Seasons of Wither, Epilogue

I walk through the meadow along the fence that boarders District 12. Wildflowers bloom, birds chirp, and the sun shines down through the cloudless sky, warming the earth. It's such a simple joy that I guess I've always taken for granted, but after the harsh and bitter winter we have endured, I take my time walking home—the long way—from Hazelle's house.

Gale had spent much of his winter in the mines, working seven days a week and sometimes even 18 hours a day in an attempt to meet Capitol quota. The power was cut to the district sometime around the end of February, since apparently the Capitlites weren't too crazy about having to ration their energy usage. Luckily for us, we're used to doing without electricity, and if anything the lack of power only meant a nice break from viewing the mandatory Capitol propaganda that airs each week.

Sure enough, now that spring has come, even though power has been restored to 12 during the evening hours, the fence remains off. Madge had told me earlier this month that the Capitol has given up their attempt to control the animal population surrounding the district, deeming it too expensive and unnecessary. That's their way of saying that the lack of some of the trivial luxuries in the Capitol aren't worth giving up to scare a few potential runaways.

The wildlife is very slowly starting to inhabit the area once again. Whatever toxins were poured into the nearby river have begun to wash downstream thanks to the heavy spring rains. I had even witnessed a wild turkey strutting on the other side of the fence last week, proof that the wildlife is not only thriving, but mating, and will continue to dwell.

Our lake is gone. I don't need to make the long trek there to know that it's unlikely that any life will be able to inhabit it during my lifetime. The only thing that remains of the lake are the memories of the days spent there with my father when I was young—one thing the Capitol will never be able to take away from me.

Today marks my first day traveling outside the district since they day I was trapped, and I do so apprehensively.

When I am completely certain that the power is off and that no one is watching, I squeeze easily through the usual opening in the fence. I won't hunt today—Gale doesn't know where I am and will expect me home shortly—but I do check to make sure that the bows my father crafted before his death are still in their watertight sheaths hidden the hallowed-out log where I've always stored them.

I take my bow out of its sheath, feeling its weight in my hands and the smoothness of the hand-carved oak and remember what it was like to hunt. Some days the daily repetitiveness of motherhood gets to me, and I find myself itching to get back into the woods. I love my daughter, but hunting is very much a part of me that I haven't had the privilege of indulging in for so long.

I suppress the urge to take a few practice shots, instead storing the bow once again into its designated hiding spot and setting off for home.

In a few weeks, once I can convince Gale of it, I will return to the woods. It is my hope that I will be able to better provide for my family with the resources available in the wild. My mother has already run out of many of the medicines that can only be gathered outside the district, her apothecary business dwindling. Many of the more wealthy citizens have come to me over the past few weeks asking for their usual delicacies, and Greasy Sae's stew hasn't been the same since she turned to using mice and possum.

With the freedom to once again venture outside of the district fence comes the opportunity to flee. I don't tell Gale my plans yet—that once Prim, Rory, and Vick have outgrown the reaping and before Phacelia is of reaping age, we will take take off and disappear into the woods together. My decision was made for me the moment I held my daughter in my arms. Knowing that maybe somewhere else I can give her the life that she deserves—one without starvation or reapings—had fueled the drastic decision I had once chastised Gale for considering.

Until then, I'll spend every summer dreading the day that the Capitol trains will come into town to hold the reaping, reliving the nightmares that still plague my dreams, and grabbing on desperately to the hope that my name won't be the next one that Effie Trinket draws from the bowl.

End.