I'll try to keep this message short. You've read my story now, and you know almost everything you need to know. I'll let the story speak for itself, but I must emphasize the fact that I am still standing here fifty years later to tell the tale. That in itself is remarkable, especially after my close encounter with death you recently read about.
The story you just read is one that is beginning to fade into the history of the Games. Nobody bothers to remember the Games from twenty or thirty years ago. Even I'm starting to forget details with age. Maybe it's for the best; I never wanted to remember any of it anyway.
As the years pass, those who died get left behind. It feels like nowadays, I'm the only one who cares enough to remember those who died. Aurora, Axel, Selina and Rory, Phoebe… even Phoenix. Even the mentors who attended that very first Games are all gone now with the exception of Irma, whose memory is even worse than mine.
I sure had a fiery spirit when I was a young man. You may have expected me to start a revolution, betray the Capitol and marry a woman, or most obviously, just kill myself. But here I am, nearly fifty years later, and I've done none of that. To be fair, the reason I am still alive to tell this story is the fact that I have never done these things.
It may seem cruel to some of you that I'm stuck under the restrictive gaze of the Capitol. I would just marry a girl in secret, I hear you saying. Maybe you think I'm weak for bowing to Snow. I had to do what needed to be done for my own survival, though. I've matured enough to realize that surviving the Games is a gift, and I owe it to those who died to not waste my life for unworthy causes. When you're being watched for fifty years, you grow accustomed to it, as awful as that sounds.
After I returned from the Victory Tour, I planted the bouquet Snow gave me in the garden outside my front porch. I put up the decorations in my living room and I painted the walls purple, Aurora's favorite color. In the 77th Hunger Games, both of my tributes died, and I gave both of their families bellflowers of their own. The next year, I did the same, and eventually, I gave them out to the masses. Now, everyone in the District gets two bellflowers for both tributes, but if we're lucky, we'll only get one.
The decades have passed painfully. I've watched hundreds of children die, many under my supervision. The Capitol has made me do unspeakable things over the years, knowing I can't say no. The pain of my own experiences made it hard to help those I was supposed to take care of. I got over the pain of Aurora's death very, very slowly.
The Victors' Village has many full houses now; I'm no longer alone. Some of us have families. Others, like me, stay alone in our too-large homes. We have each other, though. As I sit on the rocking chair out on my porch every evening to watch the sunset, I experience the beauty of everything I've built. I hear children laughing and screaming from Seamus' house next door. I see a pie in Georgina's window, freshly baked; I should go ask for a slice, but I know she'll bring one out for me. I look out over the purple bellflower bushes, so huge now that they produce hundreds of flowers each year. And after so many years of pain, of confusion, of rage… I'm finally at peace.
An actual A/N here - thank you to everyone who has supported me through this story and read all the way to the end! I've never been so proud of something I've written and I'm excited that I can put this out for people to read.
For anyone who missed the note in the first chapter - this is actually a prequel to a series I'm writing. The first book takes place 50 years after this story, and Griff is a mentor for one of the main characters, who is a tribute in the 125th Hunger Games. I'll hope you'll read Hunger Games: Bleeding Hearts on my page, it's a story you won't want to miss!
~S