Thresh Dawner, aged 17
"We've won."
Cleo Dawner grins and turns to her family. "It's over. The Capitol has lost. We've won!"
Nobody answers her. Of course, she has no family left. No big brother to smooth back her hair and no grandmother to pinch her cheeks. A small tear rolls down the side of Cleo's face and she doesn't bother to wipe it away. Now's not a time to mourn for the dead. It's a time to celebrate the life of a new Panem.
District 11 is wrecked. Completely destroyed. Cleo has seen buildings fall, fires burn, guns aim, and people die. She's seen their blood stain the streets. in the ruins of her old house, she curls up in the basement, holding back tears, as she prays the wicked Peacekeepers and their wicked ways will pass her over. It's a cowardly thing to do, hide away, but it's kept her alive.
Alive to see the new Panem. Alive to watch the liberation of Katniss Everdeen, under President Paylor. And as the screen fades to black, the remaining citizens of District 11 pick up their things and walk back home. There's a district to put back together.
Cleo doesn't move. And really, she's not sure what to do. She doesn't have a home or a family. She's got nobody. All she has is the clothes on her back and the promise of a new future. A glorious one, too. One where she can hold her head up high and the Capitol can't throw her back down, or toss her into the Hunger Games. She never knew how much she hated them.
Until Thresh's name was called and he died at the hands of the bloody menace, that wretched boy from 2.
Cleo's feet take her down the familiar street that she's walked so many times, despite the damage that a year of war has caused. She knows where's she going. In a way, almost nothing has changed. An older man sets out his cart of fancy jewelry and waves to her. "Hello, Cleo! Thresh's sister, right?"
"That's me."
"I'm sorry about your brother, dear. He was such a good man."
"It's fine," Cleo says softly. "It's been over a year anyways. I need to get over it."
But she won't get over it. She never will.
The man nods, whistles a merry tune. The sound of mockingjays perched in the trees. "Ah, but don't be sad. We've won, have we not? We get to experience a world where our children will never have to fear the Capitol or the Hunger Games. We're the lucky ones."
Cleo supposes that is true. Her bruised bare feet now stand on free soil. She pulls at her hair, tugging off the scrunchies and the curls fall into place. She's going to have her 17th birthday soon, and it's a little strange to think she'll be older than her brother someday.
"What are you going to do now?" the man asks her.
"I have no idea," Cleo admits. She never dreamed of her future. She was always worried she'd never survive to see it.
"What's there for me to do?"
The man sucks in his breath as he runs a hand along the side of his cart. "I don't know. I think it will be a long time before the district gets back on its feet. We need to adjust too. Some of us will find there's nothing left for us here, and we'll leave. Some of us will stay, because it's our home. Where will you go?"
Does Cleo really want to stay? What's left for her? She has no family, no reason to sleep in a broken building. If she leaves, she could start something new, find a passion. She could travel the country, with no strings to hold her down. Panem is hers, she just has to take it.
But she only knows 11. All her life, she's stayed here. It's home. What kind of person is she if she leaves it all behind? Would Thresh ever forgive her? Would he want her to stay? What advice would her grandmother provide? How will she mourn? What if she goes somewhere new and they don't accept her?
"I haven't decided," she tells the man. "I'm not sure what I want to do yet. Is that a bad thing?"
"I don't think it is. You're young, and you still lots of opportunities."
Cleo nods with a smile. "You're right, I have my whole life ahead of me. Thresh wouldn't want me to blindly rush into things. He'd want me to do what I love and be happy."
"That sounds great."
Cleo continues down the path. Maybe someday, she'll pack her things and leave. She'll go somewhere new, without looking back. There's still so much for her to see and explore. Panem is changing, has changed. She'll have to change along with it.
And she'll live her new life to the fullest, just as Thresh would've wanted her to.
Chaff Boundrel, aged 48
"Care for a drink?"
Chaff looks up to see good old Haymitch standing over him, bottles in hand. It's the final night before the 75th Hunger Games.
Chaff's already accepted his fate. Truth is, he's going to die. He's going to give up his life so they can get Haymitch's little spark out of there. That Katniss girl, she's really something. She's what they need. What Panem needs.
She will burn the Capitol to the ground.
But for now, she's asleep and Chaff is reflecting during his final moments. He'll admit, he's not proud of everything he's done in his life. But so much of was done out of necessity. He wanted to live, did he not? It seemed like such a small price to pay at the time.
"Your breath smells," Chaff says.
Haymitch scoffs, sliding into the empty seat next to his old friend. "These little shits give me no reason to stay sober tonight."
"A 12 for the 12," Chaff laughs as he accepts the drink. He doesn't open it, not just yet. "She's making this way too hard for us!"
"She's just so stubborn."
"In a way, this is your fault." Chaff jabs Haymitch with his stump arm. "You wanted to save her. If you ask me, I think we'd do just as well with the boy."
"Oh, so now you admit you've a soft spot for the boy."
"He has a way with words."
"Look at how he looks at her. He'd be crushed if we didn't keep her alive."
"Does she feel the same way about him?'
"More than she lets on," Haymitch sighs into his bottle. "She cares. We both know that he's better than us."
They sit in silence, a heavy, tense atmosphere hanging over their heads. Chaff knows what's at stake. If they can pull this off, it would be great, and everything will change. If not, at least he'll be dead. But there's no saving Katniss Everdeen, or her little lovebird Peeta. The rebels sees them as weapons, too precious to just give up. If the Capitol wins, the star-crossed lovers are better off dead.
"You haven't touched your drink,"
Chaff hums. "I'm trying to cut back. I'd like to die with a clear mind."
Haymitch huffs. "Party pooper. But...I'm gonna miss you, Boundrel the scoundrel. You and that stump arm of yours. Where else would I ever find a new drinking buddy?"
"So...not Everdeen?"
"Oh, definitely not."
They jostle each other, only in a way that the best of friends do. Chaff will miss him. Out of all the friends and family that pushed him away after the events of the 45th Hunger Games, Haymitch will be the most saddened when he finally dies.
"Drink to me, Abernathy. Drink to me and all the hell I've raised, people I've killed, lives I ruined. Drink to my dead hand. If you don't remember me in your ugly drunken haze, nobody else will."
"Don't speak like that, Chaff. Compared to me, you're a saint."
"Nobody escapes the Hunger Games by being a saint. Only the sinners survive."
"True, true."
Haymitch spins around his empty bottle. "We can't all be like him, you know."
"You can't let him die. She'll never forgive you if that happens."
Haymitch groans. "This is a lot harder than it has any right to be."
"If rebellions were so easy, nobody would be happy."
"I'll drink to that." Haymitch grabs the other drink from right under Chaff's nose. He pops the lid off and takes a hearty sip. "I suppose I'll have to leave now, or else Effie will hunt me down. But take care of yourself, Chaff. Just do what you gotta do."
Haymitch walks off, leaving Chaff alone once more. It's bittersweet, knowing that they'll never meet again.
Hopefully, it all goes to plan and the girl on fire burns once more. If she can turn the Capitol into a pile of stinging ash, then they've won. It's a leap of faith and it's uncertain, but they have to try. Chaff thinks of holding hands with Seeder and Katniss and silently laughing in the President's face. The rebellion has only begun.
If he has to give up his life for the cause, then so be it.
What do you think of Thresh and Chaff? I know Thresh's was very Cleo-heavy, but I thought it would be a good contrast to Chaff's perspective on the rebellion.
The next two chapters are going to follow a slightly different format, because it would be boring to write for Katniss and Peeta twice. But hey, last two chapters, here we come!