Never too fictional to touch lives!

My favourite character in The Hunger Games is one who lived for less than one twelfth of the entire trilogy. She is an 80 years old lady who doesn’t even have enough teeth left to speak properly, who can barely walk to catch up with the speed that is required of her, who can make fish hooks out of anything, who volunteers to take the place of a mentally-ill young woman to be thrown into an arena where 24 people are to fight to their deaths in order to produce only one survivor, and who ultimately, to spare a young man guilt from having to choose between saving her life and that of a boy, walks to her own death into a cloud of poisonous fog.

Her name is Mags.

It’s not Mags’s fault when I began falling. She’s doing everything she can to be an easy passenger, but the fact is, there is only so much weight I can handle. Especially now that my right leg seems stiff. The first two times I crash to the ground, I manage to get back on my feet, but the third time, I cannot get my leg to cooperate. As I struggle to get up, it gives out and Mags rolls off onto the ground before me. I flail around, trying to use vines and trunks to right myself.

Finnick’s back by my side, Peeta hanging over him. “It’s no use,” I say. “Can you take them both? Go on ahead, I’ll catch up.” A somewhat doubtful proposal, but I say it with as much surety as I can muster.

I can see Finnick’s eyes, green in the moonlight. I can see them as clear as day. Almost like a cat’s, with a strange reflective quality. Maybe because they are shiny with tears. “No,” he says. “I can’t carry them both. My arms aren’t working.” It’s true. His arms jerk uncontrollably at his sides. His hands are empty. Of his three tridents, only one remains, and it’s in Peeta’s hands. “I’m sorry, Mags. I can’t do it.”

What happens next is so fast, so senseless. I can’t even move to stop it. Mags hauls herself up, plants a kiss on Finnick’s lips, and then hobbles straight into the fog. Immediately, her body is seized by wild contortions and she falls to the ground in a horrible dance.

– Catching Fire, second book of The Hunger Games

I nearly cried.

I read and reread that last paragraph at least three times. I’m almost done with the whole trilogy now. Without question, countless characters have sacrificed themselves for Katniss but none affected me as much as this old lady who didn’t even have a single proper dialogue in the book except “bob”.

Her death made me sad for reasons I can’t explain. Perhaps it was because her intention was so pure and so noble. Perhaps it was because I felt it unfair she wasn’t developed more.

But in all likelihood, I think it’s because I’m just human. Who may also be a little childish.

Maybe some things really are that simple. After all, some of the best things I know require no explanations – they just feel right. :)