Summary:
Some victor lose arms or legs, others their dignity or sanity, but I lost something much more valuable. I lost myself. Now that it's all over all I want is to escape what's inside me.
I have turned into a monster. No matter how hard I try to escape what's inside me it only grows stronger. Everyday I am forced to live with what I did to those innocent children, before then I too was a child but saying that I still am would be a lie. They broke me, turned me into a killing machine that had not existed before, no longer am I the pure-hearted, intelligent youth who actually could have held a successful future. Now those clean hands have been stained in blood, that unadulterated child has been slaughtered by the new monster, by myself. The victor.
My Hunger Games has gone down in history as the most brutal, most violent. The arena was the retiring masterpiece of the Head Gamemaker, a gift to the President for the opportunity of service without an assassination. I am certain that to those of the Capitol it was a spectacular event, so full of grandeur and uniqueness. Every other citizen of Panem probably appreciated the fact that it was short, ending the suffering of the Games in two short days, everyone except for the 23 unlucky tributes that had been ripped from their homes to die. Most at my own hands. My therapist, Dr. Winters, says that by writing this story I might be able to heal more effectively, and maybe even return to a somewhat normal victor life in my home district. I find that highly unlikely but here goes nothing, this is my story:
Hay tickled my side, my nose, my feet, everywhere. My eyes fly open in shock, where is my bed? why am I in the hay loft? Something behind me stirs and I feel an arm slide over my waist, a sigh escapes my lips when I remember why I am in the hay loft. In celebration of my last reaping I had spent the night up here with Trace, my boyfriend. Not that anything had happened, just talking and enjoying each other's company. I received the best pre-reaping sleep ever wrapped up in his strong, tanned arms and surrounded by the sweet smell of hay and horses. Slowly, I twist around to face him and find myself looking back into his tranquil golden eyes, a smile creeps across his face and mine as well. He pulls me into a long kiss, but after a while I break off and smirk solemnly as I tell him its time to go get ready for the reaping. As soon as the word leaves my lips my face falls and fear charges in, just like it does every year but I try not to let it show. Still, Trace pulls me up into a hug before taking my hand to leave. Before I know it we are at my house and he plants a kiss on my cheek then dashes of down the road to his own house to get himself ready. Ignoring the suspicious glances coming from my younger brother and sister, I quickly bathe and slip into a nice, white cotton dress that my mom has laid out for me and pull on my nicer pair of cowboy boots, the ones without too much dirt. As I sprint out the door I throw a goodbye to my parents across my shoulder, they know that I will meet them in the square after the reaping to celebrate.
In no time at all I reach Trace's house and find him not in the house getting ready, but in the barn brushing his horse. "Geez, I think you love that horse more than you love your girlfriend," I sarcastically announce. He looks up at me guiltily and winces as I sigh deeply but relaxes when the smile I've been fighting wins through. I jokingly stride towards him and snatch his arm to drag him out the door, playful and serious at the same time, with a little shove I push him toward his house and add, "I'll finish grooming Tennessee for you while you get ready." Tennessee, his horse, nickers at me, "See, he agrees with me." Both of us laugh and Trace takes off to clean up while I pick up a soft brush to address the half-clean horse that stands before me. He truly is a stunning specimen despite his unusual name, he's long and lean, the color of the sun, and his marvelous eyes were a deep, insightfully rich brown. With gentle strokes I brush off dust and dander, the action is something so regular that it seems like a reflex. I find my mind wandering, thinking how tomorrow I will leave my home and head off to the District Ten Veterinary College, the top vet school in the district. As valedictorian of my graduating class the Capitol granted me a full-ride scholarship, a rare honor. Even though I will have to leave behind my family, my friends, my horses, and, most importantly Trace, I am thrilled to soon be studying there. I wonder what studying there is like? Probably mostly focusing on cattle...
This flood of variously nerdy thoughts goes on for about ten more minutes until Trace waves his hand in front of my face and says, "Hello? Anyone home?" laced with sarcasm. While he leads Tennessee back into his huge stall I examine his chosen reaping day clothes, a clean pair of jeans, his nicer boots, and a nice plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up and buttoned about halfway, exposing his tanned chest the slightest bit. He must notice my staring because he raises his eyebrows, "You like what you see?" After he's finished striking a ridiculously stupid pose we reach for each other's hands and walk out of the cool barn into the already blazing morning sun. The dusty road below out boots leaves a fine dust trail behind us, and with the warm sun on my shoulders and Trace's rough hand in mine I find myself remembering the day he asked me out four years ago, when he became my best friend not just my boyfriend. A small, happy sigh escapes my mouth and, as if on cue, I hear someone up the road call out:
"Hey love birds!" and I immediately recognize it to be Dallas, my fiery and rambunctious best friend, standing in the middle of the road with our other friends, Ryder and Weston, on either side. She stands with her weight on one leg and her hands placed moodily on her hips. Her stance mirrors her personality. Trace and I take our sweet time reaching them and as soon as we do Dallas rips my hand out of his while attacking me with a hug. After her standard and lengthy best friend greeting our little band continues down the road, my left hand in Trace's and right arm looped with Dallas'. While we walk we all share our plans for the summer after the living hell that is the Hunger Games is over for the year until we reach the scorching square that unites all of District 10. Discreetly, Trace and I break off from the group and stand in a less crowded corner of the square, where we turn to face each other.
I look up to his eyes as he murmurs, "I love you, and may the odds be ever in y'alls favor." Both of us laugh lightly at his reference to our new escort's attempt to pull off the twangy accent of our district at last year's reaping, and because laughing diffuses the terror building in our minds. We share a quick kiss and head to our respective areas of the square. As I approach Dallas stares at me with one eyebrow raised as it always is after she sees me with Trace. The mayor walks up on the stage, signifying the start of this year's reaping.
"Only one more year. Then we'll be free," Dallas whispers to me as the mayor drones on about the Dark Days. One more year of terror, then I can go to vet school and live a long, peaceful life out of the reach of the Capitol's horrors. I nearly doze off in the heat listening to the terribly boring mayor slug on but jerk back to attention when Mavis Ribbonry, our district's escort, teeters across the stage. Her outfit nearly makes me sick, she appears to be going for the "wild animal" look or something along those lines because she is covered in various fabrics attempting to replicate animal pelts. Horrendous.
"Let us begin with those lovely gentlemen!" Well, at least she lost that horrible imitation accent. She is obviously the only happy person in the entire district as she hobbles to the boys bowl and plucks out a name with one swift motion. Not Trace, not Trace, not Trace. The thought chants through my mind, my entire being, just as it has for the past several years, and a cold sweat signifying my dread courses across my body. "Wyatt Lynch!" The breath I have been holding comes out as a big sigh while a plump fifteen year old plods up to the stage, I recognize him from school last year but no sorrow is found for him in my mind. Wasting no time at all Mavis gallops over to the girls bowl and deftly tears out a piece of paper that holds the fate of a single, unfortunate young woman. "Dixie Dodds!" Then suddenly I'm not seeing through my own eyes, it's just as if I am merely a bystander watching myself exist. I see my face turn chalk white and Dallas take my arm. That touch brings me back, I look into her face as I step by and see tears spilling from her eyes. A burning behind my own tells me that I too will be crying soon. While concentrating on forcing my tear ducts into submission the firm hand of a peacekeeper pushes me forward toward the stage. Great, now I look weak. I force myself to pull on a facade of strength and confidence as I mount the stairs and stand beside Mavis and Wyatt. Whatever our terrible escort blabbers on about I don't comprehend but I do shake Wyatts hand as custom dictates, his pudgy palm feels clammy in my own but I try my best to give him a warm smile. We get escorted by peacekeepers through the Justice Building to our small rooms where we get to say goodbye to our loved ones. The peacekeeper that guides me pulls me around to face them just before we reach the door and I balk when I realize that peacekeeper is my sister, behind the dark mask is my sisters forgiving eyes and flaming hair.
"Scarlet," I whisper as I throw my arms around her white-clad shoulders. A weak smile lights upon her face and she gently pushes me into small holding room, within seconds my first visitors burst into the room. They are, of course, my family. My mother sobs and throws herself into my arms while my father smiles gently at me in the way that only he can, bringing peace into my chaos. My brother and sister follow sheepishly, giving me tight hugs and mumbled goodbyes. Together we sit on the couch, each of my hands clasped between my parents' on either side.
"You're smart, dear," my father breaks the silence and I nod in agreement. "You can do this. I know you can, we know you can." These words lay peace over me like a blanket but I know what is laced within them, a challenge, a challenge to come home a victor. We sit together for a few more seconds until my father rises, kissing me on top of the head and holding my weeping mother on the way out, my younger siblings trailing out behind. I only have a few more seconds to compose myself before Dallas erupts into my room like magma and stones from a volcano, enveloping me in a sweeping hug before shoving an arms length away to address me.
"You may be a huge nerd, but you are the most badass nerd I know!" her words force laughter out of my sorrow and we hold each other while we laugh together for what I am sure is the last time. Before she leaves she turns and points her finger directly at my face, "Win this." And with that she is gone. At last Trace strides in calmly, and I allow my facade to crumble. Tears slid down my face and I run into his open, strong arms. He holds me for a while before placing a hand on my chin and pulling it up to force my eyes upon his.
"I was planning to do this anyways but now, well, I just have to," he mumbles softly, almost too softly for me to hear. Almost. Without warning his hands slide down my arms to meet my hands and he drops to one knee, my breath literally stops as he stares into my teary eyes and solemnly asks, "Dixie, will you marry me?" The sound that escapes my throat sounds more like a choke than the yes I intended it to be so I settle with a simple nod. The ring he slides onto my left hand takes what's left of my breath away, it's a collection of small diamonds arranged into the shape of a horseshoe. I sink to my knees and my mouth finds his, struggling to memorize the feel, the taste, everything, and I try my best to savor it, resisting his attempts to break it. He finally succeeds, gazing into my eyes while our foreheads remain connected and saying, "You can do this, you're a ton smarter than they are. And..." His voice breaks, forcing him to pause, "And you have something, someone, to come home to, to fight for." In limp agreement I nod again, and for the remainder of our time together we sit on the cold, wooden floor with his arms around my shoulders, my finger absent-mindedly fiddling with my newest treasure. When my sister opens the door to tear Trace from my life forever I see a small tear shine down her face behind her mask. As the gentleman he is, Trace rises pulling me with him. His lips fit to mine one last time and he backs out of the room, our arms sliding down each other's and catching for a few precious seconds on our fingers before parting.
Finding myself alone I struggle to fight back the tears, and as terrible as it sounds and feels I know I need to forget my family and friends now and focus on how to return to them. By the time a peacekeeper, not my sister, leads me out of that little room into the train station a plan is beginning to take shape in my mind. An irritated voice tears my away from my thoughts and I realize that I am already on the train. Speeding away from my home. Each second drawing me closer to my demise.