Crimson: The 10th Hunger Games Chapter 45: Epilogue: Even the Worst Scars Fade, a hunger games fanfic

Epilogue: Even the Worst Scars Fade

Raleigh Travers, Victor of the 10th Hunger Games.

Somedays he wondered if it would have been better if he died.

He watched the rain outside his kitchen window with glazed and cloudy eyes, his face emotionless. Inside he was hurting more than anyone can imagine, but he was done crying. He had done enough of it. The pain he felt wasn't sharp like his spear he used in the arena; it was numbing and endless instead, a slow death that couldn't be seen with the naked eye. The pain he felt was a thousand times worse than any knife, sword, or spear. This pain couldn't be healed.

Upstairs, his father sat in his workshop and tinkered with car parts. Raleigh didn't talk to him much anymore. These days, he didn't talk much at all. Most of the time, he lay motionless in a dark room and thought deeply about absolutely nothing.

Arial had stopped visiting, and so had anyone else he had been remotely close with before the games. They all came at first, but one by one Raleigh pushed them away, telling them to come back tomorrow and maybe he'd see them. However, he knew that tomorrow would never come. Tomorrow became next week, next week turned into next month, and soon the knocks at the door ceased. His visitors had realized that tomorrow really meant never.

The rain continued to patter outside. Raleigh sighed and looked at the clock plastered on the wall across the room. It ticked 8:46 AM. In two hours or so, Buick would arrive at his door and they'd be off on Raleigh's victory tour, soaring toward One on a lightning fast bullet train.

It had been six months since his games had ended. Six long months. Each second had felt like a minute, each minute like an hour, each hour like a day, and each day like a lifetime. It was hard to imagine his life before the games now. It seemed so distant. All he could really remember was that he was always happy and smiling then. He was never happy now.

Every day he thought of his mother and all those he had failed to save in the games. Tristan, the always smiling boy who didn't have a mean bone in his body. Celeste, the girl who learned to be confident in herself. Arilli, the tribute he had known for just a little time, but who he had failed to save as well.

And himself, the victor of the games who had slipped so far under the thick ice he was practically dead himself. He was slowly sinking to the bottom of the ocean, further and further away from everything he had ever loved. No one could save him now. He was already too far gone.

The rain kept falling, and Raleigh wished he could will his demons away. However, in two hours, he'd have to start facing them, whether he wanted to or not.

"District One won't be hard," Buick told him on the train, trying to give him an optimistic smile. "You didn't know any of the tributes personally. For me, it was hardest when I had met the tributes prior to their deaths. It's harder to look their crying family member in the eyes if you did."

Buick was right. District One went as smoothly as predicted. He was dressed in a sparkling green suit the color of shimmering emeralds, and his long and unkempt hair was trimmed and slicked back with what felt like pounds of hair gel. They lead him off the train and through the thick crowd of people, most of whom were cheering and clapping respectively.

He gave his speech, talking about how Kaeleah and Eris were honorable competitors and that their home district should be proud of their placements and what they accomplished. At the end, everyone clapped respectfully for him and he was whisked off the stage, lead through the crowd of people once more.

Someone grabbed his hand suddenly. Raleigh whipped around, finding himself staring right into the eyes of an old and frail woman. He yanked his arm away and blinked.

"Thank you for killing Alaric," she murmured softly, her voice barely audible over the voices of the crowds.

Raleigh nodded his head but couldn't help raise a brow in confusion. "Sure."

"He made Eris look like such a monster. My grandson—he wasn't. He wasn't what the cameras pictured him to be. He was just a kid. My little Eris was just a kid."

She must be Eris's grandmother. He gave her a weak smile and a curt nod. "Alright. I'll remember that."

"Thanks," she replied, but then was gone, disappearing back into the crowd.

District Two was completely different.

Like the tall mountains they lived in, the people of Two were as cold and bitter as the frigid winter. When Raleigh exited the train, he was greeted with a dull silence, a million vengeful eyes staring right at him. Buick squeezed his hand and told him it would be alright, but the bad feeling in his stomach lingered.

He wove through the crowd, making his way up to the stage. A few people booed but were quickly silenced by the peacekeepers in snow white uniforms. Raleigh stopped beside the stage, looking to the families standing right in the front row.

Lena's brother was crying uncontrollably. Raleigh heard him but didn't dare look his way. Beside him, Lena's parents stood as still as statues, their eyes glossy and their heads hung low. They didn't meet his eyes when he looked at them. Next to them was Alaric's brother and father, their gaze as sharp as daggers. Alaric's brother looked like he wanted to murder him right then and there. Raleigh inhaled deeply and made his way up the steps. He turned and faced the silent crowd.

He opened his mouth to speak. However, before any words could come out, hundreds of people in the crowd raised their hands into the air. Raleigh squinted his eyes, trying to see what they were holding. Yet, by the time he realized they were flashlights, it was too late.

A million lights blinked on at once. Raleigh's eyes widened and for a moment he was blinded, the only thing he could see the bright white light. He screamed, stumbling backward.

Then everything turned to chaos.

"Death to Spark Boy!" They howled, their voices flooding his ears like a tidal wave. The crowd had roared to life, chanting and screaming and flicking the flashlights on and off. All Raleigh could see was white flashes, and all of a sudden, he felt like he was going to be sick.

His body shook and he felt like he was in the games again. He had the sensation that electricity was running through his veins, coursing through his body. He fell onto the stone floor of the stage, his limbs jolting in all directions. The lights continued to flash and Raleigh screamed louder.

Then, two strong hands yanked him to his feet and lead him toward the stairs of the stage. A few gunshots rang out and there were more screams, the people scattering everywhere. Raleigh could only see white sparks flying everywhere. He was in the games again. He was going to die. This was the end.

Someone ran toward him, knocking him to the ground again. He screamed and began to kick and thrash like a wild animal, hissing and spitting everywhere. He was in defense mode now. HIs life was on the line; he needed to save himself. Although the person who knocked him to the ground was merely a scared kid running for her life, he didn't care. He only cared about his own survival. As long as he was safe, the kid could die for all he cared.

This is what the Hunger Games had made him become: a monster.

He was scared to leave the safety train after the mess that was District Two.

"It'll be okay Raleigh," his mentor consoled, giving him a pat on the shoulder. "The Capitol sent in extra peacekeepers. They'll be with you at all times. No one will touch you, alright?"

Raleigh didn't respond, staring out the window blankly at the cityscape that was District Three.

"Come on Raleigh. The sooner we get off the train the sooner it will all be over."

"I want it to be over now," Raleigh murmured softly. "I want to die. Then it'll all be over."

"Oh, come on," Buick replied, giving him a weak smile. "You don't really mean that, right?"

"I do. I hate being a victor. I hate talking to all these people who wish I was dead and pretending like everything is alright when it isn't. They want me dead. I want me dead. I wish I was dead."

"No, you don't Raleigh," Buick responded harshly, his tone of voice changing drastically. "Being alive and hurting is better than being dead and feeling nothing at all."

Raleigh lifted his head, looking at his mentor with angry and confused eyes. "If I was dead I'd be at peace. All I feel now is guilt."

"Then get over yourself," Buick hissed back. "Stop feeling guilty and start realizing that some things are out of your control. Yes, you are stupid, but you also couldn't control what happened in Two or what happened to your mother. Don't feel bad for things you didn't do."

"But I could have saved her. If only—"

"You can't save everyone," his mentor cut him off. "I learned that the hard way, and apparently, you will too."

And then he opened the train door, and Raleigh had no choice but to step out into the light.

He couldn't get Sereina's aunt's words out of his head.

"You turned my niece into a monster," she hissed at him after he was done giving his speech yesterday. "You ruined her. Compared to her, you are the tiny one."

He should have said something. He should have told her that it was Sereina's choice to leave Celeste for dead. But he didn't. He just stared at her with wide blank eyes, knowing that what she said had truth to it.

"Maybe I am."

It rained the day he went to District Five.

A low mist hung around the stage, a fog rising slowly in the distance. Grey clouds surrounded the dull grey square, reflecting his mood. It was days like these that made him want to curl up in a ball and cry. Well, every day was like that now, but rainy days made him feel drearier than others.

Through the mist and the fog, the bright cityscape of five flickered around him. Tall grey buildings stood with warm yellow lights in the windows, and skinny streetlamps lined the square. It wasn't cold but looking at them made him shiver. It reminded him of things he didn't want to remember and of things he would do anything to forget. The Games. District Two. His mother.

The people stood huddled in the rain, waiting in anticipation. The mood here was different from what it had been in Districts Three and Four. There the people had stood with their heads hung low and their eyes locked on their feet, shivering as peacekeepers walked by. But here, despite the weather, it felt almost … hopeful.

He stepped onto the stage, and an excited buzz ran through the crowd. He seemed to not be the only one who noticed it, for the numerous peacekeepers patrolling the streets all seemed to raise their heads and narrow their eyes, looking for signs of rebellion among the people. There was nothing, at least visibly.

Grabbing the microphone, he took a silent step forward. The crowd seemed to sway as he moved, watching him attentively. He twisted his head around to find Buick standing behind him, giving him an encouraging smile. He didn't smile back.

"Hello District Five," He announced in a monotoned voice, and to his surprise, his words were met with a thunderous response. The crowd cheered and hollered his name. Some began to scream "Spark Boy!" and for a minute he saw the sparks again, vibrant and sizzling against the steady rain. His eyes widened and he let go of the microphone.

A gunshot snapped him back into reality. In the middle of the square, a young boy dressed in grey stiffened before collapsing to the ground, his eyes wide with confusion and fear. In the middle of his chest is a red circle. Raleigh met his glossy gaze but it was too late; he was already gone. In the boy's hand was a wire, the top of it sparking like a firework. Then like the dead boy, it fizzled out, another casualty of the war he never wanted to fight.

He had been dreading District Seven since the victory tour had begun. If District Two and Five were bad, then District Seven was going to be hell.

"I'm not going out there," Raleigh refused, crossing his arms over his chest. "I'm not going to let anyone else die because of me."

"You have to," Buick replied sternly. "You don't have a choice. You are a victor, and this is your job now. The people have a choice though. If they want to rebel, then they can. It's their fault if they die, not yours. I told you to stop blaming stupid things other people do on yourself."

"Well, this is the wrong District for that!" Raleigh yelled. "Both Celeste and Tristan's deaths were my fault, and they're dead too! They're all dead!"

His mentor grabbed him by the shoulders, turning him around so he was square to him. He looked him dead in the eyes. "It's. Not. Your. Fault." He hissed through gritted teeth. "How many times do I have to tell you that?"

"A million, because when I look Celeste's crying sister in the eyes, do you think I'm going to believe that?" He spat back angrily. "Do you think she's going to believe that?"

"You're strong. You'll get through it."

"But what if I can't?" The sixteen-year-old boy asked, his eyes suddenly going wide like a child's half his age.

"You will."

"But what if I can't?"

"Then you've lost," his mentor replied, yanking him to his feet and wiping the tears from his eyes. "Once you've given up, you're dead; you're done for. But you will get through it because you're a victor." He gave him a firm squeeze on the shoulder before pushing him out the door. "We don't lose. We win."

The trees of Seven towered above him like giants, their leaves undulating in the midsummer breeze. He looked out at the crowd of people with glazed and puffy eyes that were swollen from crying. He wouldn't cry here though. Not in front of this many people. He was stronger than that. He was a victor. He didn't lose.

"Hello, District Seven!" He announced with fake enthusiasm.

No one clapped, silence the only response he received. He gulped, holding his head high and using whatever energy was left in him to continue.

"I will be honest with you all," Raleigh began, shedding his false enthusiasm like a snake shed his old skin. "I was dreading coming to Seven, for reasons you can probably guess. Tristan and Celeste were my allies in the games, and I'm sure you'd rather see them standing here than me. Me, who watched silently as Tristan was shot to death and who left Celeste to dangle by one foot as Alaric sliced her to pieces. Me, who took a girl against her will and made my own ally turn on me because she was afraid of what I'd become. Me, the boy who was too afraid to trust someone who had nothing left to give but trust."

I'm supposed to say I'm sorry, and that I'd do anything to make them forgive me, but you know what? I'm done saying sorry. I'm done pretending like they were my friends when really we all knew only one of us was going to make it out of there alive if even that. A friend isn't someone who knows at the end of the day that if they want to survive, they'll have to kill the person that they are supposed to trust with their lives. I've been blaming myself for months and telling myself that if only I had saved Tristan if only I had gone back for Celeste—then maybe they'd be here instead of me."

But the Hunger Games are a selfish game. I thought I wanted that; I thought I wanted to have had the courage to save Celeste and Tristan. But inside, no matter how good of a person I think I am, in the arena I always wanted it to be me who was the last one standing; me who heard my name be called at the end of it all, and me who got to wear the crown after it was all done. I never wanted it to be Celeste or Tristan. I wanted it to be me. And if that makes me a horrible person, then maybe I am. Maybe I am a monster. But at least I'm honest."

He still couldn't look Celeste's crying sister in the eye after he was done, but at least he could live with himself now and accept what he had done. He was a victor, and he wasn't going to give up. He wasn't going to lose.

"I'm proud of you Raleigh," his mentor said once they were back on the train. "I honestly thought you were going to cry."

He managed to laugh. "Me too."

"Plus, the Capitol's off your tail now. That speech was broadcast in all the districts. They all think you're a monster now, and they no longer have sympathy for you. Who would have thought?"

Raleigh shrugged. "It really turned them all over?"

"Well, not all of them."

Apparently, there were still a few in District Eight.

He stood on the wings of the stage, watching as the occasional Spark Boy was hollered into the air in a plea for attention before the owner of the voice was rounded up by the peacekeepers and dragged away, kicking and screaming in reply. Most of the time, their voices died down within minutes, the crowd returning to its normal sad silence. Raleigh felt bad but continued to tell himself it wasn't his fault. It was their choices, and if they wanted, they could speak out. It was all up to them.

One girl caught his eye though. She ran to the front of the crowd, pushing and shoving her way to the stage. However, instead of yelling about Spark Boy, she was screaming something else.

"You will not silence me! My sister was silenced by you, but I will never stop until I avenge her death! I will speak out until I die, and even then, I won't stop until my final breath!"

Raleigh thought someone was going to shoot her right there and let her live out her wish. However, when they caught her they just dragged her away like the rest. She didn't kick and scream though. She just kept yelling.

"Grace is dead, but you will never kill my love for her! Her spirit will live on, and someday, the Capitol is going to be silenced too! Just you wait! There are more of us then you know! There are hundreds! Thousands! Millions! We're going to take you down, every last one of you!"

Then her voice disappeared into the distance, growing fainter and fainter until it was silent. The next year, he swore he saw a girl who looked exactly like her in his room at the Capitol, a silver plate in hand and a tongue missing from her mouth. However, it could have just been his mind playing tricks on him. It did a lot these days.

The victory tour ended on a quiet note. There were no outbursts in any other districts, and Nine, Ten, Eleven, and Twelve were all as bleak and dreary as the last. All the families looked sad but not too sad, and he had known none of their children but Arilli, and even her he had only met for a minute or so before Alaric slit her throat.

It's not your fault, he repeated in his head every day. It's not your fault.

After a while, he began to believe himself again.

He returned back to his quiet home in Six after the tour ended, a modest celebration being held in his name the day he got back. The entire district was there and he spoke, then there was a party after with a handful of Buick's friends and a few of his father's. Arial was there too, and he managed to say hello. For now, it was all he could say. But it was something. It was a step, even if it was a baby one.