Jemima sat on the seat at the very end of the last carriage of the train, watching the trees whizz by at an incredible speed. The way they merged with each other into a green blur reminded her of how she had fled through the arena so many times-
No.
No, she didn't want to think about that right now. She was on the train, she was going home, she would see her family and her district. Funny. Before she left, she would have loved to get out of Twelve, see what else the world had to offer. Well, she had done just that, and she wanted nothing more than to be able to see the drab grey buildings and smell the light smog that constantly hung over them.
She felt oddly proud to be a child of Twelve. It was her home, it was where she'd spent her entire life, and it was the place that would undoubtedly be rejoicing to finally have one of their children come home. And one of their weakest, at that.
If she could make it out alive, then anyone could.
It wasn't long before the squat buildings that made up the train station pulled into view. The train ground to a halt and Jemima got up. Home sweet home.
She made her way to the doors. Mayze was already waiting there. Aldan wasn't, thank goodness. Now that his work was completed, he'd stayed in the Capitol, no doubt proud of himself for his achievement.
Mayze gave her a big hug. She'd been surprisingly sweet and helpful once Jemima came out of the arena; a not-too-far cry from the annoying, slightly overbearing escort from a couple weeks prior. One look at Jemima's face seemed to tell her everything she needed to know.
And Jemima found herself thinking that Mayze really wasn't so bad after all.
The door opened. Jemima stepped out onto the platform, shocked at just how many people there were. They were all crammed against one another, all cheering and clapping for their Victor. The elation on their faces was clear to see. Jemima could only imagine how much noise they must have been making.
She felt the corners of her lips pull up ever so slightly as she scanned the crowd. She was happy to see everyone, even though she didn't recognise half of them, but there were three faces she was searching for.
And she found them.
She didn't hesitate to break into a run, heading straight for them. The crowd, seemingly sensing her intentions, parted to make room for her to reach her family and throw her arms around them.
They hugged her back, squeezing so hard that it was almost hard to breathe. But she didn't care. She was glad. Glad that she could see them again. Glad that they didn't have to lose their daughter after all.
She could feel tears too. Not just theirs, that dripped onto her head, but her own. Happy tears. So unlike those in the arena.
Their hands rubbed her back comfortingly, a living, breathing reminder that this was real, she didn't have to worry anymore, the nightmare was all over. Over and done with. For good.
One week into her new life in the Victor's Village, Jemima realised that it wasn't all over. Well, not for good, anyway.
There was still the matter of the fact that she was the mentor now. The lives of future tributes was firmly in her hands. And knowing Twelve's already bad track record in the Games, she knew, deep down in her heart, that they probably won't be getting another Victor anytime soon. She had been lucky enough to survive as it was.
There would also be the Victory tour in six months. She wasn't looking forward to it. She was going to be paraded around all the districts while all the citizens stared up apathetically at her, undoubtedly wishing it was their tributes instead. District Two would hate her for killing Hestia. And goodness knows how District One would react.
But those were worries that were months away.
Right now, she had a funeral to attend.
She and her family put on their most respectable new clothes and walked silently to the tribute graveyard. The sky was a sorrowful grey and there was a light breeze which ruffled the leaves of the trees. A perfect day for a funeral. A perfect day to say goodbye to Jouse.
They melded into the large group of people coming by to pay their respects and took seats close to the front. There was a small podium with the funeral director standing in front of it, talking respectfully with Jouse's family: mother, father, two siblings. They nodded at Jemima as she passed by them. It made her gut twist with guilt.
A little ways away from them were two gravediggers filling in a large hole. It was the same size and rectangular shape as the hole right next to them. Jouse's grave.
At first Jemima was confused as to why they had two holes - maybe they dug another one by mistake? - when it suddenly hit her that it was supposed to be her grave.
They were expecting her to die.
And now that they didn't need it anymore, they were filling it in.
They were expecting her to die.
Jemima couldn't blame them - really, she couldn't - but she felt a tiny stab of betrayal. Like they didn't have faith in her. They saw her upon the reaping stage and thought that she would just be yet another dead tribute.
She didn't have time to dwell on it though, because the funeral started then. The funeral director stepped onto the podium and began to speak:
"This is a day of mourning. Today, we say goodbye to our male tribute, Jouse Halt. A brave and valiant boy."
Jemima couldn't make out any more words, because her vision began to blur with tears. She dried them on her sleeve as inconspicuously as possible. Her brother placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed it gently.
She felt like a murderer.
Even though her final kill count was tallied at one, she'd really taken two lives: Hestia and Jouse. Hestia directly, Jouse indirectly. She'd left him to die.
He'd been so kind to her, and that was how she repaid him?
The funeral only lasted another twenty minutes. Most of it was Jouse's family and friends sharing stories about him. Jemima had gotten up to, bearing a sheet of paper which she gave the funeral director to read. She'd written about how nice, helpful and brave Jouse had been, and how grateful she was to him that he had helped her, even though it cost him his life.
She'd seen the recaps during her Victor's interview. After she'd disappeared ahead of him, he'd actually turned around and tried to fend off Samuel himself, with his bare hands. He'd only managed to scratch him a few times before Samuel impaled him on his sword.
His attempt was pathetic, but he'd done it to save Jemima.
Despite the fact that he had willingly given up his life, it didn't change the fact that he really only had done so because he was left behind. If only Jemima had held onto him a little longer, then maybe he would have lived a little longer. Sure, he was weak from the flower venom, but still. Maybe they could have cured him, somehow. Maybe he would have been Victor…
Jemima stood with her head bent low, too ashamed to look up at anybody. She could feel everyone's eyes on her. It made her want to sink into the ground.
Afterwards, Jouse's mother had hugged her tightly. Warmly. Comfortingly. There was no animosity in the way she treated her.
When they pulled apart, she gave a very small smile, her face wet with tears. "Don't beat yourself up over this, love," she said. "I know you didn't mean for him to die. But he did it to protect you. It's not your fault."
Jemima gave her a single nod.
His mother forgave her! The very thought made her feel a tiny bit better. She had his own mother's reassurance that she did not hold it against her. On the contrary, she believed that she wasn't guilty of anything.
As the speeches ended, it was time for the coffin, a simple wooden box, to be buried. Several men lifted it carefully into the ground. Once it was in, Jouse's parents and siblings three handfuls of dirt in as the gravediggers readied their shovels.
As the dirt slowly piled on, Jemima looked at the headstone. It was a simple thing, square-shaped and made from a smoky gray stone. Its inscription was simple: Jouse Halt, Male Tribute for the 24th Hunger Games, 15 years old, Placed 13th.
It was cold, to the point, and detached. It spoke nothing of how he was in life, what he had done. This was to be how he was remembered for years to come? The thought was depressing. There wasn't even an inscription mentioning how he was a beloved son, like what she'd seen on headstones in the normal graveyard.
And if she had died also, then her headstone would be the same. She would be doomed to be near-forgotten from history, only known by the most extreme Hunger Games enthusiasts.
The thought stirred something in her.
She knew what she had to do.
Before returning home, Jemima had stopped by a market and purchased a notebook. It had a rough cover and two hundred thick, creamy pages. She also bought a stick of glue and a black marker.
When they went back home to the lonesome Victor's Village, she went upstairs to her room and sat down at her brand new desk. She laid out her purchases, and pulled out one other thing.
A photograph.
She'd asked the Halts for one at the end of the funeral. Jouse's mother, who had recently taken to keeping several photos of her deceased son on her person at all times, gave her one, telling her to take good care of it.
It was a nice photo, depicting Jouse sitting on what Jemima assumed was their living room sofa. The light, setting, and the way Jouse was sitting made it seem like he was having his proper portrait taken. But the surprisingly goofy grin on his face told her that he wasn't taking it too seriously.
A cute, heartwarming moment.
Jemima applied glue to the back of the photo and stuck it neatly on the first page of the notebook. She took the market and began to write.
She wrote his name, age and all the details on his headstone, but she also wrote about his personality, home life, likes and dislikes, and how he had saved her life.
When she was finished, her writing took up several pages. Several pages full of everything she could remember about him. The normal stuff, the funny stuff, and even the sad stuff.
She sat back in her chair and looked upon her work. She felt tears prick at her eyes once more.
With this book, she would ensure that she would never forget him. He would never be lost to history.