This is my truth, this is what I've come to accept.
I've come to accept the warm drizzle of a shower in the morning. I've learned to accept and appreciate the grass under my feet and the breeze that tickles my soft skin in the afternoon. I'm still trying to accept the nightmares that come with the trauma, the endless nights where I live and die, and live all over again. But, I can say it's made me passionate, honest... and I still have a lot of healing to go, but I am here, and this is me.
This is my truth.
"Mom?" Lucy asks me from the porch swing on my front lawn and I answer with moving in a little closer to her, resting my head on her shoulder. It was strange at first, seeing my children after so long. Years had past, years I wish weren't taken from me – years I wish I hadn't taken from myself. My hallucenations, or at least what the Capitol had been showing me in the Games were right, Lucy had grown into a young lady with eyes like the sky and hair the colour of my own. The age difference between Lucy and I is biologically sixteen years but the Capitol resurrected me to the same age I was when I jumped off that cliff so now, that number sits at just seven years apart in appearance.
"Do you think you'll get back together with Dad?"
I smile at the thought, listening as the breeze whistles past my ears, carrying with it whispers of words long forgotten and words that have yet to be said. Packard is an older man now, one that I would have loved to grow old and grey with. But, he took my advice in the Justice Building when we were eighteen, the first time I went into the Games:
"When you move on, choose wisely. That lady will be the mother that Lucy remembers."
But of course, Lucy hadn't forgotten me like I had thought. She remembered the smells, the puddle jumping, the warmth my body used to give her during the nightmares and, the song I used to sing her to sleep with. I don't sing that song anymore. But now, she's referring to the night I spent with Packard a few weeks ago, how she saw him tiptoe out from my bedroom, careful not to wake our kids in the next rooms. It was like we were a family again, living under the same roof, eating the same meals... except we aren't.
"No," I say with a heavy heart. "Your father loves Oona now." The name is like a burden on my tongue and weighs it down. Packard and I had spent a night together, and little to Lucy's knowledge, it was not the first time since I've been back from the Games. The kids moved in with me, the last house of the Victors village backing the forest of District 3. At first I thought they'd live with me for just a week, but as the days turned into months I came to realize I meant more in their life than I could have ever imagined and hoped for.
I'm not too sure I believe in fate or destiny. I still love Packard, with all my heart, and I know I did something unfair to him, again; I came back into his life after he had already learned to live without me. But now, here I am, accepting this truth that my one love moved on without me, and he's living the life I told him to lead if I was killed in the Games... but I wasn't, I always come back, never to die in that arena.
The stars are out tonight, seeming to give me a final send off before I make my way to the Capitol in the morning for a mandatory mentor meet up. It's something I've done before, and not exactly something I wish to do again but I've never had a choice in the matter. There will be cameras, and there will be a broadcast, one as the Victor of this year's Hunger Games I'll have to give.
"Mom, can I ask you a question?"
"Yes, anything."
The swing rocks back and forth, the hinges squeaking on its post as it does. This is the kind of life I've always wanted, a life far from the Reaper and of those who I have killed, some in self-defence, and one other in cold blood.
"What was it like, dying?"
My chest tightens and I think back to all those injuries in the first arena, the moments where I sure death would grip me and hold me tight in a grasp that would choke me. And then, when I finally did end my life, nothing, nothing at all. I know Lucy is looking for an answer that will bring her closure to the nightmares she had growing up, but I can't give her an accurate answer; I've been dying my whole life, and only through dying did I truly find a way to live.
"Something I don't wish upon you or any of my worst enemies." I say, kissing her atop the head and smoothing back her dirty blonde hair. My appearance almost matches hers, that of the messy blonde I used to be save for the scarring across my body. I shaved my head completely when I got out of the Games, and it only took me a few months to grow it to a nice length, but in the mirror I saw a scar at the base of my skull; where my head smashed against the rock. The Capitol would have had the technology to remove it before my Games, but I think it was a reminder to me about what I committed, what I had done to deserve a second death in the Games.
I rock back and forth with Lucy for a while longer before we both fall asleep under the stars in the clear night. I see Packard at the end of the lane, watching us with great yearning and longing to be the family we once were, but that ship sailed long ago, the day I thought I couldn't turn to him for sanctuary and peace before turning to the cliff. I smile at him, flashing him my teeth and closing my eyes. When I open them he's gone, and the sun is rising above the technology factories of District Three; the day has begun, and so has my journey, one that will conclude with me facing a threat in my life.
The train ride is uneventful, I'm the only mentor they've sent this year, so I have the car to myself, picking at the various food that is offered to me, careful not to take more than the average person of my District would eat in a day. I've often wondered how the Capitol can live with themselves, dining on delicious delicacies and feeding their bellies full while others struggle to find a slice of bread. The escort doesn't talk to me, even though she's called my name out of the Reaping ball twice, but only once I've heard her shrill voice utter my name. She sits in the corner, cross legged, pretending to read about fashion from a flashy magazine.
"What did you think of the Games this year?" I ask her, although I'm not too sure why, I don't really care of her opinion. People died and in fact, a lot of good people died. I think of American, how I rocked his body into an eternal slumber and Roma, who certainly didn't deserve to die with her skull caved into her brain. The escort doesn't answer, but nosily flips through her pages as if she's actually reading.
I'm whisked into hair and makeup by the time I step off the platform, my regular team who has been with me since the age of eighteen chattering to me, telling me how good it is to see me healthy again. They act as if the last time they saw me they had just plucked me out of the earth and I was begging them to send me back to where I was. They ignore the fact I have changed, that I now have the will to survive through the trauma. They don't care.
I'm rushed into a large hall with fifteen chairs against a long, mahogany table. I'm the last one there, and when I open the large marble doors all eyes in the room turn to me. Some applaud, others whisper amongst themselves. I envy the ones who stay silent; they know when to keep their voice suppressed and when to use it. There's only mentor at the table I don't recognize, the one who sits at the end with the large white Twelve. His shaggy blonde hair suggests he hasn't given a thought to his appearance in weeks and the shakiness of his hand and the way his eyes are positioned on my chest also indicates he's been drunk since the time he got up... or the time he went to bed. He's fresh meat, probably someone who won the Games before I was resurrected for my second time around.
"Mia Circuit!" I expected the name to come from the Game makers or my Sponsor who complete the other chairs at the table but it comes from the almost white haired man at the end, the man who owns everything and anything he can possibly once, but only a person who has died twice would see he's not fully satisfied with his life. President Snow stands at my attention, even leaning a hand out to shake my own. I take it, aware of the tightened grip as I wince from the pain; there was a point to it. He leans in close and I can feel his short stubble of a beard against my ears.
"You're not the only one who can speak in a riddle."
He releases me, and I take my seat beside him. There's a small camera in front of my spot and I realize there's a screen in front me on the wall; this meeting is being broadcast from the start. I look to Snow for instructions and he nods at me, and looking to the camera, clearing my throat, I begin what I had been preparing ever since I dissembled the head from Valeria Thracius' body.
"Citizens of Panem, I address you from the Capitol today in gratefulness of my Victory to this year's Hunger Games," I pause, imagining a crowd in a large square going wild somewhere. "I have been to the grave and back again to stand here before you today, another Victor, another champion." I'm supposed to stop, say my thanks and end the broadcast. But I don't.
"I have prepared something to talk about today," I feel Snow lean forwards in his chair, unapprovingly. "Not everyone made it out of the Games, even though they were given a second chance at life. I can't help but think of those who didn't make it home to their families, of all those mothers longing to hold their child just one more time but will have to be satisfied with a wooden box and name. I myself can't imagine losing a child, nor do I want to. I would like to say the names of all the Tributes who died in my Games."
I rattle off the names in a shaky tongue, hoping I did justice to the mothers and fathers who weep to my face on the screen. Snow sits back in his chair, tongue in cheek, a smirk bestowed on his face; I've earned myself a level up in his twisted mind Game, although I probably don't want to. The fresh face from 12 scoffs and mutters something about this being a waste of his time. I've wasted time before, and I never want to do it again.
"Valeria Thracius" I say her name last, on purpose. "Was a warrior, a fighter, and someone who was underestimated. I think, given the chance, we all deserve what is coming to us," I glance up at Snow, my gaze fixated on his. "I know I'll get mine very soon. Val was not an enemy, she was someone I kept very close to me, someone I looked out for, so therefore I would call her my friend. To all those who have died, will meet their Reaper on their own terms in their own way. Some may never get to that chance. We all, meet the Reaper at one point or another. The question is, are you going to admit that you deserved what you got, or are you going to argue you still deserve everything that was owed to you in your lifetime? Are you the wise being, or are you the beggar? Time will tell, and it's ticking away, sooner or later we all get what's coming to us. This is Mia Circuit, Hunger Games Victor, signing off."
I hold my smile until the camera shy's off the table and retreats after the remote behind the metaphorical curtain. The room is silent, save for the mentor from Twelve who claps loudly, laughing.
"Yes!" he shouts, pumping his fist in the air. "Speak now or forever hold your peace, sweetheart!"
"Forever hold your peace, would have been better." Snow says through his wine glass, his voice muffled so only I can hear. A plate of food comes, and we all eat in a silence so deafening I fear I may have gone deaf as a consequence to my actions. Everyone at the table looks tired, save for a two of the career Districts who are actually enjoying themselves, laughing at different aspects of this year's Games; was any of it really a laughing matter? The dishes are cleared and one by one each Victor is escorted to their rooms for the night except for me, I'm left alone in a large glass room with President Snow. I folds his hands in front of him and smiles, showing me a set of devious pearly whites.
"How was your meal tonight, Mia?"
"Delicious." I answer, my face suddenly turning a bright shade of red.
"You'll have a lifetime of it, you know, well, as you know. You've experienced these luxuries before, but it still wasn't enough for you, was it?"
I don't answer him, rather, sip on the wine in front of me, feeling the liquid burn my throat as it does; I was never one for liquor.
"Do you know what I had to go through?" Snow continues as if he's a concerned father, telling me of all the grief I put him through but of course, he's only concerned of image. "A Victor, whom everyone adored just jumps off a cliff and ends her life. What kind of message does that send to everyone? These Games are meant to serve as a reminder, and that reminder doesn't exist if the Victor ends their life because of some girl they killed with a poisonous dart."
"Cosmo Cavalli."
Snow rolls his eyes. "So if you're wondering, that's why I brought you back. Not so you could make peace with yourself or your family, but so you could suffer the punishment I sought upon you for wrecking such havoc upon my people when news broke of your suicide. I honestly didn't think you'd have a chance if I brought back Val, but you found a way to ruin that for me as well."
"What are you going to do to me now that I won?"
"Oh, I don't know. Perhaps make something of you in the Capitol, put you to work, but that would be too good. I'll think of something. Don't worry Mrs. Circuit. Or is it Ms. Now?"
I wince and he smiles, satisfied he's hit bone for me. Hopefully my aching heart will be enough for him, but something deep inside of me knows that he's not finished, whether my punishment be tomorrow or years down the road, I will get what's coming to me one way or another. He leans backwards in his chair and swipes away the few crumbs on his chest.
"I've decided I don't like your name."
"Thanks?"
"It's too... plain, too simple. When you first came to us you were a common Tribute from the slums of Three, working from the factories in which you should have died in. I know you worked with wires, and in your first Games your attempt to make the bomb didn't go unnoticed. With no technology in these Games, I made sure to that, you couldn't use your strengths to your advantages. But, you still slipped through my fingers and into the cracks of victory like a wire, slithering and producing an electric shock across the floor. Everyone thinks you're a hero, did you know that?"
"I'm a hero to my children."
He laughs and takes a larger gulp of his wine. "Everyone in the Capitol worships you, even after your death. In the old days people used to worship flying men in red capes because it offered a symbol of hope, a symbol of the freedom everyone deserved. We don't need a hero in a cape anymore, we don't need someone to save us."
I boldly rise to my feet, pushing back my chair until I hear it teeter on the hardwood floor below. I bow to him, politely thanking him for the meal and as I turn my back, he grabs my arm and spins me around.
"The Capitol will always get their Hunger Games, I'll see to that. You are not a hero, you are a villain, a slimy, slithery, villain who slips through everyone's fingers like the cracked wire you truly are. You are no longer Mia Circuit, not to me, not to the Capitol or anyone when they speak of you. You are a wiress, a mistress to us all, one who leaves in the night to sneak off to another, only to come crawling back begging, realizing the mistake she's made."
I wrench my arm from his grasp, not daring to stare down at where his grip once laid on my arm in a red patch. He's laughing from his seat now, cackling at his own comment.
"Wiress." He says over and over, the name stinging and falling upon my shoulders as a burden I'll wear for the rest of my life. "You are a true Wiress."
I go numbly through the Districts as I tour as the Victor. I accept flowers they throw up onto the stage and wave at them as if I were royalty. District Two is the least impressed with my appearance, seeing as how I dismantled their potential Victor to seal my own safety. I make eye contact with Val's mother in the crowd, seeing as how she sits on a chair made specifically for the family of those lost, so I can gaze upon their eyes and feel the guilt and shame. I do not feel shame for those I had never met but I feel their parents' grief as I stare deep into their hearts. Val looks identical to her mother from the dark hair to the posture in how she sits. They're both strong, both hard, woman, and it's no wonder Val turned out the way she did.
I'm back in Three by the time the sun goes down on the second day. I walk in the door, smell the air of fresh cooking and find my son at the stove, roasting a rabbit he no doubt hunted and caught. I ruffle Castiel's head of hair and kiss him on the forehead. Lucy won't touch rabbit, won't even stroke the soft fur of a live one. She won't tell me, and for good reason I don't ask. Lucy is standing at the table with a large vase of white roses that drive a pungent smell over the rabbit that is roasting. Attached is a card, in which she unfolds and brings to her face to read.
My heart flutters for a moment, thinking Packard was so kind as to sneak into the house while I was gone and leave the beautiful flowers on the table. I walk over to smell them and inhale a scent so strong I cough.
"What does the card say, Luce?"
"I don't really understand what it means."
I laugh, thinking of how many riddles and poems Packard and I have written for each other in our past. "Read it, I'll probably understand."
"'Enjoy everything, from the bottom of my heart I hope you really enjoy this life, Wiress.'Mom, what's a Wiress?"
I grab the note from her and I sit down at the table, trying to catch all the butterflies that flap around in my stomach. It's Snow's handwriting, I'd recognize it anywhere. My mind starts to race and I tear the card in two.
"Lucy, can you start the fireplace in the sitting room for me?"
"Why? It's so warm out."
"Just do it!"
I don't mean to yell, but my tone comes off as harsh, and begrudgingly Lucy sits the fire in the sitting room. Once the fire is roaring and the embers are burning bright I take the vase the card and toss the roses and the note into the flames. All three of us stand there and watch it burn, watching as the Reaper and the Devil lap it up in a single gulp. The card lingers last, letting the word 'Wiress' turn to ashes last.
I pull my children in close, feeling both of their warmth.
"Your past doesn't define you, only your actions moving forwards do." I tell them, quoting Valeria Thracius. But even as I say the words, I'm not sure if they mean anything, because my fate is sealed in stone, it always has been, and whatever is coming to me is embodied in that word... in that name. The Reaper will always be on my back, but...
I'll be damned if I let him back into my life without a good fight.