a/n: I've been planning this for forever and have finally had the time to sit down and type! Also, title from Augustana's "You Were Made For Me" Edit: Twenty-Four Months was added!
it doesn't make a lost man free
It takes more than a day to fix a broken nation and more than a lifetime to fix a broken people.
Two Months:
The grand houses of the Victor's Village stand silent and empty, surrounded by the majestic forests of District Seven. The colors flicker in the light of Johanna Mason's lit matches.
She laughs at how easy they burn.
Four Months:
The wrecking ball hits the former Presidential Mansion with an almighty crash that reverberates through the Capitol and all the Districts like wildfire. The newly appointed President Paylor sits across the square in an abandoned apartment signing papers.
The first of which is the authorization for a memorial to be built over the ruins of tyranny. And it's not the solution, but it's a step.
Five Months:
Beetee drags himself back to the workshop, finding no use in avoiding it any longer. It remains unchanged, down the position of the glitter flakes. He christens them Nano Unlimited Time Singers.
Or NUTS for short.
Six Months:
The dark haired young woman sits in the old sea battered house, a hand resting delicately on her gradually growing, distended stomach. The television glows, a face now forever young laughing with a Games commentator.
"Say hi to daddy," Annie whispers.
Eight Months:
The destruction of each arena is quick and deliberate. All seventy-five of them take only twenty five days to destroy. And Plutarch Heavensbee stands in the hovercraft above, watching them fall.
When they reach the destroyed remnants of the third Quarter Quell, he feels a pang at the loss of such a clever arena.
Twelve Months:
He pulls out a bottle of expensive liquor and an old faded photo, leaning it against the bottle. "We did it Clare, we did it I tell you," Haymitch slurs to nobody but the ghosts in his head. A brief pause before:
"Aw, hell, the damn geese make for better conversation!"
Fifteen Months:
It's a self-proclaimed upstart from District Eight who announces the class and it's teaching to the Capitol Avoxes. Passed down from before the Dark Days, the factory workers of Eight used it to communicate over deafening machines.
Lavinia's hands shout her joy.
Seventeen Months:
The flashy club, Circenses, is fully operational after a brief lull for renovation. Enobaria slinks into it- heels high, dress shimming and teeth bared. She sidles up to the bar, "A Fang for me."
Because she doesn't care who's running the damn country- she was a winner then, she's a winner now. Everything remains the same.
Twenty-One Months:
There's no funereal, no headstone. There's no grand memorial built on the ashes of the Presidential Mansion. Mrs. Everdeen refuses it all for her youngest child, despite the numerous offers. She only asks for one thing and one thing only-
the Primrose Memorial Hospital is opened that month.
Twenty-Four Months:
He stands shifting from foot to foot on the front step of the house, still standing despite the ashes that litter the ground else where in the District. He raises his hand to knock, but drops it to his side, peering into the front window of the warmly lit house.
Peeta clutches the back of a chair, face contorted into a pained expression and hands shaking in their grip. Katniss reaches up, wrapping her skinny arms around his broad shoulders. Not moving, simply holding, they keep each other grounded. Gale swallows heavily, drawing his hood and hunching his shoulders against the winter chill as he walks away.
He never returns.
...
a/n: Short, but that's the point. I think this everyone I wanted to include, but if anyone has more characters they'd like to hear about, let me know and if I collect enough I'll continue. :)
