Chapter 1: Train Ride
March sat stiffly on the edge of the plush couch, eyelids shut tightly. Her muscles were still tense and primed. After a week of constant action, they had forgotten how to relax, and although her body was on a train zooming back to District Two, her mind was elsewhere. In the Hunger Games, there was always something pressing at hand; food, weapons, mutts, murder. A semi-permanent state of fight-or-flight. She had gone out like a light every night after the last cannon, but her sleep was no longer a time of rest but another bodily necessity that she had to take care of. There was no rest during the Games. No time to think. Even in the two days she had spent recovering in the Capitol, she was constantly busy. When the doctors weren't crowding around her, patching up every tiny scratch, the interviewers were.
After a week of robotic massacre March Drusa had won, but in a way she had lost. She had no purpose now. Her entire life had been dedicated to the Games and now that it was over, what was she to do? For as long as she could remember she had had one goal, one focus, fed into her mind again and again until it was all she could think about: to become Victor. Now that the title had been attained she found that her mind was free to wander. It was trying to go to places that she did not want it to go, and it was taking all of her mental strength to pull back the reigns on her thoughts.
"March," said Magnolia in a sickly sweet voice, waving a tanned hand in front of the new Victor's face. "Hello? March!"
The Capitol escort was a petite, pretty woman who constantly dripped with a condescending love for the Capitol, the Games, and her Tributes – but most of all for herself. March's eyes fluttered open, but they struggled to focus. Her mouth opened and closed silently.
"It's okay if you need time to drink it all in," Magnolia drawled, kneeling down and taking March's hands in her own like a doting mother. Her eyes glimmered with pride. Magnolia would be the talk of the town back in the Capitol after the entertainment that her District had put on this year. And it was true: March's Games were spectacular. Career Tributes were trained not only in fighting, but in show-business, and she had given the world something truly worth watching.
"I just came to tell you that we're all so, so proud of you, dear. You were wonderful. We'll be back home very soon." The Capitol woman spoke agonisingly slowly, drawing out every word. It was painfully obvious that she was addicted to her own voice.
After a moment of silence she realised that the glassy-eyed girl wasn't going to give a response and left the room, and March was left entirely alone. She almost wished that she had said something, perhaps striking up some mundane conversation for the rest of the train ride. It would at the very least give her something meaningless to chew on, but she had been too concentrated on holding back tears. She didn't know why she wanted to cry. There was no logical reason for it. She had just achieved her dreams and was racing home to a District full of smiling faces who all considered her a hero, yet it felt like the combined grief of twenty-three bereaved families was crushing her all at once. She had been too ashamed weep in front of Magnolia or Brutus, but now that she was alone all of her pent-up emotion released like a flood and she collapsed onto the floor, clutching her head in her hands and wailing like a banshee. Thankfully, the train cars were soundproof.
As she cried her thoughts continued racing. The real Games were very different from what she had trained for. The physical components were the same, of course, but punching bags and plastic dummies don't call out for a Mommy that they'll never see again. Nothing could have prepared her for the way that their eyes rolled back into their heads, or the stink that emanated from bodies left out in the heat. What scared her even more was that at the time, she hadn't even thought about any of that. She had just slaughtered away, indifferent to whether the thing she was attacking was a latex mannequin or someone's beloved child.
March's body was too tired to continue this primal display of emotion for much longer, and within half an hour she was reduced to a quiet pile of sobs. The train began to slow, heralding their arrival in Two.
I need more time, she thought.
The sudden sadness was raw and entirely alien, and she didn't know what to make of it yet, or how to force it to go away. Begrudgingly, she peeled herself off of the floor and tried fruitlessly to smooth out the folds on her dress. The outfit was beautiful; a souvenir from the Capitol to accompany her on her journey home. Now, the shiny blue satin was wrinkled and ugly.
March glanced through the train window. The familiar square buildings of her home District flashed by. In a few short minutes, she would be regurgitated in front of a vast, cheering crowd who were expecting a strong, proud Victor to step out in front of them, not this mess. She could see her own reflection in the glare of the window, and after years of seeing a lethal killing machine in the mirror, she barely recognised the red-faced, shaking girl that stared back at her with terrified eyes. She looked more like a weak, cowardly Tribute from one of the high-numbered Districts, one of those girls that no-one cared for enough to volunteer in their place and who spent the entirety of their short-lived Games snivelling in a corner.
Suddenly, the view shifted into the endless columns and platforms of District Two's central station. Shiny passenger trains like this one were a rare sight here; usually, this place was home to rugged cargo trains heaving stone or Peacekeepers off to the rest of Panem.
A distorted voice sounded over the intercom.
"March? It's time!" called Magnolia.
March hovered at the door for a moment, biting her lip. Finally, she wiped away the last stray tears and hit the "OPEN" button, stepping out into the dining car.