Tissue warning! If you have read Mockingjay, you might remember when Haymitch says his family and his girl were all dead two weeks after he was crowned Victor. I tried to emphasise that in this chapter, and I also tried to make it longer, without much success. Sorry! The end is drawing near, but not for a fair few chapters yet.
Double chapters! Woo! Just because I'm nice, I'm not tired yet, and to make up for the many weeks of no updates. Sorry about that. Should be back on track now!
"Do not dwell on the past; do not dream of the future, concentrate the mind on the present moment."
- Buddha
In the morning, I awake to the sounds of happy birds singing out tunes of joy. Spring is in the air as I get up, trying not to disturb Lucia. I walk silently down the hall to the kitchen, where my mother is sitting up in a chair, knitting. She smiles as I eat some breakfast, and get ready to go to the markets. The dry leaves that are scattered along the paving stones of the road crunch underneath my feet as I make my way towards the town square. My good mood falls a little at the sight of a bloody, bare back hanging unconscious from a wooden board. Whipping isn't uncommon, but I still don't like watching them. I walk past, my head bowed, as I make my way to the stalls and small shopfronts lining the Square.
I try to spread my money I brought over many stores, buying rolls from the bakery, where the baker serves me himself, cloth and wool for my mother, some herbs, meat, and even some peppermints from the tiny sweet store. They taste interesting; I have never had peppermints before as we could never afford them. Sweet, but cool and refreshing in my mouth. They are almost addictive; I could never stop eating them if I had enough.
When I get home I open my bag to reveal my purchases. I give the wool and cloth to my mother, store the food in the pantry, and leave the peppermints on the bench for everyone to take one when they wanted.
As usual, there isn't much to do, and to be truthful there was nothing at all to get on with. So I get lots of food, put it in a basket, grab some blankets and head to the meadow to have a picnic with my family. It's a warm day, and we have a great time spending most of the day in the meadow. We even collect dandelions and have a dandelion salad, full of the flower-heads and green dandelion stems.
The sun is just setting over the horizon when we decide to head back. It wouldn't be a good idea to stay when it's dark, because of predators, even though the electric fence keeps most out. We pack up our things, and walk back to the house in the Victors Village. Although spring has arrived, it still gets pretty cold in the evenings and we are all shivering when we get inside. Rugging up in warm pyjamas, we all drift off to sleep as the house becomes peaceful and silent, warm inside despite the cool chill just outside the walls.
When I wake up, I am filled with a warm, happy glow that fills me with hope and optimism. Until I hear the strangled cry that fills the silent house, and I know immediately that something is wrong. I throw back the covers and leap to my feet, charging down the stairs, down the hall to the kitchen. My mother sees me and calls for help and I reach for her, but the Peacekeeper pulls her back and out the door. I follow, and see a mini gallows has been set up by the Head Peacekeeper. My mother is locked in, and I see the guillotine too quickly, and this whole set-up is all but alarming and frightening. I try to stop them from doing this, but it's futile. They reach for Lucia, who is standing in the doorway trembling, and I push her behind me, standing in front of her to protect her. The Peacekeepers just grin in a sadistic way and knock me to the floor with a blow to the head. My whole head is aching and I have an awful headache, but they've got Lucia in the modernised gallows and I try to reach her and my mother. They both call my name, and I think I can reach them in time, when the blade swings down and their heads detach themselves from their bodies, rolling across the ground and stopping face up in front of my feet.
I lose it. Whatever sanity I once had surely diminishes now, as the Peacekeeper throws me a key and calls, "Unlock them, unless you want them to stay there."
Of course I don't want them to stay there, outside my house, hanging there as their souls leech from their body. I fumble, my un-cooperating fingers trying to find the key the Peacekeeper threw at my feet. I find it and unlock them, catch their bodies as they crumple to the ground. I lay them on the path, and I try to make sense of this. I can only form one thought.
What have I done?
The coffin-makers for the district call me to say they are ready. Simple wooden boxes, which I asked them to carve something special into. 'I did this' is all I asked for them to carve. That's it. Because I did. Just like my brother, my mother and Lucia paid for my actions in the arena. How I wish, now, that I died in the Games, that even Constantia won, because it would mean my family would be safe. Of course, they would mourn me and possibly never get over it, but they would be alive, and although sad, would be able to get on with their lives. Now they have died, all because of something that happened in the arena. If Maysilee had won, it would've been even better, because it meant my family would be safe from hunger, too. But they are dead, and out of harm's way forever now. The only real time I felt good about winning the Games, apart from the knowledge that my family was safe, was that the District would be hunger-free. Food parcels, every month for a year, would ensure that no one would ever go hungry. That's all well and good, but I can't get past the fact that they are dead. My mother, whose eyes would light up at the sight of my and Lucia together, who cried on my shoulder, who comforted me when I was upset. My brother, Adam, who loved me and I loved him. And Lucia, sweet Lucia who loved me uncontrollably. Who was a part of the family. Who would've been head of a family I will now never have. As I think of this, my body trembles and threatens to break apart into millions of pieces. But then I think of things that I rarely thought of, like my father. I didn't know him well, because I was only a few years old when he died. Because he, ironically, got sent to the Games, but never came back. My mother was pregnant with Adam, and when my father died, the depression that came with it almost crushed her. The only thing that gave her hope, made her strong enough to keep going was Adam and I.
When I got shipped off to the Hunger Games, she must've thought it would happen again, that I would die just like her husband, like my father. Only I didn't; I survived, and at her large cost. How will I cope? How can I live with this hanging on the edge of my mind, every week, every day? I can't.
The nightmares are worse than ever that night. I keep reliving those precious last seconds of their lives, and thinking what I could've done to stop it happening. Pleaded with them, maybe? But I know, in my heart of hearts, that nothing I could've said would have made them stop. It might've made the Peacekeepers prolong Lucia's and my mother's lives to torture, and that would have been worse. The call from President Snow ends with him saying, "At least it was quick. You're very lucky I didn't take them away for torturing and broadcast it live to all of Panem." All I can think is that it's a sunny view on my situation, but of course, it doesn't make me happy. It doesn't brighten my mood. Very few thoughts are actually making it into my mind and are being noticed.
What have I done?
I awake with a start, emerging from an in-depth nightmare about being in the arena, getting my throat cut open slowly by the hand of that Career that Maysilee killed. Only in my nightmare, Maysilee isn't there to shoot him with a dart gun, and I wake up when the blood starts spurting at my face and I feel a warm spray trickling down my cheek.
My hands go to my face to realise its only sweat, not blood. My breathing slows as I try to make myself remember that I'm not in the arena anymore, just in my bed, without my family and without my sanity (I'm not sure about that, but it seems right to me). I get up and go to the bathroom, splashing my face with cool water. It's only early morning, maybe five-thirty, but I go ahead and eat breakfast anyway. While I'm eating, I realise that to overcome some of the pain I will need a diversion, or distraction. A decoy, of sorts, only I have no idea what that could be. Since my days now are mainly filled with doing nothing, there isn't anything to fill the endless hours with now. I know that the Victory Tour will help, but then after that I will have to mentor two kids for every Hunger Games yet to come until the day I die. I can't even think of that horrible thought.