Could this get any harder for Haymitch? Probably. But I won't hint at what is coming, even though it IS pretty obvious.
'He who learns but does not think, is lost! He who thinks but does not learn is in great danger.'
- Confucius
Before I know it, I'm being hustled about, getting prepped, getting driven to the station, and shoved on a train by Peacekeepers and by Shauna. I only realise when the train is moving out of the station that the Victory Tour has begun. We will be starting with District 11, working our way up to District 1, then going to the Capitol, then home to District 12 again. Exhausted from today, all I think of is how desperate I am to have some peace and quiet again. It only started today and I'm already sick of it. But it's compulsory, and I find myself wishing I could just die. It's a dark thought, probably the darkest I've ever had, but that doesn't stop me from wanting it to be true. The tragedy breaks my heart every time I think about it, but it's impossible not to think about Lucia, my mother, Adam, my father even, and my close friend, Stephen, who was arrested and beaten to death for sticking up for me. Then there's Maysilee, the tributes in the arena, and I am flooded with memories again. But this time, instead of trying to stay afloat, I just let myself sink to the bottom, not caring, not worrying how it will affect me, or anyone else for that matter. I somehow fall asleep, but it isn't peaceful. It never is, so I'm not surprised.
Morning dawns and I am called to the dining hall by Shauna's invitation. Sitting down to eat, I stuff myself full of the rich Capitol food, until I can't hold another thing in my stomach. Shauna guides me through the timetable of what is expected to be happening at District 11. I have a speech prepared, and because I didn't have any allies, except for Maysilee, I don't need to add a special thank
-you, which is a relief.
We are taken into the Justice Building, and given microphones that will project our voice once we are on the stage. When we are given the OK, we walk to our specific spots on the stage as the crowd cheers. It isn't a real cheer, just a forced celebration that doesn't quite cover the loathing they all feel towards me. I didn't kill any of their tributes, but I won, and they died, so I expect it. I say my speech, the Mayor of 11 gives a speech as well, I get a big, heavy plaque and a bouquet of flowers, and then it's over. We are ushered onto the train, adhering to a tight schedule, and then we are off again, speeding into the night, heading towards District 10.
District 10 isn't something to write home about. These people tend to the livestock, supplying Panem with meat, but I'm not taking any notice of the district, of anything, really. The speeches fly by and before I know it I'm back on the train, heading out of the station and heading towards district 9.
District's nine, eight, seven and six rush by before my eyes, and I barely have time to get even the slightest bit nervous. One thing I register, though, it the crowd's reaction and feelings of anger and resentment bubbling just beneath the surface of the happy mask people have been forced to put on. My mentor and escort, Shauna, are present and are accompanying me on the Victory Tour, and I'm sure they realise the full extent of the District people's rage. Rage that their children have been turned into pawns in the Hunger Games; necessary, but then not so, and that's where they become very disposable. And the Districts can't do a thing about it. If they so much as lift a finger, they will be exposed to the fate that overcame District 13; smouldering, reduced to ashes, and very dead. They aren't alone; every District feels the same way, because the reactions from the people are the same in every district. Barely containing the raw emotions of anger, hopelessness and desperation as the Victors come and go.
None of the Districts come as a surprise to me, actually. It seems as though I'm familiar with everything they hold, though that is certainly impossible. And yet, I know exactly what to say, how to act, and what to do. I blamed it on repetitiveness, though I had my suspicions.
The Capitol was extraordinary, though not always in a good way. The banquet, held in the President's mansion, held food of every kind; type, shape and flavour. I noticed people carrying dainty-looking glasses filled with a clear liquid, going into the bathroom with full bellies, then coming back out and eating as if they hadn't had food in weeks. It took me until my escort, Shauna Mildeen, came up to me and explained what it was. "So you can keep on eating for ever!" was how she described it, but the thought of wasting all that food disgusted me, and I kept taking small bites of food here and there, thinking of the clear liquid Shauna described and how pampered these Capitol people were. I hate them, all of them.
Exhausted is the word that describes me best at the present moment. I only realised as soon as I left the Capitol how fatigued I'd become after endless of sleep-deprived nights, thinking about nothing, but everything at the same time. I feel asleep as soon as we left the station, streaming across the endless fields of grass, trees, and not much else. I feel disorientated, and I can hear things, but not well. Talking, the almost silent rumble of the train, night animals, insect clicking, weapons clashing together, and the ring of the gong that sounded at the very start of my games. My eyes close, and the pictures take form, adding to the horror of the blood spurting out of Constantia's eye socket, her eyeball having detached from her head moments before. Disconnected limbs, body parts, axes, knifes, the Cornucopia, the hovercraft and the doctors who accompanied it are flashing before my closed eyes, and suddenly I am jolted awake by Shauna knocking on my door, telling me to get ready, telling me we will be disembarking soon. Sweaty, trembling, and vision swimming, I fumble with the shower buttons and get assaulted with water, soap, and more water, alternating between boiling hot and freezing cold. Once I am dried, dressed in clothes I didn't take notice of, I meander down the hall to the dining room, where my mentor, Shauna, some Avoxes and my stylist are waiting. Shauna looks concerned, as if some silly drama is weighing upon her mind. Breakfast is its usual dependable self, delicious, filling, and Capitol-made. Then the doors open, we disembark, and cameras are everywhere, in my face, in Shauna's face, in our way, and they are broadcasting onto screens that fill the Square. I guess everyone wants a piece of District 12's only living Victor. Our first Victor, Eliza, won the very first Hunger Games, and died at an early age. I read a book somewhere about her, and it said she committed suicide because everyone she loved was killed. It's sad to think that suicide was her only option to extracting herself from the nightmare of a life she would have been living. I know what it feels like.
Since then, I've been the only other District 12 tribute to make it home. Now, that's really sad. How hopeless the people who call District 12 home must feel. How distraught their minds must be, watching their own children getting killed in the Arena. Death, after death, after death…