.Forest Fire (Johanna Mason X F.OC).

-Epilogue II-

Many of the victor houses would forever sit empty.

Despite the districts being freed now, it was hard to move on.

The victors village was one of this places that couldn't move on even with the fencing around the acres of it brought down, there was a sense of not belonging for the simple district citizen.

None of the surviving victors really minded it from Enobaria or Beetee, it was a place they called home, despite the horrors of it and still kept them away from people that pitied or feared them, their heaven of peace.

And many of these houses stood empty but only one was that by choice.

"Goddamn, Johanna you could have at least come by to clean it." The victor told herself, entering the victor home that had been her own.

It reeked of dust and a closed in smell with dried up plants.

And despite it all, it was technically her home.

But such a home buried painful memories deep in its bowels.

It took some weeks, after the 71st games of Paige, for her to understand just why the younger hadn't done what she did.

Took all painful reminders of her family and either broken them or made them vanish from her sight.

She had instead kept all where it was, the picture Octavia broke in Marcus's room, the family portrait on the wall, her brother's favorite book still on the shelf, none of it had moved even she Paige was drowning herself in the sorrow and liquor.

But now, she thought, she could understand.

As much as they were a weakness, an aching pain, a never filled hole in the heart, they were a reminder of what she fought for, just like those tattoos, something always with her and to never be forgotten.

She left the door open behind her, she didn't plan on staying long, all she needed was in the neighboring house, this place was just a useless shell now.

Hands in the pockets, she walked through it, all of the nock and crannies still the same.

It all felt empty, like she never lived, just survived, here, nothing personal, nothing that hinted that there was once life in here.

She made her way down the stairs, a cold sweat coating her, nervous about entering a lifeless room.

Johanna pulled out the key and looked at it before inserting it in the lock and it creaked, almost in surprised that it was being used again.

With a deep breath, pushed the door open, light seeping in the dark room before she flipped the light off, dust particulates filling the air and the air smelt of wet dust, she touched the walls but they weren't damp so it was just a smell.

She looked at the pile of things she had thrown in her, still in the same eternal position as that day, nothing disturbing their resting place.

From cushions, pots, books to paper, frames, decorations, everything could be found in this pile in the middle of the basement.

She still remembered how she threw all these, emotions at a high, wanting to get rid of anything that reminded her of her family.

Cushions? Mother bought them, gone.

Pots? Father cooked with them, gone.

Books? Her sister loved to read, gone.

Paper? Her little brother drew on them, gone.

Frames? Just the family pictures, gone.

Decorations? Making the home and a family home, gone.

She had wanted it all gone and every other thing too.

She walked over, picking up a book by the spin, dust falling out of it, having not being moved since that day, laying face down on the ground.

She dropped the empty bag that she brought with her.

She shook it down as she crouched on her toes, flicking through the pages before setting it aside, reaching for the dented pot that she pushed across the floor and away from the pile.

She flipped a reasonable, head sized, frame over, the canvas torn and fraying but still ache filled her heart at the sight of the man she hadn't seen in a long time, letting the picture drop away.

So many things, so many painful memories, this wasn't the first time she wished she could just burn the house down but like always, reason triumphed in this dilemma, might catch the other victor homes on fire.

She grabbed a smaller oval frame that was made of metal, the rust on it minimal but the copper of it had turned green long ago.

Looking at a small hand sized picture of her family.

She looked at it silently for a while, contemplating the life they could have led if she hadn't been the way she is, would they have laughed with her? Cried with her? Helped her? That she didn't know but something was clear for her, then or now, she would have lost them all anyway.

Her father, believer of justice, he would have been part of the riots.

Her mother, a gentle soul, would have not bared to live without him, not even for her children.

Her sister, a fighter, she'd have wanted to help, risking her life probably like the Everdeen young sister had with most likely a similar fate.

Her brother, a trouble maker, he would have long been targeted by the Capitol's rigged pull for the reaping.

And at the same time, knowing the outcome, she still wish they'd have been around a bit longer.

More people too but she knew even they would have died.

Brent, he'd have died for his children in the revolution if his despair hadn't taken him before.

Marcus, but too gentle despite being trained to kill, laying down his life as he wouldn't have been able to swing that axe, he didn't even kill in his own games.

And many others too.

Jasmine, would have been by Paige's side always but would have succumbed to her illness.

Nelson, would have fought with his uncle but sacrificed himself for him.

Kai, wou--And the list could go on but she didn't have time for that.

She knew they would have all died anyway, maybe yes maybe not, but she preferred to think that they would have, it only made sense.

She sighed, putting the frame in the bag.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

Paige never pointed it out but she saw it.

The book that wasn't there before, standing on her shelf like it belonged.

The crochets square that the pot of the plant was set on.

The hand held mirror no one had a reason to use with their big one.

The decorative blue ceramic bird in the middle of the dinner table.

The dusty puzzle box in Amy's room.

The music box in Octavia's.

The small picture frame of a familiar family on their nightstand, right next to the one with her own father and brother.

She never brought up any of this.

She never did.

Just watched with a slight smile.