Chapter Forty-Eight - "An Eye For An Eye"


When you hear fireworks, one would think people would exclaim in surprise and joy. Instead, the cheers of joy immediately turn into horrified screams and barking of commands. Then I listen closely and I quickly figure out those sounds are not firecrackers. Just as quickly as I realize that something is wrong, my protection detail do as well. Randall's hand is separated from mine as a mass pins me onto the sidewalk. I start screaming for Randall, thrashing and kicking under the weight of the person on top of me. It's no use. My handler rips me from off the ground, my vision quickly changing from the gray of the sidewalk to the cream leather upholstery of the limousine. A male barks orders to the driver and my belly lurches as I feel the car speed away.

The man, one of the Capitol's protection agents, flips me onto my back and starts raking my body with his hands. "Are you alright?"

As soon as he asks me that, I feel it. A deep-seated pain blossoms in my chest, searing hot, seemingly becoming hotter with each breath I take. "Shoved me too hard…must've busted a rib or something."

Panting, he rips off his sunglasses, perhaps to look me over properly. "My apologies...Zenobia."

We hold each others' gaze. While his is one of a cool collectedness, mine quickly faulters. I'm confused, what the hells is going on? What just happened? Where is everyone? Where the hells is Randall? "Where is Randa-"

The uncomfortable heat rises to my throat and my body forces me to hunch over. I watch, scared, as I upchuck a frothy red liquid into the palm of my hand. The agent's eyes widen at the sight of blood dribbling like a sieve through the gaps of my fingers. Even the driver and the agent in the passenger seat are wide-eyed.

The limousine's engine roars, gluing me back against the seat.

I fight back a wave of pain. "The sidewalk." I try to twist my head to glance back out the window towards the station. "Where's Randall?"

The agent ignores me, pulling his handkerchief from out of his pocket. Just as he moves to clean the blood off my hands, he gasps sharply. "Stars…"

I follow his eyes, my mouth slightly agape as I discover that my blouse is soaked in blood, right at the apex of my heart…I think. "Shit-"

"Take us to the Center Hospital!" snaps the agent, though judging by the previous acceleration, the driver already knew our next destination. He speaks into a communicuff, notifying his superiors of my status. "V76-A has been hit. I say again, V76-A has been hit. Condition is ambulatory, punctured lung possibly." his eyes flicker my way now. "Are you alright?"

"I…I…What about…?" Ugh. There were so many people around. Bea, Ryder, Garri, Emery, Viondra, Randall! How could we get split apart so quickly?! My brain is running a mile a millisecond, the pain making it even more bothersome to truly think about anything. But I do, they're all I think about as we pull into the hospital loop. The limousine door opens and boy am I glad to see Viondra on the other side. She glances at me for only a millisecond before her face droops into one of shock like the other agent, joining him as they gently but urgently tug me towards the opening. They must be too shocked themselves, as they don't hear my groans of discomfort.

"Please stop yankin' me-"

"We need a stretcher!" snaps Viondra.

"I'm okay-"

"We need a stretcher over here, now!" barks the agent.

"I'm fine! I'm fine." I wave them off, glad that they heard me this time. "Lemme walk. I can walk."

They both exchange glances before returning their attention to me, both of them coaxing me out of the limousine with waving hands, like a baby taking their first steps. Slowly but surely, I scooch my way across the leather seating until I have both feet on the curb. I glance down at my blouse, frowning at the splotch of blood already forming. Taking the beret of my head, I place it in the crook of my arm. Out of sight out of mind. Bracing myself against the car, I give it to the count of 'three' to rise onto my two feet.

Cautiously, I look around my immediate area. The loop to the emergency wing is a hive of activity. PKs abandon their motorcycles and take up positions armed with rifles, while some shove staff and passerbys side. Even as this activity occurs, they all manage to keep their eyes on me. All this activity for one girl.

"Zenobia," Viondra presses, motioning me towards the sliding doors. "Come. We need to have the doctors check you over."

Zenobia, come. A simple command that is almost always followed up with a simple action. Walking. I think I bit off more than I can chew when rebuffing them initially. My brain is saying walk, but my body is stalling. I feel an unpleasant wetness dripping down my midsection, pooling around the band of my skirt. Blood and sweat, no doubt.

I take one, two, three steps before my left side 'seizes' and I droop to the ground, upchucking more blood. As quick as I'm down, Peacekeepers and agents alike lift me up and hustle me into the emergency room. I'm given a front row seat into how they operate, watching as they barrel through doors and clear the hallways with their weapons drawn.

"Out of the way, Ministry of the Interior!"

"Clear the hallways!"

All of a sudden I'm back in a sick green room again, their hands lowering me down onto a gurney . I can only watch as they strip me from head to toe, their commands and chattering meshing into a garbled mess I can't make sense of anymore. Mixed in with the white armor and business suits are the pastels of the various doctors and nurses, shoving the guards aside as they descend on me, sticking me with a variety of needles. I finally hone in on Viondra, who appears above me at the head of the gurney.

"Don't worry Zenobia, be calm," she presses, caressing my cheeks with her slender hands. "Everything will be okay, I promise you."

"Where are the others?" the hoarseness of my voice stuns me. "Emery, Garrison, Randall…?"

She maneuvers to my right as a nurses places a plastic mask over my noise and mouth. She stares at me for what feels like eternity. My anger reflects on the monitors because a doctor snaps at people to leave the room so she, I, can 'calm down'. Why the hells won't she answer me? There's a rush of air through the mask and I'm fading now, just barely managing to catch Viondra's moving lips before my eyes close shut.


When I open my eyes, darkness greets me. Darkness with little spots of light.

"Is today the day, Doctor?"

Who is that? It sounds like Commandant Rudiger's voice, if it were put in an echo chamber.

"Yes, ma'am." Another voice now, male. "We let up on the sedatives hours ago. I guess her body craves the sleep."

"There's no chance of her 'slipping back', right? I have a lot of people waiting with bated breath here and-"

"You and I are on the same boat, Commandant. Except I have you on the other end along an angry Capitol and the godsdamned president weighing me down."

I attempt to fight through the grog and it works, mustering enough strength to twist my head from left to right. I find out that the darkness wasn't me waiting for my customary crumbs to hold me off until I reach the afterlife but instead a dark towel to keep the light away as I apparently slept. My ears were correct, as in front of me a stunned Commandant Rudiger and a wiry doctor stand at the foot of my bed.

"Ah, Ms. Rivendell," the doctor sighs, elated as he moves to my side. "I'm Dr. Mintz. Very nice of you to join us again. How are you feeling? It goes without saying that everything is okay."

My eyes fix on the Commandant and like a waterfall, the memories come flowing back. Cheering crowds. Smiling faces. Fiends and acquaintances. Handsome Randall, taking me by the hand down the steps. Remembering all this, my body becomes flush with an uncomfortable heat as I sit up even further, the doctor's hand not helping none as he forcefully lays me downright again.

"Whe-" I'm shut up by his finger against my lips. It's either the audacity or the amount of force put into the silencing that takes me aback enough not to press on with my question. If Viondra was here, she'd set him straight. In fact, where is Viondra? She was here, wasn't she?

"Food first," he says sternly. "You must be famished after your prolonged nap."

We both turn back to see Commandant Rudiger escaping the room with haste. Dr. Mintz does as well, not before tasking a team of nurses to tend to my every need. Unlike everyone else I come across, they don't wear starstruck faces and bashful smiles. Instead they interact with me little, only to asking me to perform tasks like standing up and walking. If they do look my way, their eyes are full of pity as if I'm some wounded animal. They come in, do what is tasked of them, and then leave in that order, leaving me to stew over what brought me here in the first place. I was shot at, obviously. Now that I think about it, multiple shots rang out. The crowd around me was thick. All those shots had to have went somewhere, I mean…If I took a shot, then… No…It can't be, that can't be. How is that possible? Finally, after a few hours, Dr. Rhodes and Bea enter the room.

"Fuckin' finally!" I warble, blinking away tears. They're tears of pure frustration. These people have me laying here out of the fucking loop for so long especially after what happened no wonder I'm fucking crying! What's wrong with these people?! At least now I have people I know. People I trust. "What's goin' on?! Is Randall okay? How come he isn't with you? Hello?"

Rhodes has that stupid, stupid look on her face like the rest of them and Bea's pale face is reddish pink. Even her eyes are mucked up with wetness, sticking to her long eyelashes.

I've zero patience for the silent treatment. I clap my hands towards them, maybe that'll wake them up. "HELLO?!"

Bea is the first to break, clasping her mouth with both hands while suddenly doubling over, crashing to her knees as she lets out a ear-shattering wail, a wail that stuns me to the core. Images of me hunching over Paulus' dead body crying out the same way Bea does comes to mind. Stunned, I glance over to Dr. Rhodes, who stands idly and awkwardly by as Bea bawls her eyes out. She's a woman of reason, right? Not the type of person to play games - the 'give me to me straight' sort of girl?

On the verge of tears herself, she says nothing but maintain that steely look that all the adults have been giving me since I woke up.

So it's real, then.

"Oh..." My head droops down, my eyes looking to the wedding ring on my finger. A silver band with a rounded, marble setting. Sure we had a ceremony, shared an intimate moment or two, created memories. But for all intents and purposes, the marriage wasn't even a marriage. Six months! A blink. Gone. I wrap my hands around my chest, pulling my knees to my elbows. Bea is crying for the both of us but the pain is too much to bear. I end up joining her too.


After what felt like a lifetime of crying, I sniffle, swallowing back tears in an attempt to stave off the shakes. First comes sadness, now comes anger. "I want - no, I need to see it."

Dr. Rhodes insists that I don't go forward with this but a prolonged glare is enough for her to relent. Sparing me one last pitiful glance, she turns the holo on and I don't dare remove my eyes from the screen. Curling up beside me on the bed, I feel Bea's hand entwine with mine.

I squeeze back.

This is all shot from Callista's point of view. It's her footage that's apparently being played by local and national news day in and day out. Everything is normal. The sun shinning, the crowds joyful and plenty. Nothing is amiss as hand in hand, Randall and I bound down the steps towards the waiting limousines. It looks so right, he and I together. I try to picture us fully mature, six years down the line…I can picture nothing. I continue to watch as I wave politely to the crowds, all while whispering to Randall about our summer plans. I frown as I watch myself let out a laugh at his response. I was so happy.

Then, the gunfire goes off. My mind immediately thinks It's a machine pistol, because it just keeps spitting. Capturing the feeling frenzied audience, the camera then snaps towards the shooter, a dark-skinned woman being swallowed up by security and civilians alike. Surprisingly, even Viondra snaps into action, the camera capturing her brandishing a sidearm while covering my escape before pouncing into the following car with other agents and speeding off to join me.

The camera then pans the aftermath. Bodies are strewn everywhere, people rushing in to render aid. The camera just barely captures Emery and her team being marshalled back into the station. Bea chokes back a sob as the camera captures her rendering aide to Randall. Cradling his head, she shrieks for help and Callista, wanting to help, ends the tape there. Her footage is then taken over by other reporters, who continue to pan over them as well as the various wounded being carried off by others. Some people lie motionless. I spy colorful suits. The type of styles signature to Capitolites. Nearby Randall, a Peacekeeper performs compressions on an Overwhill student with olive skin and curly hair and Icanttakethisanymore.

"Turn it off, please." Dr. Rhodes, probably by seeing my expression, clicks off the holo just as fast as I ordered her to.

"He was alive," sniffles Bea, padding her nose with tissue. "Passed yesterday, gunshot to the head. He asked for you. Asked if you were okay. I said yes, then he just…closed his eyes. It was as…as if he were content with you being okay. I don't know…"

"I'm sure you want more answers," says Dr. Rhodes. I'm too stunned to verbally reply, so she goes on explaining everything.

It's been three whole days since the shooting. Randall managed to keep fighting for two more days. Like Bea said, as if he were looking out for me and only let go when he knew I was in the clear. He's not the only one I've lost. Garrison also died from multiple wounds. Garrison, the passive 'egghead' who meant no one no harm. His baby will grow up with one parent less. How the in the hells does Domita feel? My prep team is forever shattered. Amir was killed in an instant, leaving Wyatt disabled and Fletcher with minor wounds. Twenty others are wounded and those wounds vary in severity.

"Who did it?" I hiss.

"Gaia Dixen," replies Dr. Rhodes. "Mother of Eunice and Jeremiah Dixen. As you may recall…"

Shuddering, I gnash my teeth in seething anger. I have nothing to throw, nothing to pound. Bea pulls me into a side hug.

Dr. Rhodes goes on to tell me that the situation immediately following the attempted assassination imploded. The Capitol agents and Peacekeepers attempted to secure her in a van, but the crowd got to her first. Like her mutt bastard husband, she was beaten into the pavement by a mob of righteous civilians. My only wish is that she made it to trial unscathed, so I could've hopped the bench and killed her myself for all of Panem to see even if that meant I would be charged. I should've been the one to do it, just like I was the one to do the others!

I'm still livid when Dr. Rhodes goes on to say that there was an overnight riot in the hamlet the Dixen family came from. Predominantly rebel-aligned, some cadets and civilians from the center went over and gave them the business. Dozens died. I should've been there.

His voice makes an appearance in the back of my skull. "Rebels kill peacekeepers, peacekeepers kill rebels…I kill your parents and you kill me and half this arena. We, the 'fallen'...We have friends…siblings…watching. We're right back to where we started…"

While he laughs at me, my eyes hone in on a empty chair next to Dr. Rhodes. Yes. A chair will do it. I leap out of bed and stomp towards it, grabbing it by the legs as I smash, smash, smash it against the wall, regardless of Beatrix's renewed wails and Dr. Rhodes calling for me to stop. I keep on smashing until the chair is nothing but slivers. Dr. Mintz and his team rush in, shooing away Bea and Dr. Rhodes. It's only when I'm put on the bed that I realize I tore open my wound again.

They keep me for a few more days. To monitor me given the recent happenings. They had to cut me open to gain access to the bullet that nearly killed me. I lost a quarter of my blood volume. According to Dr. Mintz, it was 'inches' away from my heart. Perhaps Gaia Dixen should've aimed better. This hospital, It's like the shitty makeshift field hospital all over again. A barren living space devoid of sharp objects or materials to make ligatures, leaving me to only imagine ways I could take 'the easy way out'. It's an option I'm strongly considering. Truly, what's the point in all the fancy titles if it's just you alone to 'celebrate' them? Randall was my second chance at that and I failed him. Just as I failed Paulus, Mom and Dad. Tack on my prep team, Garrison, Domita and their baby, too. Dead or alive, they'll revere me anyway.

The customary calls start flooding in following my wake up. Instead of Emery, I get a call from her uncle. Understandably, they tell me she's shaken. I don't blame her for not wishing me well verbally.

Kaiser and Serene call and despite their nice words, they feel so hollow. As do the words of the president and vice president of all people. No amount of 'sorries' will make up for what happened. I try to kick the memory of Mrs. Bishop out of my brain to no avail.

We find out from calling Callista that her mother had a freakout seeing her in the middle of what looked like a combat zone, so her father has her locked up in his home at the local Peacekeepers' Barracks. Her mother's so freaked out that Callista might be brought back to the Capitol for good.

Scratch one more friend.

Bea is my appointed guardian, forcing me to eat every morsel of breakfast, lunch and dinner. Forcing me to shower and change my clothes. Ensuring I at least walk around the the various hospital wings for exercise as well as greet some of the Twos still recovering from the shooting. I have to force myself to maintain appearances. I'm sure these people, Panem bless them, are decent folks but I for one have had enough of the shaking hands and kissing babies and would love to just…stop everything.

"You can't shut down, Zen. I won't let you." Bea says to me in bed one evening. She acts like a human comforter, enveloping me in a comforting warmth that despite all my anger, I can't help but embrace. "People are counting on you, hoping for your recovery."

"Bea," I moan out, shaking my head deeper into my pillow. "I really don't want to..."

"You owe it to Randall, Garri and your family!" she snaps, gripping my bicep. "You heard what he said. He asked if you were okay. He'd want you to keep your head up no matter how hard it is to tread."

I sigh so hard I shudder. Somehow, my conversation with Emery that December night emerges through the brain fog. Like Bea right now, I tried to soothe Emery by banking on the kind words her deceased family members had given her, only for her to snap back with "I'd rather them here with me!". Gods does that ring true. I don't want Randall's words. I just want him back. Bea, using her gift of being able to 'tell' what people need, nuzzles her forehead against the nape of my neck.

"You were doing so well, since coming back after the Games, after defying all logic," she says. "I was concerned for you. Thought I had my work cut out for me. I guess things could only go so well until they don't." She runs a hand though my hair. "What I'm trying to say is that I made a private vow to help you no matter what. The vow is over a year strong, since Paulus and your parents. It intensified when you volunteered and it's reached its peak when Randall…"

Bea's grip on my bicep intensifies. I find myself reaching out in the darkness to place my hand over hers. We both find ourselves sniffling and sighing our tears away. It isn't lost on me that despite her pain, here she is again, looking after me.

"Look here." I do what I'm told. I owe Bea that much…and so much more. "I'm not going anywhere, Zenobia," she breathes. "So I might as well dig in and make sure I don't lose any more of my friends. You above all else."

"Thank…" I stop short of finishing. 'Thank you' absolutely does not do justice at all the things Bea's done for me. I don't think I could ever repay her, but something tells me that simply letting her in would be enough in her eyes. So, I start by offering her a hug, something she embraces in earnest. The thought that Bea could be dead as well and I could be here all alone causes the tears to flow. Bea cries too because of course she has to. Shouldering everyone all the time.

"You're always welcome," sniffles Bea. "Always, always, always, you are welcome."

My age, and the recovery speed it brings, allows me to be discharged and sent home with an extensive recovery plan that Bea and Dr. Rhodes swear to make sure I follow. Upon leaving the hospital, I can't help but notice the changes the Capitol has put in place in a few short days. The entire entrance loop is vacated aside from armed agents and Peacekeepers keeping the crowds on the sidewalk at bay. Thank Panem they don't cheer wildly, but instead applaud. The press are also kept at a respectable distance. Despite the quickness of the agents in getting us to the car and Bea squeezing my hand for support, my chest can't help but burn the entire time.

I never was fond of giant crowds. I don't think I ever will be again.


As they say, 'the show must go on' and the opening ceremony for the Seventy-Seventh Annual Hunger Games are about to be underway. Dr. Rhodes and Bea are essentially my live-in nurses, not allowing me to think inwardly for one minute lest I break down. I'm not even allowed to enter the kitchen or go to the bathroom without them being at least steps away. So, we hunker down in the living room, watching the scenes of the Capitol's City Circle. Bea and Dr. Rhodes occupy the loveseat while I occupy the chair. My mind's half preoccupied between watching the festivities and recalling the few brief times Randall and I snuggled on that sofa. Maybe I should replace it.

But then the camera's pan over the seating reserved for escorts. All still attractive Peacekeepers of course. And if the customary left-to-right, highest-district-to-lowest still holds true, Pluto Wellington holds Viondra's District 2 slot while Viondra is nowhere to be found. That is, until the cameras pan over to the balcony where the First and Second Families sit. There she is, sitting pretty with the Head Gamemaker.

"While you were going under the knife, she refused to leave the room," explains Dr. Rhodes. "It wasn't until sometime in the evening that an order came down from High Command. The next thing you know, she was a captain with orders to return back to the Capitol."

I frown, toning out Caesar's praise of the president and vice president while honing in on her beaming face. She didn't even leave a note. Maybe she's busy. Tried calling to no avail. She'll reach out, I'm sure of it.

The chariot rides this year are the same as my year. No white tunics this time, but instead the tributes wear the clothes they apparently came with, as Bea notes. They didn't even do horses, which given how the procession of last year's Games went, makes sense. Instead the tributes are made to walk the expanse of the Avenue of Tributes, enduring all the abuse and thrown objects throughout. I also note that Caesar and Marceline are avoiding naming the tributes outright, unless the tribute in question has done something especially heinous. It makes sense that they name all of District 2's tributes, all of them related to the Dixen family in one form or another.

They don't even deserve the pebble of a chance at survival. They should've just lined them up and shot them here in 2.

"That's odd," says Marceline.

"What is?" asks Caesar.

"It seems that the Linscott siblings are taking our anger on the chin." The cameras pan all the way out to District 11, where two older tributes, a male and female, stand meters behind the rest of their partners. The male, tall and strapping, waves towards the audience with a grin despite the heckling while his more lean sister seems to begrudgingly allow him to hold her hand. I know a strained grin when I see one.

"First the fist raising at the reaping ceremony and now this?" Caesar hums inquisitively. "Diamonds in the rough, perhaps?"

Marceline shrugs. "We can only hope."

Squinting towards the holovision, Bea says my thoughts exactly. "They could be Emery and Clancy."


The training days serve as a good time to bury Randall and Garrison, according to the Capitol. Both families wanted it earlier, but the Games take precedence and the government still wanted to give the burials coverage. They memorialize the Junior Hall's gymnasium in Randall's honor as well as establish a 'Junior Boys Randall Pilsner Award for Cadet Excellence'. They do a shop class in Garrison's, as well as make an award for mathematical and technical prowess. There name will also join the hundred or so names being put on the courtyard's Memorial Wall for fallen cadets.

The Commandant and the faculty do the speaking. I wasn't given a task to speak despite me being a victor, Garrison being my closest male friend and me above all else being a Pilsner for Panem's sake. I don't have it in me. I don't. Instead I act as Mrs. Pilsner's crutch for the entire slow march over to the cemetery. Domita is here as well, seemingly shuddering with each step as her and Garrison's family alike tend to her every step. I make a hardened effort not to glance her way at all. It'll just drive home my failure even more.

While everyone else is fighting back tears or succumbing to them entirely, it seems I don't have any tears left to cry. I guess I cried them all out over the past few days. Instead I fight to keep my own body upright as well as Mrs. Pilsner's body as Randall is lowered into the ground. I don't bother sticking around for any receptions, instead I quickly make an about face and leave the cemetery grounds, trying my best to ignore the fact that the graves of my brother and parents are just nearby.

And there's one more friendship I have to bury…for now at least. "So that's it then? No more District 2?"

Callista replies with a noncommittal shrug, sparing a glance over my shoulder towards Bea who looks both lost and distraught. Can't say I blame her. Ryder's mother is putting her foot down. Back to the Capitol she goes for one semester at a military academy up there. Maybe she'll see Emery around. "Not until I graduate military college. And remember I'm doing political affairs. I'll be all over the country, capturing stories worth telling."

I take in the station platform in its entirety. "Why does this seem so dire when it isn't?"

Ryder shrugs again. "Circumstances I guess. We all thought we'd march out of Overwhill the same way we came in. Only you and Bea are left. Domita maybe if she makes it. You are coming up for college, right?"

I nod. Since my ideal path has been destroyed, I've decided to continue on with my original plan of going to Ravinstill Military College. Whatever happens during and after I'm there, happens.

She smiles. "Then we'll see each other again in due time." After a moment of silence, Ryder continues. "Mother hates districtpeople, especially when her former husband ends up marrying one over her. She would swear up and down about how 'dumb' and 'trashy' you guys were. I think it's safe to say when he called for me to come down here, I thought school here would be a cakewalk."

We both grin. I know where she's going with this. "But I proved your pampered ass wrong, didn't I?"

She waggles a finger. "More like you gave me a run for my money." When I quirk an expectant brow, she rolls her eyes. "Alright fine, you proved me wrong. Especially with the recent actions you took. I thought I'd hate it here, but you most definitely made it worthwhile." She glances over at Bea. "All of you made it worthwhile. It's a shame the universe decided to ruin something so good."

We turn and watch as a train begins to roll onto the track. Handing Ryder her luggage, I begin to think of something nice to say. We both agree this isn't as drastic as we believe it to be, but a lot can change in a few months. Maybe we'll all be too busy to reconnect. "If it weren't for you bein' such a godsdammned keener, I'd probably be a 'B' student."

Ryder lets out a cackle. "If it weren't for you giving me a chance, I would not have gotten the opportunity to truly get to know you…And let me say I am genuinely glad I have."

I opt to go for a side hug, something Ryder returns with a back rub.

"See you in a year's time, Callista."

"Take care, Riven-Zenobia." Just as we pull apart, she catches me by the forearm. "If you can survive everything that's been thrown at you so far, what's the rest of your life, hm?"

I fall back, allowing Bea and Callista a moment to embrace one another one last time before they're separated for a semester. It's like something out of a Capitol drama, watching the two of them together, Callista hanging off the door while Bea hitches up on her toes to catch a peck as a conductor calls out for final boarders. I can't fight off the twinge of jealousy and anger the sight brings, so I opt to get a head start for the exit.


"Ladies and gentlemen, may I present to you the Victors of the Seventy-Seventh Hunger Games - Paisley and Clarence Linscott of District 11!"

Bea, Dr. Rhodes and I let out a collective sigh, and begin to 'limber up' in our seats after spending the better part of an hour watching the last of the tributes dwindle until Clarence and Paisley eek out a win in their mountainous village of an arena. Part of me is surprised District 11 managed to win so soon after everything that's transpired, but then again Paisley - and more specifically Clarence - are no typical Eleveners. They both had high training scores and a background in healing. Clarence took a page from my book and put an emphasis on his loyalty to the Capitol while his overall attempt to survive while navigating his sore relationship with his sister was a hot topic with Caesar and his band of commentators.

Contrast that with the siblings' pitiful opposition. All of Two was wiped out during the bloodbath, regardless of the fact that all the tributes were related to my failed assassin. I guess the tributes thought they would be 'sticking it to me' by killing them. Jokes on them, I watched them all die with an inward glee. The artificial intelligence supercomputer - 'Vi and Pax' - made quick work of the 'objectors' that opted to not participate in the Games, siccing mutts and avalanches on them. Bea noted that the holographic 'characters' gave her the creeps. I myself am still wrapping my head around the fact that such technology exist. Animated holographic children speaking in riddles while happily trapping and slaughtering tributes using the elements of the arena. No one will ever be able to get a rise over the Gamemakers ever again with them around.

Later that night, the phone rings. To my surprise, Viondra's on the other end.

"It's about time you called-"

"Emery tried to commit suicide," she says, as if recalling the weather.

"Oh?"

Viondra goes on to explain. Emery was at a viewing party when she saw Clarence and Paisley win. She broke out into a screaming fit and fled the home, walking aimlessly through the streets before heading into the Transfer. If it weren't for an on duty Peacekeeper, she would've threw herself into an oncoming train. Viondra thinks that maybe it was due to seeing herself in the duo and comparing them to her and Clancy. I agree. In another universe, it could very well be Emery and Clancy standing as victors. She lost that, leaving her to watch as two identical people live out her dream.

"Victors' Affairs explicitly told Caesar to tone down the comparisons for her sake," she continues. "I suppose by the end of the reaping ceremonies, she already had the comparison in mind."

"I guess."

There's a slight pause over the line before Viondra tentatively asks. "...How are you, Zenobia?"

"Existing, I guess." Recalling the days long absence between her and I, I continue. "What happened? How come you just up and left?"

"Like your friend, Callista Ryder, my parents have apparently had enough of my adventures," she explains. "Trust me, I tried to stay. According to them, I've had my fun and now it's time to look towards the future."

"Oh yea, what 'future' is that?"

Another awkward pause. "I'm getting engaged. To Colonel Rose."

It's my turn to pause awkwardly. I'm getting engaged. I rifle through my thoughts in an attempt to conjure up a thought. Happy thoughts? Angry thoughts? I come up with a hollow blankness. "The Head Gamemaker?"

"We're well acquainted," she replies. Wanting to change the subject, I opt to tell her about going to RMC. "My alma mater? That's wonderful. Politics? Even better, perhaps I could give you my textbooks! Listen, we will speak soon, okay?"

The line clicks off before I could properly say goodbye, leaving me with that hollow blankness again. You would think that we'd have the same hours long conversation like we had pre-Games and even after the Games. Then again, it's not like she's an escort anymore. That job is over. She's the eldest second daughter, wife of Panem's most popular Head Gamemaker.

I try to dismiss the negative thoughts that come to mind. She doesn't 'not care', she's just busy living her life…all while mine is barely together.


Domita's baby decides to make it's appearance on Panem Day of all days. Me and my two 'live-in' nurses are much appreciated additions to Domita's home birth at the family ranch. Even the Forge's are on hand for the occasion. As is custom, the men are quickly cast outside while the women are on hand to aide and witness their arrival. In the living room, I avoid looking to my front, where Mrs. Forge sits across the way. I've seen the way she cried for Garrison, lamenting the times where she felt that they were 'too tough' on him for being unlike most District 2 boys, only to realize he rose to the occasion during the War.

"Why so upset?" she asks me.

Startled, I focus my gaze towards the older woman. "I'm sorry?"

Much to my confusion, Mrs. Forge is wearing a slight grin on her lips. As if she knows something I don't. "You look very upset. I'm curious as to why."

"I got my friend killed and his mother is sittin' across from me," I say, as if it were the most obvious thing in the known universe. "S'my fault."

"Could you help it?" I quirk a confused brow and she rephrases the question. "Did you have any idea whatsoever what was going to happen that day?"

I frown, shaking my head. "..No, but-"

"It's not 'your fault', Zenobia," she says firmly, nodding. "The shooter's family got theirs and that's that. Best we can do now is support the piece Garrison left for us."

I wring my hands together while Domita lets out another prolonged yell as multiple voices attempt to soothe her. Never heard her like this before, I'd be a liar if I said I wasn't concerned. This goes on for minutes until silence comes over the home. It doesn't take long for the telltale sound of an infant wailing takes over that silence. Despite her seventeen years of age and junior education on the matter, Bea emerges from the room with a soiled smock tied around her waist, silently motioning us over. Trading glances with Bea, I'm pretty sure her expression of disbelief is a mirror of my own. Upon entering the room, I quickly find myself by Domita's side. Slicked with a deep sheen of sweat and a mop of drenched hair, she smiles at the sight of me, breaking into tears while turning the bundle my way. Swallowing, I get as close to the wall as possible, peering over Domita's shoulder to marvel at the sight of him. He's a little piece of butterscotch with a tuft of light brown hair to boot. If he'd open his eyes, I'd imagine he'd have a set of brown eyes to boot.

If it weren't for Bea laying an arm over my shoulder, I would've dropped to the ground by now.

"Junior is his name," Domita tells me, letting out a half sob, half laugh. "Look at 'im. Wouldn't have it any way else. Garrison Forge Jr."

I swallow again, discreetly placing my hands on my hips. Did we ever pick out names? No, no we didn't. We never got the chance.

All the women gather in just a little bit closer. Just as a call is made to bring in the men, I immediately slip out of the room, out of the house and past the curious eyes of the men. Once out of sight, I drop to my knees and vomit the contents of my stomach onto the hay. Once I finish I begin wiping the tears away, only to find that they just keep flowing - and that's when I break down entirely. I'll never get the opportunity like Domita did. You don't just share that experience with anyone. Randall was my someone. With him gone, who can I connect with on the same level again? Will I ever get the opportunity to have a family again?

His laugh breaks through my thoughts. "We're right back to where we started…While the eagle soars…"

I stagger to my feet, wiping the excess mucus from my mouth. "Shut the fuck up."

"No, no…I don't think I will," Matix gets out though stifled giggles. " I Guess the gilded life of a victor isn't what it's chalked up to be, eh?"

"Shut up!" I get out, grabbing the nearest item - a hoe - and slam it against the side of the shed. "Shut up shut up shut up shut UP!"

I feel arms, multiple arms locking me into an embrace. Overcome with fatigue, I drop to my knees bringing Bea and Dr. Rhodes with me. It's Dr. Rhodes who speaks up.

"Zenobia, Its…" She quickly shuts up. She knows it's not going to be ok. "We're here. We know."

"Remember Zen," Bea yearns. "Just keep treading."

"I-I can't!" I shake my head so fast I see stars. I mash my fists into the ground. "I can't, they took everything!"

"Yes, you can," Dr. Rhodes presses.

"Yes you can." Bea's hug around my neck intensifies. "Yes you can. Zenobia, it's all we can do!"

A choked sob escapes my mouth while Bea spins me around and presses my face into the crook of her neck, acting as a muzzle for my wails. I try to conjure up the images of my ideal family with Randall, to no avail. I can no longer see the children. I only see him lying on the steps of Center Station, blood oozing from his head.


.