I stand in the doorway. Out the window trees whiz by, seeming to mold together in a mush of greens and browns. I should feel excited, overjoyed, I guess I am, slightly, to see my family again. But the empty feeling still hovers over me like a storm that refuses to cease, constantly pouring over me and blocking out the sun.
Caliper walks into the foyer of the train. He readjusts the black blazer I wear.
"There will be cameras, but they don't stay too long," Caliper says.
I nod my head in response and he begins to talk about how I should act and not forget to smile. But I zone out, watching as the gates of District 6 open and the train enters home. I can see the people, the city that now only looks tiny compared to the Capitol, and finally the station. It is crowded with people, both cameramen, reporters, and citizens of District 6. "Does it get better?" I ask.
Caliper stops talking and he looks at me with hard eyes. I already know the answer before he speaks. "No," He says softly, "You just get used to it somehow."
I don't know how I can get used to this. Morphling isn't an option, I have seen so many I love waste away on that drug. I don't think work will occupy my mind enough to help. I don't even think I would be allowed to work. None of the victors have ever returned to work after winning, maybe some sort of unspoken rule when you win. How am I suppose to get used to the fact that I killed eight people? In the games it was more bearable, I was in survival mode and those deaths didn't affect me as much. But not that I am out, back to the real world, my normal life, the thoughts of those lives I took are haunting.
The doors open and already cameras flash, videos are taken, people scream and clap. I force the brightest smile I can as I see people whom I have never met screaming out my name and asking for handshakes, hugs, and more attention. I have never seen any of these people yet they all know me. The cameras take pictures as I shake a few people's hands but then some of the crowd thins and I see my family standing on the platform.
I throw myself into my mothers' arms. It feels like she has lost even more weight, which I didn't think was possible for her as she was so small to start with. I lighten my squeeze on her cause I am afraid I will break her tiny frame. Has she lost all this weight due to worry? Maybe she upped her doses of morphling to deal with the fact of another son being sent to the games.
Clauria hasn't lost weight but her eyes have bags. I know why instantly. Staying up all night and watching the games. They broadcast a 24-hour live feed usually during the entire games so you can watch whenever you want though it is only mandatory to watch during the day. When Toben was in the games I stayed up most of the nights watching him in the games. He usually was just hidden so the camera never really focused on him a lot but occasionally they would show him. Clauria must have done the same thing, stayed up all the nights watching me in the games. I wrap my arms around her and she instantly starts crying as she grips onto me. I feel like it would be too harsh to let her go so I lift her up and then turn to Michelle who looks unchanged. I give her a quick hug. For the first time since the games I feel a tinge of something. Happiness. Seeing my family again, hearing their voices, I never thought I would again. The thought that never again we will have to worry about food, the cold of winter, we won't struggle any more.
We pose for a few pictures and the reporters ask some questions. "How are you feeling?" "What's it like to have your son back?" "What are your plans now?" All of which we answer flawlessly like we have rehearsed all these questions before. There is cheering that follows and a car pulls up. We all pile inside as we are driven down the streets.
Mom doesn't let go of me. She keeps holding my hand, thigh, has her arm wrapped around my shoulders, anything to keep in contact with me. Clauria bounces as she sees the crowds of people cheering and clapping as we drive through the streets. She seems to have completely forgotten about me and now just adores the crowds. We pass the crowds and drive up the hill towards the victors village. Only a handful of cameras are here as they take pictures of my family and I stepping out of the vehicle, posing in front of the house. Once they are done they give us each handshake before they get into the vehicle and drive off. And, after a month of constant attention, I am finally left alone. No cameras, no Capitol, no adoring crowds.
I have never been up to the victors village before. The 12 houses in two rows, a small garden between them with a fountain. Large bushy trees lining the paved walkways. The houses themselves are only just a few years old. The victors houses need to be the most luxurious of all in the district, so when the wealthy of District 6 started making their houses of steel and glass that began to contend with the victors houses, the Capitol took action. Remade all 12 houses in less than a week so that they remained the best. I remember the mayor saying that it was more common than would have thought, especially in districts 1, 2, and 4.
Clauria yanks on my hand as she runs inside. The mansion is huge. Too many bedrooms to count, the kitchen has an actual oven, the showers have running water both cold and hot, the dining room reminds me of the one from the Capitol, One entire wall being made of glass and having views of District 6 below. Clauria starts the hunt for her bedroom but mom drops to her knees by the door. For a moment I think something happened and rush over. Tears stream down her cheeks but she wears a large smile.
"I can't believe this is real," She grins.
I help her to the table and we sit together, holding hands until she wants to go explore the entire place. Michelle joins us for a bit before she goes with Clauria to find a bedroom she can claim as her own.
That night mom makes a large supper. An entire roasted duck with potatoes, gravy, corn, salads, cakes, and hulick. I feel like I am back in the Capitol again, the massive feasts for every meal. We all dig in and were laughing, joking, talking, were happy. Even Michelle joins in and I have hope that this will be enough to help break her off of morphling, even get mom off of it. I eat three servings of the food before we retire into the living room to try out our new television. It doesn't last long because they are still on the topic of the Hunger Games so only pictures of my homecoming and clips of my time in the games show and mother quickly turns it off.
Michelle goes to bed first, Clauria follows, then mom is giving me a kiss goodnight and telling me not to stay up too late before she goes up to sleep. It is eerie being in such a big house. Back at our old one when everyone slept I could still hear them, I was only just a few feet away. But in this one it is massive and I am left in silence. I end up pulling out some of the fresh buns and eating a few of those as I walk outside.
It takes about ten or so minutes to reach the city from Victors Village. I board the train that runs through the entire town. This late only a few people are on board, either going home from work or else starting to deal morphling or hunt for it. I hear whispers and catch a few of the people staring in my direction. I guess I need to get used to this, the constant stares and whispers. Someone who survives the Hunger Games is so rare, and in a districts large and populated, seeing a victor is just as rare. I remember when we saw Tressa the day Clauria invited her for food, it was like seeing a ghost. I kept staring as she smiled and walked by. I give a quick smile to the people on the train before stepping off at the station.
The building in front of me is only two or three stories tall. The concrete and bricks have begun to crack and vines lurch up the sides of it. The double set doors groan as I push them open and slip inside. People came here sometimes to pay respects to those who died, there was a few in the district but this was the one we went to when Toben and dad died. The entire place is empty which makes me kind of glad since I don't want stares and whispers well I pay my respects. It's only been a day and already I am tired of it.
I make my way to the many tables that hold thousands of tiny candles. Some lay lit well most are without a flame. It is a long process, quiet as well. But for each candle, I light I remember the faces, the deaths, the life, their actions. The little boy from 9 who was so terrified, the two best friends from 10, Vicuna who was talented and smart, The two from District 5, Herminia who wanted to see her two brothers again, Dazzle who was so confident, Amethyst was too maybe a District 1 trait, Blaire who even I thought would win the games, Marius the boy that I saved just to kill, and then Petro, sweet and smart and had such a bright future. I don't remember seeing her parents anywhere when I got back. By the time I am done there are twenty-three candles lit, flicking in the dim building.
"That's a lot," A deep crackling voice says, "Family?"
An old man with dark skin walks out. He looks in his seventies, maybe eighties and holds a cane. His eyes are a milky colour. It takes me a moment to realize that he is blind. He has no idea who I am or why these candles are here.
"If they were family and friends I have a place you can stay, some hot food and clean water," he sits beside me, "It won't be forever but long enough for you to mourn peacefully."
"No," I say, "They're not family...They're for kids I once knew." I raise the match and gently light the twenty-fourth candle.