Author's Note:

All chapters have been reedited. If you're a new reader, please disregard this note. But if you've read the previous chapters before this update, you may want to go back, as there are quite a few new details. Just thought I'd let you know. Thanks for reading!

-MFD

I'm aware of a dim light overhead, but everything seems far away and out of focus. I feel like I could be floating, but the sensation gradually goes away, and I start to feel a dull ache in my stomach. I let out a groan and try to lift myself up.

A hand lands on my chest and pushes me back down, "Now, now Abernathy. Let's not reopen that wound."

My vision gradually clears up and I peer around the room. Foreign machinery stands around my bed, blinking and beeping. Everything is white or a metallic gray. Even the doctor, with his pale skin, white labcoat and peppery hair, matches the room. My head is swimming in a haze, but I manage to slur, "What happened?"

The doctor opens up my eyelid and shines a light in my eye, repeating it on the other side as he says, "My boy, you won the Games, that's what happened."

Did I? It starts coming back to me. I move to lift up the sheets to look at my stomach, but the pain in my shoulder reminds me of the other injury I acquired in that final fight. The doctor continues, "You nearly slipped away from us. We were worried for a moment that we wouldn't have a victor for the ceremonies. Would've cost me my head. But you're recovering well. Ah, here's the problem; your drip ran out."

He pulls one tube out of my arm to replace it with another, "Now rest up. You've got a busy day tomorrow." Whatever is now dripping into my arm drags me back into a dreamless emptiness again.

But I feel like I've only slept for a few minutes when a dull pain in my stomach wakes me back up. A beeping sound pounds in my ears and my doctor rushes back in, "Relax, relax."

He presses a few buttons on a machine and the beeping stops, "That's better. You've had major abdominal surgery. It's just about done healing, but it might be sore for another few days. Same goes for the shoulder. We had to take you off of the morphling so you can be ready for tonight."

I mumble, "What's tonight?" I still can't make sense of anything. My shoulder aches and my stomach stings and I'm all patched up in bandages.

The doctor takes my good arm and starts to pull me out of bed, "Closing ceremonies. Your prep team needs to get to work on you."

And so I'm ushered around in a wheelchair since I can't keep my balance yet thanks to the drugs. I'm wheeled into the same salon I was prepped in before the opening ceremonies and I painfully remember Pitt the entire time my prep team remakes me. I drift in and out, but by the time I hear the roar of the audience, I'm more alert. Valera had sung her praises to me sometime during my makeover, but now she snaps at me, "Get your head back in the game! You made it this far, don't screw it up for me now! And get that look off your face!" She reminds me to play my part and shouts until I put on a mask of emotion.

The blaring music changes and it's my cue, so I stride onto the stage with a false smile plastered on. Once again, Caesar Flickerman greets me and offers me a seat as he begins, "Well, if it isn't Haymitch Abernathy. I think I can speak for all of us when I say it's a pleasure to see you again." The crowd cheers in agreement as Caesar continues, "We watched you from day one and you took us on quite an adventure. It wasn't long before we were all rooting for you, and now here you are, in the flesh. Tell us; how does it feel to be victor?"

I hadn't even stopped to think about it. I won. I am a victor. Victors have a special place in the society of Panem. In the Capitol, they are celebrities. Within their own districts, they are given a house in the Victor's Village. They are awarded an exorbitant salary. And they become mentors for all future tributes of their district. But at what cost?

There are a number of things I'd like to say. I want to scream, 'None of this matters! A bunch of kids are dead because of all of you! Don't you see how sick all of this is?' But I don't think that would be well-received by my Capitol audience. I hold my tongue until I finally manage to wrangle the charm from my former life and say, "Caesar, I'm just relieved. This could've ended very differently."

Caesar nods in agreement, "Yes, it came very close. But you're the one who got to come out here tonight, the victor of the Quell." The cheering from the audience makes me want to vomit. Caesar continues, "How are you holding up? Your injuries seemed rather serious."

I want to distract him from the inevitable questions about the arena, the combat and the tributes. So I say flatly, "Well, I sure as hell won't be doing any back flips anytime soon."

A bought of laughter from the crowd grows and dies and Caesar chuckles, "We'll have to strike that segment from the program then, now won't we?"

But as soon as the laughter disappears from the crowd, he looks back at me and says, "Our wonderful programmers have prepared a reel of your highlights from the arena. Let's all take a fresh look at the Games and watch your rise to the top!"

Music rumbles and the jumbo screen goes dark. I still notice my face on a few of the other screens fixed all over the huge outdoor theatre. My reactions are being monitored, so I hide the dread I feel inside.

The tributes are back on their metal plates. 48 tributes, all gone now. Except for me. I watch myself as I smelled the air and then snapped back into focus, concentrating on the pile of goods in the Cornucopia. It's strange, watching the Games like this, as a spectator, like I was every year. But now it's like déjà vu. There's the camera's point of view, but then there is my memory that brings me back into the arena. Watching the shot of myself on my platform, I instead see from my own perspective, the off-camera Conucopia, the tributes. My old thoughts run through my head, my decision to take a chance and try to claim some supplies, the fear of the other tributes catching up to me and killing me, my plan for running back into the woods. Even the memory of my fear of dying right there in the grass, the longing for home and the people I love had appeared in my mind.

I think back to earlier Games I had watched on television and I now realize that being a tribute is so much more than being a competitor. Those were real human beings in there. But what appears in the film is so disconnected from them. The film barely touches the surface of the true experience of being in the arena.

The starting cannon blasted and I almost jump in my seat before I watch myself dashing to the Cornucopia and arriving at the same time as the boy from District 4. The boy whose throat I would slice open. On my run back, I slashed at arms and legs that reach for me, but the reel cuts to scenes of other tributes clashing at the Cornucopia. Some of them flee like I did. Others stay to fight.

The reel cuts again to Maysilee. She also ran into the forest. Another cut, and there's Amara. She dared to try to find something from the Cornucopia, and she's small enough to sneak past many of the tributes. Pitt was already there, clashing with another boy. Amara went to grab a backpack, but as she looked back, she hesitated. She snatched up a rock and threw it at the boy's head. The distraction gave Pitt all the time he needed to kick the boy away and run him through with a spear.

But another tribute, the blonde from District 1, the one who nearly killed me, came over with a sword in hand. Pitt shoved Amara out of the away, but his spear does nothing to shield him from the blade that pierces his heart. In another swift motion, the girl yanked the sword from his chest and rams it into Amara, who had been too shocked to move. The sound of their cannons is drowned out by the others.

I remember the female tribute's words to me, "Shame I couldn't get the full set." She meant the District 12 tributes. She had missed her chance to murder Maysilee, but she had intended on adding me to her kill list. I feel sick to my stomach and I try not to pay attention to the quick cut scenes of the rest of the tributes' deaths.

A montage of Maysilee and I comes up next. I kill two tributes, she saves me from a third. We team up. We help each other out. I hear myself talking enthusiastically about home and Maysilee doing the same. But I notice they don't include her mention of her mockingjay pin. When they show her death scene, I grit my teeth as I watch the bird stab through her throat just as I crash through the bushes. The look on my face, of guilt, of anguish, is one I've never seen before. Covered in blood, mud, sweat and ash, I am just another animal in the forest. It's hard to believe it's me, running up to Maysilee, cradling her, rocking her back and forth as she dies in my arms, tears streaking through the grime on my face. It becomes difficult to watch, so I avert my eyes until it's over. Once again, they cut our last words to each other, but I know I'll never forget them.

The final battle with the girl from District 1, whose name, I learn from the commentary, is Luxe, is intense, and fresh in my memory. I can almost feel the axe in my shoulder again, and when my on-screen image stabs her in the eye, I feel an incredible urge to vomit, and it isn't helped by the sight of my disemboweled organs threatening to slip through my fingers as I run towards the cliff. And then I see what I was too delirious to notice in the arena.

Luxe hurls her axe at me and I collapse on the ground. Even though she missed, she clearly seems to think she's won, seeing as I was squirming on the ground and there was no question that she could outlast me. She covers her empty eye socket with her hand and waits. If she were smarter, she would have finished me off herself. She looks up in horror. The axe had bounced off of the force field as I had predicted, and it burrows into her skull before she can react. The cannon is fired, the trumpets sounds, and the film ends.

Caesar turns back to me and notices my discomfort, so he takes it easy on me and asks me a few more, less-intrusive questions that I can answer with only a few words before he congratulates me again and lets the program progress. There's a short crowning ceremony in which President Snow places a gold circlet on my head, and I try to pay attention to his words and present myself well, but he's giving off the most potent smell of roses and it only makes my nausea worse. I even detect the faint stench of blood and I fear I may have torn open some of my stitches.

Finally, the show is over and I make my way backstage. As soon as I'm behind the curtains, I vomit on the stage floor. Not much comes up since I've only been fed through a tube for the past few days, but I heave until nothing is left, despite the pain in my freshly-stitched stomach. I didn't need to relive the Games, especially not when it's glorified like this, with an audience of morally-deprived people who had a swell time watching children die. I am disgusted with them and I'm disgusted with myself for bending to their will and playing in their Games, even if it was to save my life. It's a shame like nothing I've ever felt before.

Valera tiptoes around my little puddle of vomit and grabs me by the sleeve. I'm dragged to a lavish room where Caesar and I record a second interview to be aired the next day. He notices my instability and tries to make the interview pleasant and detailed, but short. He asks about my thoughts on the Games, the arena, Maysilee and going home. Once again, I censor myself and do my best to seem pleasant, only because I'm tired of Valera shrieking at me at every chance she gets, and I don't want to give her another reason to be mad.

After the interview, I'm taken to party after party all night, forced to smile in photos with these wealthy monsters and charm them until they leave me alone for even more ridiculously-dressed beasts to take their turn with me, trying not to show disgust at their lifestyle or pain from over-exerting myself so soon after surgery. I'm presented with platters of meat, fruits, vegetables, cakes, puddings, cheeses, and candies of all types, and I remember the sight of myself in the mirror of the salon this morning, emaciated with ribs threatening to burst out of me, my arms and legs turned to twigs. My prep team even had to make up my face to fill my gaunt cheeks. I bluntly ask the occasional clown why they're showering me with food now and not when I really needed it when I was literally starving in the arena. They all laugh as if I was making a hilarious joke. But the question is rhetorical. I already know the answer. These people are the scum of the earth.

The parties end just an hour or two before dawn. Just like when I was sent to the arena, I don't get to spend another night in the Capitol before I'm whisked straight to the train in my tuxedo. An attendant leads me to my room and I collapse on the bed with nothing to distract me from the deaths of forty-seven tributes replaying over and over again in my mind's eye. I can't sleep at all and I'm tempted to trash the room like last time, but my body just doesn't have the strength. Instead, I scream into my pillow until I'm hoarse.

Once I've rendered myself mute, I can't help but think; Does this ever end? Or will I always carry the ghosts of forty-seven tributes with me? Will I ever be able to wash the blood off my hands? The more I try to ignore the haunting thoughts, the quicker they thrust themselves into the forefront of my mind, and every jolt of pain from my stomach, my shoulder, my leg, is just another reminder that drags me back into the arena. I'm teetering on the edge of my mind and I want to forget everything.

That afternoon, I wake up feeling miserable. But we've arrived in District 12. I want to feel happy to be back, but I'm still wary as I'm taken down a closed path to the Justice Building. I suppose it's just residual suspicion from the arena. Valera spouts off a list of instructions for my homecoming ceremony. I ignore her, and I can hear a crowd of voices outside. But instead of the excitement that ran through the audience of the Capitol, curiosity and concern tickle the murmurs spoken in the familiar cadence of my district. I'm really home. It's hard to wrap my head around, but I'm home.

The doors open and I'm led back onto the platform in the market square where I stood with three other tributes only a few weeks ago. Before I felt lonely because I thought I was alone in all of this. But now I feel the same way, probably because I knew them, even if it wasn't for very long. I wish we could share the stage again.

Valera silences the crowd and puts her mask of bubbly optimism on again as she presents me as my District's victor. I ignore her as she goes on and on about my valiance and the glory I've earned, and instead scan the spectators. There are hundreds packed into the tiny square, with many funneled into the connecting alleys. Dusted with coal and weary from the heat, it's hard to tell whether they really want to be here or not. The Games are something we from 12 aren't fans of. While some people do watch the Games out of curiosity, there are many others who grudgingly attend the mandatory events or watch the required viewings. But District 12 has only had one previous victor, and she is a distant memory. If any of them want to be here, it's only to witness the rare victor come home.

I search the crowd for the only faces I care about, but there are only hardy miners with their hands in their pockets, children looking up at me in wonder, and the kids from school who will never look at me the same way again.

And then I see them.

In the back of the crowd stands my mother, tears in her eyes as she smiles at me from across the square. Elias has an arm around her and he's got the biggest grin on his face. And there's Leila beside them. I shout, "Leila!"

Valera, clearly annoyed at my interruption, breaks character and snaps at me, "What do you think you're doing?" But I ignore her and hop off the stage, fighting through the pain in my gut, and run through the crowd that parts for me, cameramen following close behind, tripping over their wires. Leila starts to run at me too. I feel a vigor ignite in my heart that I forgot existed, a feeling I thought had died and stayed behind in the arena. I fought to come back and see this girl again, and there's no way some stupid ceremony protocol is going to stop me.

We reach each other and I hold her as tight as I can and bury my face in her hair. I feel tears coming from my eyes, but they are happy ones. She's sputtering my name over and over again and I feel her fall against me when her knees go out, so I go down to my knees too and I kiss her. There's a cheer in the crowd, but I pay no attention, I just press Leila close to me again, telling myself I'll never let her go.

Someone crouches down beside us and pats me on the back. I look up to see that it's Elias. I drag him right down to the ground with us and pull him in close with one arm, keeping Leila locked in the other. My heart is jumping and burning with relief, with joy, with things I don't even have the words for. I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't be so lucky to have made it out alive. I wasn't supposed to make it. But for some reason, I'm still on this earth. The people who I was certain I would never see again are here in my arms again. What I feel is not happiness or ecstasy. I am off the charts, beyond normal comprehension. This feeling is madness. A wonderful madness.

My mother runs her fingers through my hair and I get up to hug her too, but she pulls away and takes my hand. Without a word, she leads us away from the square, and we all go back home to our little house in the Seam.

Author's Note:

I'm not sure whether or not to end the story here or not. There will be a sequel either way. If you're interested in reading it, you can check my user profile for new stories, or check back here for details. Reviews are greatly appreciated. Thanks for reading!

-MFD