Whoah it's been so long since I've posted anything here! I need to get my sea legs back…
Anyway, just finished Mockingjay—hated the end—and realized that really, the series (for me) was only really good in Hunger Games. So, know before you read, I've begun writing immediately where HG leaves off. No Catching Fire or Mockingjay considered, included, or even thought of—so I hope it won't be too confusing!
Happy reading!
Topsy
Betrayal. In his eyes, on his face. In that last moment as he glances back at me over his shoulder and is engulfed by the waiting District 12. The accusing, tortured look is gone as quickly as it took to compose, and he's the lovable, easy talker that charmed Pamen into believing our false romance in the arena. Hands reach out and touch him, grab him, hug him, and he's swallowed off of 12's meager train platform and into the people we haven't been among since… since we were just kids in the Seam. Not tributes. Certainly not victors.
My feet shuffle forward as someone announces something over the crackly intercom system, and misty faces swirl past- smiling and congratulating me. My hands are clasped in innumerous others, but none of the fingers are the ones I let slip away. My groggily overwhelmed brain registers a few faces- Greasy Sae, Delly Cartwright, Madge, the mayor- but I'm not pulled fully into reality until thin and achingly familiar arms are thrown around my neck, skin and bone and blond braid, and Prim's voice is in my ear. "You came back," she says in a rush of pent-up breath. Over and over, intertwined with my name at times. Over her thin shoulder, my mother has tears carving their way down her dusty cheeks and a hand over her mouth as she watches us holding herself together with her other arm. Prim eventually slips back, and my mother gives me a soft, warm hug in arms that tear back memories of sitting on her lap with the light of the fire casting dancing shadows on her face as she watches my father teach Prim how to dance.
"Thank you," I say once we draw back to see each other's faces. I don't have to explain why- she nods and draws Prim to her side with a protective arm. My name is still bouncing around the crowd, next to his in a connected phrase that reminds me that this isn't my victory- I'm not the one 12 will remember. Not Katniss. Peeta and Katniss. The star-crossed lovers. The triumphant heroes. The ones who held up a handful of berries in a slap that the Capitol's colorfully painted face has never felt before.
Our reception is obviously another Games event that everyone is required to attend, because no faces are missing. My family, my friends, my neighbors… everyone is rushing at me with noise and movement, my head is whirling. I long for solitude, I long to be away from the Games, I long for-
A calloused, leanly built hand secures around my wrist as a smooth, low voice finds my ear, "Knew you'd win." I spin around to come face-to-face with the features I've been dying to see ever since I stepped on this very same train, headed the opposite direction. I feel a stupid smile split my face- and I don't think, just wrap my arms around his neck and bury my face in that old black hunting jacket that fills my lungs with his woodsy, musty scent. A chuckle vibrates his chest before he gently returns my embrace.
We could be standing by the lake. We could be by the sticky counter in the Hob. We could be in the crowd on Reaping day- it feels the same. Gale's steady face and guiding eyes seal the truth; that I'm really home.
Falling into my own thin bed that night, exhaustion slogged through me to the point where I was sure I wasn't getting up for at least a week, much less dream. But the arena starred in my dreams- Prim's meager slip plucked from the Reaping ball by a multi-colored clownish being. A boy with curly blond hair crying red tears that stained his cheeks. Me, alone, standing on a round metal disc that stood floating thousands of feet above a sea of churning lava. Me running through a forest of heat, weapons flying at me, my steps accented with mournful cannons. Rue, smiling at me from the ground with an awful wolfish snout and a spear running through her belly. Peeta kissing me, his arms around my waist made of unyielding, binding steel. And throughout it all, the Capitol's creepily contorted anthem…
I sat upright so quickly, my head spun and my eyes couldn't focus for another few moments. It's over, I keep telling myself. I'm not going back. It's over. Too jittery to go back to sleep, I swing my legs over the side of my bed and into my old boots. Those, paired with the weight of my father's hunting jacket and my old bow and quiver slung over my back, gave me a comforting rush that propelled me to the door. Mother and Prim would know where I'd gone- they've live with me long enough to know my ways of relieving stress. For good measure, I'd left the edges of my bed covers folded up to form a sort of triangle- my sign that I'm off hunting. I hadn't used that method in such a long time, I hoped Prim still remembers to look for it before freaking out.
I swing open the front door, letting in cool morning breeze and- no, the light's blocked. I tense, shooting my gaze from the threshold to- he's smiling. Hand raised, fist clenched, knuckled tilted in a way that makes it obvious he was about to knock. I quickly wipe away my tense expression and wave him out of my way impatiently. I hear him laugh quietly as he closes the door without a noise. I know he's following me, up the old road and off to the field. Even though his breath is noiseless, his footsteps not yielding his position at all, I can feel him.
"Thought you'd want to… get away. From it all." I jump the slightest bit- he's right by my shoulder, voice not needing to be much louder than a murmur.
"You thought right. And anyway, I want breakfast."
"Well, it won't be any Capitol feast, but how does a rabbit sound to you? I just found a new warren by the lakeside."
"Perfect." Something's off, and we both feel it. It's not quite like the other hunting mornings we shared. And what's heavy on both of our minds hangs in the moist air between us, waiting for the solitude of the woods to break free.
I clear the fence, only snagging my pants once, and step a little ways under the cover of the trees before pausing to take in how great it is to be back. The small birds sing to one another on their own accord, not because someone has programmed them to do so. The light filters naturally through the trees, uncontrolled by a switch somewhere. And best of all, I have my hunting partner back, who I'm not trying to kill or am constantly lying with… and to.
I let him lead the way through our usual paths and clearings, surprised when he walks right past traps he's laid, even when there's game waiting there. He makes no attempt to shoot the only doe we see- I don't miss the chance. My arrow misses her shoulder and hits the top of her foreleg- I silently curse and remind myself that this is my bow, not the silver one in the arena, before adjusting to the more taut string and landing the killing blow. Gale watches me with his dazed mask that only portrays slight interest and even a bit of discomfort. His bow is untouched on his back- he didn't even try for the doe. He must be really out of it.
Nonetheless, we prepare the doe as we would any other day, his clog of thoughts seemingly cleared enough to help me relocate it to where we'll find it on the way back. And with fresh blood wiped on my pants and my arrow cleaned and stowed, he silently leads off to where his mind already is- our rock by the lake. I wisely pluck off a stray rabbit on the trail, knowing I'm going to want something to keep my hands busy. Because we never go to the rock to hunt, or fish, or scavenge- the rock is for talking. Countless afternoons have been spent here, me sitting relaxed on the smooth stone surface with a pile of plucked geese at my feet, Gale on his feet, pacing sometimes, throwing his hands in the air with raw frustration that had only really dented my surface. His feelings about the Capitol had never really been something I could relate to- sure I knew the Hunger Games were wrong, everyone did. And how we lived off of almost nothing, while everyone knew the Capitol people were lounging in luxury by fires burning our coal. I'd just never seen the point in expressing how I felt about the Capitol if I, a measly girl from the Seam, couldn't do squat to change anything. And as a girl, I couldn't. But as a tribute…
Gale stood with his back to me, arms crossed over his chest; bow deposited a few feet away. He took a somewhat unstable breath before turning to face me.
"So?" A reserved curiosity glinted in his grey eyes as he regarded me.
"It's fake," I blurt before I can even consider what to tell him. "Peeta and me- it's for the audience, it was all planned, I don't- we never—"
He crosses over to sit by me, and I avoid his eyes as my lips tremble with the words I've been dying to tell someone, my palms pressed against the cold stone beneath me.
"Slow down," he says calmly. "And start from the beginning."
Reviews are amazing—I always, always, always love them!
Thanks for five minutes of your life…
Topsy