that I was going to volunteer. Ikaika has AIDS and almost died from them five times. The Capitol knows how to treat a lot of diseases―one of the few cons in living in a totalitarian―if they don't know how to treat AIDS or cancer, then I bet most of them would be dead. However, my plan backfired in my face as my brother also volunteered. And only one of us can get back.

"When life gives you lemons, you make lemonade. But when life gives you sickness, what are you supposed to do?"

Reasons for Winning: Maala doesn't necessarily have a reason to win. She wants her brother, Ikaika, to win so he can find a cure to his AIDS and live a normal life. However, she doesn't want to die and would love to get ride of her breast cancer. She's at a crossroad and her reasons to win will change over the course of the Hunger Games. Her thoughts remain at two, countering angles―one wanting her to win, the other wanting her brother to win.

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