So. We're here. The last ever chapter of these Games.
I just wanted to take a moment to thank you all for being here and giving me motivation when I needed it.
Thank you Maddie, even though you don't have an account on Fanfiction, you've stuck with me and given me some amazing ideas and praise. I hope you get an account soon so we can keep in touch.
Thank you Kitty, for being with me every single chapter and just generally being the best psychopath I know.
Thank you Miss Tayla for giving me this amazing review spam that I look forward to, every chapter.
Thank you Dauntless, for submitting the amazing girl who eventually won the Games.
And thank you to everyone who I haven't mentioned, and I know that is some of you. Maybe you submitted a tribute, maybe you reviewed some chapters. (Thank you so much by the way!) Maybe you just looked at this story and read a couple of chapters. I want to thank you, because even though I don't know who you are, I am grateful.
I'm thinking of writing a funny Hunger Games parody and a Sherlock collaboration. Stick with me and you might get some new material. (: I check on here just about everyday for PM's and anything else, so don't be afraid to leave a PM or something c:
A sombre end to a sombre tale,
for the last time,
*In the Blink of an Eye
.
..
It's not much of a life you're living
It's not just something you take–it's given
Cora sits in her bed, sketchbook on her lap and pencil in her hand. In her other hand is Monty, the wooded carved dog. Drawing has become an escape, almost like therapy. She still carves wood. But only sometimes.
It's a meagre seven months after her Games.
Since her Games, she has been in an almost trance. Her parents pleaded with her at the start, gave her all their time and affection to try and coax some brightness back into her eyes. But eventually they had to accept that the only way to make her seem alive was to erase her memories of the arena, and this was impossible.
Cora's younger siblings, Macey and Aspen, spent days trying to connect with her again. They'd try to play their secret game, where they'd sneak out at dawn to climb trees. Cora did but she was different somehow. Macey and Aspen's younger minds couldn't place a finger on it. They lived in the Victor's Village now, and they all had enough space for their own bedrooms. Before, they'd all lived in one bedroom in their old small house. Maybe the distance apart they were now, reflected how close or far apart they have become.
Cora's best friends, Halle and Alexis, who are both four years older than her, wanted to help. It's hard to know what they could do to help though. Of course they'd watched Cora on the television, praying for her to return. Their prayers were answered, but Cora returned different to how she'd left. You have to understand that Halle and Alexis love Cora very much, but how does one go about making someone who's seen all of that feel better?
Cora holds onto Monty all the time. When anyone tries to prise it out of her fist, she'll scream and scream and people stop trying.
Maybe it is a way of punishing herself. Why should she have survived when everyone else didn't? Monty in her hand would constantly remind her of how she shouldn't have escaped; how people died to give her life.
After the Games, the Victor's interview and the Victory tour and all the publicity were rather unsatisfying. She was at her lowest point at the time; the memories fresh and ice-sharp in her mind. She'd sit there as she was interviewed, maybe nodding, maybe a monosyllable here and there. She could still talk, still respond to people's questions. But she was broken. Anyone could see that.
Cora is good at drawing. Whereas you might not notice it at first, she captures rather someone's essence rather than their features. Her walls are pasted with sketches, paintings and memories. When her parents entered the room after Cora added her drawings to it, they were shocked. There was so much emotion in the pictures that was visible to see. They loved her, both of them, but it was hard to understand Cora when their daughter rarely opened up anymore.
Inside Cora's head are faces. If she could imagine anything else, she would. She can see the images branded onto the surface of her brain. If someone opened up her head and looked at her mind, they'd see those faces.
It was like the arena had stripped her innocence, and her cheerful, lively existence. She was too young to see people die. In fact, no one should see another person dying. But her age made the deaths scar more permanently. She doesn't cry anymore. But neither does she laugh, smile or gasp. She seems to take everything in without reacting. It's sad.
She still goes out and she still does things. That's the important part. She still goes on with her life. Maybe it's the only way to get over her experience in the Games.
...
Just four years later, Cora meets someone. He's the son of her father's childhood best friend. His name is Ainsley and he makes Cora feel happy again. When she wakes, bolt-upright, wide-eyed and sweating from resurfacing memories, he is there to comfort her. He makes her memories of everything she's seen fade slowly away. He makes her less broken than before.
And in just five years, Cora finally lets go of her past. Sure, she'll still remember Stag giving up his life for her, Lash holding a purple flower, Aden standing protectively in front of her, Bronte, Charms, Jaysper, Natalie. But now she can be happy, knowing that they would want that for her.