Chapter Text
Beneath me the world is a blur. Blue water sparkles, fields of green grass burst with life, and vast forests hide their secrets from the prying eyes of outsiders.
I am riding on the neck of a white goose, not certain if it's the animal that is large or me who is small.
Does it matter? I'm flying!
The bird soars through the sky, unbothered by the high mountaintops and the massive clouds that swallow us from time to time. My hands are slung around the animal's neck, but I am not the one in control of the journey - I am nothing but an observer.
And I'm in awe.
It's all so beautiful.
"Don't gape, Jojo. Ma says it isn't ladylike," says a deep melodic voice. A voice so familiar, so comforting, I want to wrap it around me and have it hold me tight now and forever.
My head snaps around to see the warm brown eyes of my brother looking down at me. His goose is grey and large, and its beak dark black.
"I didn't gape."
"Lying isn't ladylike either."
"Shut up."
He smiles. "Who can blame you? It's beautiful, is it not?"
"What is?"
"Our little world. It's beautiful."
"Sometimes, I suppose. But most of the time it's ugly."
Wrinkles appear on his forehead, like they used to whenever he was confused.
"Ugly? How come?"
I shrug. The geese honk happily.
"All the death. The suffering. Animals have to kill each other just to survive. And humans kill each other just because. How is that beautiful?"
He pets his goose's neck. "I understand. But it's bound to our existence - without death, there can be no life."
When did my brother get so poetic? He sounds just like our mother.
I scowl and rest my head on the feathers before me. "Ugh, I'm tired... just let me enjoy the view."
And what a view it is.
I have never seen forests as beautiful as these. From above I can see the wide array of trees and bushes frolic in the warm sun, growing healthy and strong. Although I have no way of knowing it, a part of me is certain that these trees will never be cut down by human nor machine and that makes them all the more beautiful. The grim reaper won't come for them, not armed with an ax at least.
Tears form in my eyes and I tell myself it's because of the wind hitting my cheeks.
"You would hate me now..." I whisper, still talking to my brother, even though I can't feel him next to me anymore. "You and Ma and mother... you would hate what I did. Who I am now."
The geese honk again. This and their flapping wings fill the sad silence, although it isn't banished entirely. White feathers hug me tight. The world under my feet gradually fades, replaced by the ivory color of the soft mass of feathers.
"There was once a small wolf." My mother's voice echoes through my mind. Her voice soothes me. It always did. "It fought and fought, killed and killed, all in hopes of finding a place to rest."
"Did it find what it searched for?" I whisper weakly.
My mother's voice fades without a response as the bright void swallows me.
It's all gone.
Can I be with you now? Mama? I want to be with you…
Perfect white.
---
Only the white void.
---
It consumed my world.
---
Beep
Beep
Beep
I am alive.
The first thing that makes me aware of this fact is the intense discomfort I feel.
Beep
Beep
Beep
The second is the repetitive noise that ripped me out of my coma.
The third are the multitude of tubes attached to my body. They pull at my skin.
I am in a massive bed in an artificially lit room. Sterile smells irritate my nose. At the foot of my bed I see a woman dressed in all white, who stands with her back to me.
Panicked, I shout, "Mama! Pete!" but all that comes out is a pitiful croak. Still, it is enough for the woman to turn around and for her eyes to widen. Without a word she hurries out of the room, only to come back seconds later with a similarly dressed old man in tow.
They begin to check me all over, while I struggle to realize that this is really happening, that I am truly still alive. After they are done groping me, they exchange a few words and leave me be.
An hour or so has passed, when another person dressed in white brings me a large keg of water and some soup. He stays to feed me three spoonfuls of the dull broth and forces me to swallow some water, both of which feel nearly impossible, then he exits as swiftly as he came.
More time passes, until finally, I get to see a familiar face. Unfortunately, it isn't one of the familiar faces I had hoped for.
The door opens to reveal Jack's tall figure, sporting a tattered shirt and unwashed trousers. He came here in a hurry.
"Hello, Johanna," he says softly.
"Ah... hello," I respond dismissively. My throat feels rougher than sandpaper and my voice sounds unsure and weak, but I still manage to convey how little I want to talk to him.
Jack either doesn't take the hint, or he doesn't care, as he pulls a chair from a table near the door and sits down next to the bed. He looks worse than he did the night before the games started - his frame is slimmer, his forehead carries a few new wrinkles and dark circles have formed under his eyes. For the first time, I truly notice how much Jack looks like us folks from the hillside with his shabby brown hair and the similarly brown eyes with their mossy green undertone. He even has the typical build of a lumberer - he must have worked as one before he was reaped.
Jack folds his hands in his lap. "How are you?"
I sigh, trying my best to sit up straight. It seems like I can't escape this conversation. "Well, I thought I was dead, but I'm not. That's how I feel." I let him interpret whether or not this is a good thing - I have yet to decide on that myself.
"You certainly tried your best to never open those eyes again," he says, gesturing at my head, "The doctors had to perform emergency surgery on the spot, just to make sure you'd survive the hovercraft ride to the Capitol."
I snort. "Yes, the poor doctors. I can't believe I forced them to do their job. How inconsiderate of me, almost dying like that."
Jack looks amused, but he keeps himself from smiling. He leans forward a little. "I know it probably doesn't mean much, but I was really impressed with your resolve back in the arena. The feats you accomplished were remarkable."
"I killed a bunch of kids," I say in a tone that could not be any more bitter and broken.
"You..." He takes a few seconds to gather the right words. "... survived. You escaped a flooded cave. You baited a mutt into chasing you and won. You climbed a tree despite your broken bones. I couldn't believe my eyes half the time!"
"Yeah, and then I fumbled when it mattered and you guys had to bail me out," I add, "Or I guess Kallipe did." Jack opens his mouth, perhaps to disagree with me, but I ignore him. "Where is he anyways? He's my mentor, shouldn't he be here?"
Jack grimaces. "As far as I can tell, he's lying in his room drunk as a fish and high on pills. Don't take it personally. He usually tries to stay sober as long as our tributes are in the games, then he compensates afterwards. You were in there for almost a month - don't think he's gone this long without his daily barrel of liquor in quite some time."
It does make sense, unfortunate as it sounds. What doesn't make sense is Jack's willingness to act as Kallipe's replacement.
"Why are you here?" I ask. My voice wavers a little and threatens to reveal the true question I meant to merely imply: Why are you here after what I did to your tribute?
"I remember how it was after I won the games," he tells me, "Blight and Kallipe were both so wasted, I didn't see them for the first two days I was awake. I had only Genesius for company and he... well, you know him."
I do and I am beyond glad Jack is here instead.
He scratches his forehead. "I understand you'd prefer it if Kallipe was here, but I'm afraid it will take a little while for that to happen. Just ask for me, if you need anything, and I'll try my best to help."
I'm perplexed. Jack is clearly the most dutiful of our mentors, I always knew that, but he's being extraordinarily considerate with me right now. Should I be suspicious? Maybe. But I don't have the energy for it. Instead, I decide to accept his help - with caution.
I chew on my lower lip, dreading the question on the tip of my tongue.
"How is Blight?"
Jack tries to keep his face expressionless, but I can sense his grief by the way he practically deflates and sinks into the chair.
"He's not doing well," Jack admits. He furrows his eyebrows. "Look, Johanna. Blight... he understands why you-"
"I killed his son," I say without letting Jack finish his sentence, "I killed Wyllt, and now I'm here and his son's going home in a coffin."
I don't avert my gaze, but Jack does. He folds his hands over his eyes and takes a deep breath.
"You had no other choice," he finally states.
I shake my head. "I could have done nothing. We could have waited it out and died together."
"And then Wyllt would still be dead and you'd be too," Jack hisses, "I know how you feel right now. And I don't want to tell you it'll all be fine - it won't be. But nothing will come of you hating yourself."
He does understand, I realize. He's one of the very few people that has gone through the same thing I did. He killed the girl from the factories, arguably more ruthlessly than I killed Wyllt. I could confide in him, maybe talk about Wyllt's request to protect his girl, and he would understand. Maybe he doesn't judge me for what happened after all.
"Great. I suppose at least I know I'm not the worst person in this room."
The words spill out before I have a chance to reconsider them. It would be a lie to say I don't mean them in a way, but I feel bad nonetheless.
I expect Jack to erupt in anger. But he does something way worse - he stays silent and his eyes betray just how much my words hurt him.
I don't apologize.
Suddenly, I have the biting need to stand up and run. Without thinking my hands start scratching at the spots, where tubes are attached to my skin. I manage to detach some, before Jack hurries to stop me.
"Hey, hey! What are you doing?" he asks frantically.
I can't exactly tell him that I'd like to stroll around aimlessly, simply to move my legs again, so I say, "I want to take a bath."
He bites his lip. "I need to ask the doctors about that."
"Don't," I insist, "I don't want them here. The way they look at me..."
Like I'm no longer human.
Jack stands up. "Stay put. I'll see what I can do."
It turns out, all he can do is to join me in the bathroom as the doctor insists I can't be left on my own while out of bed. It takes Jack several minutes to even convince him that we will be fine with just the two of us - if it were up to the doctor, the bathroom would be filled to the brim with nurses and Avoxes. With only Jack present, at least I'm allowed to be in the tub by myself.
I let the sweat-soaked hospital gown fall to the ground as soon as the dim glass door is shut. Seeing as he was the one willing to sell my body to the Capitol before the games, I'm surprised when Jack turns around to give me some privacy.
I take my time to inspect myself in the large mirror above the sink.
I look better than I expected, although my body is little more than skin and bones with barely any muscles or fat left. My skin is amazingly smooth though, for all the small cuts and bruises I suffered throughout the last month. Of the wound on my thigh only a tiny scar is left, same goes for the one on my arm. But not everything is rosy, it seems. The area between my breasts, where the arrow entered, is covered by a large white bandaid with a waterproof film of plastic on top. Puzzlingly, some tape has also been placed over the bridge of my nose. I understand its purpose when I notice the dark bruises under my eyes - I have suffered this type of injury before.
"When did I break my nose?" I wonder out loud.
Jack answers, "After you ripped out the arrow. You fell forward, straight onto your face."
"Ah." Something is still off, though. I scrutinize my nose more closely - it's slimmer now, and less crooked. Usually with a broken nose the total opposite is the case.
Jack still has his back turned to me. When I don't say anything else, he adds, "The doctors might have overcorrected it, when they fixed it up. We told them not to, but maybe we weren't insistent enough. I'm sorry."
"It's okay, my nose was ugly anyway," I say, "I'm glad they fixed it."
"Strange," he whispers.
"What?" I ask, sounding more annoyed than intended.
Jack shrugs. "Ah, it's just that my sister always hated her nose, too. Had the same one you did. Never understood the issue - her nose looked lovely, so did yours."
Leave me be with your melancholy bullshit, I think. But this time I'm considerate enough to keep the words to myself, mainly because the presence of the full bathtub distracts me.
The water feels like silk on my skin and I let out a heavy sigh as I sink deeper into the tub. Warm baths were a luxury I didn't particularly long for back home, but after several weeks in the arena my tastes have changed. Maybe I just appreciate being clean again. The nurses must have washed me during my stay here, seeing as I am no longer covered in layers upon layers of grime, but they weren't able to clean me as thoroughly as necessary.
Jack sits down next to the tub, seemingly less bothered for my privacy now that I'm mostly underwater.
I slowly slip further into the tub, until my nose hits the water, then I close my eyes.
Once again, I try to understand how it is that I still dwell among the living. The wound on my chest, covered as it is, raises more questions than I can answer. But that's what Jack is for, even if I would rather not talk to him.
"How come I'm not dead?" I ask, my mouth raised barely over the surface, "How am I alive and Levith isn't?"
Strangely, the question seems to confuse him. "How?" He bites his lip. "I suppose you were more resourceful, maybe stronger and-"
"No, not that," I interrupt, "I mean how did I outlive Levith? He shoved a damn arrow right through me and he wasn't deathly wounded unlike I was."
Jack stays quiet for a few seconds, before he says, "It's... hard to say, I guess. Maybe you'll understand once you watch the recordings."
My groan is swallowed by water as I push my head under. As soon as I'm healthy enough the Capitol will drag me onto a stage and film my reaction to this year's games for the world to see.
I wish I could just drown myself in the tub.
---
Kallipe comes to see me the evening of the next day. He might just be in worse shape than I am, but when he sees me his face brightens with a smile. It's a strange relief that he doesn't seem to hate me for what happened in the arena. He simply sits down next to my bed, takes one of my hands in his own, and says,
"It is wonderful to see you up again, Johanna."
I smile. "How come you look worse than I do? I thought I was the one who just survived the games."
Kallipe laughs with a rough voice. "Your tongue is still sharp. That's good." He lets go of my hand and leans back in his chair. "I know I look awful. After the doctors said your condition was stable, I drank a few bottles of wine, I'll admit, maybe one too many."
I snort. "One too many? Yeah right."
Still smiling, he folds his hands in his lap. "So, how are you holding up? The doctors said your condition was the worst they'd seen a victor look in years."
Physically, maybe. But there is no way the girl from last year was any better overall, judging by the way she was still twitching when President Snow crowned her.
"I'm decent, I suppose. This morning they cut off my morphling, so I could be doing better." It's bearable, though. Compared to the horror it was in the arena. "Thanks for the help there at the end, by the way. That must have cost a lot. I mean so late into the games and all..."
Kallipe cringes visibly. I addressed something he wanted to avoid. "It was the only way to save you. Commodus only allowed it once Jack suggested we drop it in sight of Levith. It was a good way to get the action started without too much interference."
He is keeping something from me. Whatever his reason, it pisses me off to no end. I survived the damn Hunger Games, I am no longer someone to keep secrets from. "But still, it must have been worth a fortune," I argue, trying to coax out the truth, "Medicine this potent, so late into the games. Usually that's unaffordable."
His eyes meet mine, but they quickly move to look at the floor. Kallipe fiddles his thumbs. "I couldn't have afforded it either. Not without..." He sighs heavily. "Not without Blight offering up Wyllt's sponsor funds."
It takes me a second to understand what he means by this. Then, bile threatens to rise in my throat and spill on the white blankets in my lap, but I pull myself together. My voice is tight, when I say, "Ah. That's... I appreciate it."
Pained, Kallipe looks up. "Johanna..."
"Don't," I say, silent and stern, "I don't want you to coddle me. I know what happened. You know what happened. Let's not waste time talking about it."
Desperation seeps into his expression, though I don't quite understand why. It's almost like Kallipe wants to discuss Wyllt's death. Discuss how I was the one to murder him. Screw him if he does.
I take a deep breath and lean my head against the thick hospital pillow, covering my eyes with my forearm. Kallipe shifts uncomfortably in the chair and clears his throat. "I... I'm sorry, but I can't stay long, Johanna. I need to have dinner with a sponsor this night and she's not the-"
"Just go," I whisper, hoping he doesn't notice the strain in my voice.
He does, of course. How could he not? "Oh, Johanna..."
A warm, leathery hand loops around my arm and pulls it off my face. Dark eyes watch me with painfully genuine concern. Kallipe still reeks of booze and I am glad for it. The sharp smell reminds me of my father. In a bizarre way it grounds me.
At the same time I am filled with dread. "Before you go..." I wince a little as I sit up, leaning closer towards Kallipe.
He understands and leans in, too. I wonder, if it matters, if the Capitol can't hear everything we say anyways, but it feels right to pretend they don't.
"When I - uhm - when I pulled the arrow out. I mean, before I did," I whisper slowly, "The... thing I said." I desperately want him to be confused and ask me what I am talking about. I want him to tell me that I never said anything, that I must have hallucinated it. Instead, he tenses up immediately and I want to scream.
He looks at me, his eyes wide but his expression unreadable. "Yes?"
I didn't think it was possible for words to burn as they exit your mouth. But these ones do - saying them is agonizing. "Did he hurt them? My family?"
Kallipe looks at me for a few seconds, not saying anything, his face made of stone. Then, he inhales deeply and puts his hands on my face, cradling my cheeks. The gesture is tender, but his eyes are intense and full of unadulterated terror.
"I don't know," he says, "They might be. They might not be. For now, it doesn't matter."
Enraged, I reach up and claw at the hands holding my face, "What the fuck do you meant, it doesn't matter? Let me go, I-"
He forces our foreheads together and the stench of fancy liquor fills my nostrils. I want to shove Kallipe away, but his eyes are full of earnest pain, and it freezes the blood in my veins.
"Look, Johanna. You want to see your grandfather again? And your sweet little brother? Then let me tell you this: Until we leave the Capitol, don't ask any more questions about them. Be a proper victor. Do the interviews. Mingle with sponsors. Bow your head before Snow puts a crown on it. Convince him that you're not a threat, only a scared little girl that failed to behave one time. That's all you can do to help them now," he says, his voice strangely monotone.
My skin is on fire. I am burning alive somehow, without a single flame on my body.
"I... yes. Yes. Anything it takes."
He smiles and stands up, letting go of me. "Good. See you tomorrow, Johanna. Sleep well."
I stare at his back as he leaves, wondering if he is mocking me.