"Welcome home," says Reuben with a smile. He's wearing a sparkling red suit, his hair slicked back and colored crimson red. He's wearing the color of blood. Great.

"Thank you, I'm uh, glad to be back." Not really.

"Why don't we get things started!" He says. "This interview is the your opportunity to watch a recap of your victory. Are you ready?"
Why do people keep asking me that question! No, no I'm not ready. You know why? Because I get to watch myself bleed to death on television and my sister get murdered. Does that sound enjoyable for you, Reuben? I want to scream at him.

"Let's do this," I say.
The next three hours are excruciating. With every stab I receive on screen I can feel physically. It's incredible how the games are recapped in such a short amount of time, considering how long we were in the arena. Slowly, the games happen again and again, and I want to cry.

It's sick how the Capitol reacts. The bloodbath is full of encouragement, the crowd cheering on the careers as the other kids are slaughtered for show. The camera focuses on me- me joining the careers. The blood wave. The maze. The bugs. The feast. I'm relieving every moment, all the moments I want to forget but I know I can't.
The tape replays the final hours of the games. There's a side camera in the corner and I watch as Jonas kills the boy from One with a knife to the head. And then my greatest fear happens again. The bloody, torturous scene. Seals gruesome end, Jonas's peaceful lullaby.

The games seem to continue even after I black out. The announcer's voice booms into the arena, claiming me victor, and since I was unconscious when the hovercraft materializes, two guys have to come down and get me.

They slowly lift me off the ground, and a second hovercraft appears to take Seal's and Jonas's bodies away. And that's when I wake up. I don't remember this ever happening, so I scoot forward on the edge of my seat to see what happens. I go crazy, absolutely nuts. They try to take me away from her but when I let go I try to fight them off. I'm still losing blood by the second and slowly losing consciousness. I'm clawing and scratching the men, and when they finally release me, they're faces are scarred and bloody, gashes surrounding their eyes.

I pass out again, and the video clip turns off. I scoot back in my seat and release a constrained sigh. Wow. That's all I can say. Wow.
The audience begins to cheer again. Screaming, clapping, stomping their feet in congratulations. It takes about five minutes for Reuben to calm them down. There are still a few people clapping by the time he's able to start talking.

"That was outstanding," he says cheerily. I nod slowly. No it wasn't. I just killed a bunch of innocent kids. That's not very outstanding.

"Thank you," I say through a fake smile.

"Now, before we send you back to District Seven," Reuben begins. He inches forward on his seat, zoning in close to me. "I think we're all dying to know what song you were humming."

"Song?" I ask.

"As Jonas was dying," he clarifies. Oh. That song.

"It was nothing," I say. Actually, that song means the world to me. But there's no way I'm sharing that song with the world. That was her song. Not the Capitol's.

"It was definitely important," he says, clearly agitated. "If you were to sing her away with it."

"It was a lullaby," I finally say. "It was one of her favorite songs, and she always sang it to calm us down." The audience lets out a series of 'awww's and cries ring out throughout the room. They're crying so loud you can hear the moans and wails, the sniffs and they're attempts at comforting each other. Completely heartless.

"How sweet," says Reuben, tears pooling up in his eyes. He dramatically wipes them away, and then turns to the audience. "Who wants to hear Boston sing it?" The cries turn to claps and I shake my head.

"No, no," I put my hands up. "I don't sing." Actually, I do sing. I don't do it often, but I'm not bad. But there is no way they will convince me to sing that song for them.

"Of course you do!" Says Reuben, determined. "Sing it for us!" Now there's no escaping.

"I only know the chorus," I say. Maybe I can still get out of it.

"Sing. It. For. Us," says Reuben through gritted teeth.

"Okay," I say. I do know the whole song, not just the chorus. I might as well sing it all. I cannot believe I'm doing this. But slowly, I begin to hum the ending of the verse and slowly ease into the words of the chorus. The words I was too weak to sing the morning of my sister's death.

I remember tears streaming down your face when I said I'll never let you go
When all those shadows almost killed your light
I remember you said don't leave me here alone
But all that's dead and gone and passed tonight

Just close your eyes, the sun is going down
You'll be alright, no one can hurt you now
Come morning light, you and I'll be safe and sound

Don't you dare look out your window, darling everything's on fire
The war outside our door keeps raging on
Hold onto this lullaby even when the musics gone, gone

Just close your eyes, the sun is going down
You'll be alright, no one can hurt you now
Come morning light, you and I'll be safe and sound
Just close your eyes, you'll be alright
Come morning light, you and I'll be safe and sound

The crowd is silent until I release I final exhale, signaling the end. There's only light clappter coming from the audience at first, but quickly it crescendos and the audience erupts in applause, some standing on their feet, the rest quickly following.
"Thank you, Boston," says Reuben and he ushers me off the stage. I'm greeted by only Shay, and I'm glad it's only him.

He looks at me questioningly and I answer his unspoken question. "Terrible," I say. "Absolutely terrible." He nods, seemingly expecting me to continue, but I got nothing.

"I know exactly how you feel," he says solemnly.

"No you don't," I say. I didn't intend it to come out harsh, but my voice lays out a gravelly, strict foundation that sets the tone for his rebuttal.

"Yes, I do." We stop walking in the middle of the hallway. "I've experienced everything you have. Gone through the same humiliating, painful experiences." Then I put two and two together.

"You're a victor?" I ask. That can't be possible.

"Yeah," he says casually, releasing a sigh. The muscles in his face and neck tighten and he forces a swallow, clearly uncomfortable.

"I thought they killed all the remaining victors during the rebellion," I say. Because that's the only way he could be a victor without me remembering his games.

"Nope," he says. "I won nine years ago. The first games since the rebellion. It wasn't a very eventful year. You were young, too."

"How did you end up becoming a stylist?" I can't help but ask.

"It was either that or become an avox. I had a hidden knack for clothing and design." I'm so confused. Was becoming a stylist intended as a punishment?

"They can't make a victor an avox," I say flatly.

"It was perfect punishment," he says.

"Punishment?"

"These games started up again, they thought all signs of rebellion were gone. I only won because I pulled a stunt in the games. Not intended, but it's how I survived, and they weren't happy about it." I want to question further, but I know I shouldn't. It takes all my strength to not push the topic and keep walking. We don't talk the entire way back, and as we head our separate ways, I ask one last question.

"Can I keep the suit?" He laughs and nods.

"You'll need it for the victory tour." He then walks away, leaving me to myself in front of my hospital room. I strip myself of my suit and step into the shower, satisfied by the rush of water over my bare back. I push a random combination of buttons until the water falls in soft, velvety sheets, followed by the scent of lavender.

The song keeps playing back in my head, over and over. I try and push it away, but it keeps coming back, and with that the events of the last few mornings.

Just close your eyes, the sun is going down
You'll be alright, no one can hurt you now
Come morning light, you and I'll be safe and sound

I turn off the shower and a gust of wind drys me off instantly, leaving me cold and vulnerably naked. A pair of ripped pants and a blue shirt wait for me on the hospital bed, and the scary realization of what it his throws me away. I am not putting those clothes back on. Absolutely not. I am not wearing the arena home with me.

But I don't have a choice and I'm freezing cold, so I cautiously throw them on and I stop shivering. The blood stains are surprisingly gone completely, and most of the tears have been fixed to an extent of realism and keeping them intact.

In no time I'm back on the train. Just me and my grandmother. Well, and Tontine. And she won't shut up. She's been crying non stop since the end of the games, and it's really pushing my buttons. She's like an uncontrollable kitten.

Tontine wipes her eyes with a handkerchief, smearing her makeup all over her face. She takes a drink of water and begins wailing again. Doesn't it sound so fun to have your escort in constant cry town? Well, it's not.

Despite her tears, the train is relatively quiet. The small talk I attempt to make with my company is unsuccessful, so I stop trying. Overcome by fatigue, the night goes by quickly, and by morning the train stops in District Seven. Crowds lining the streets. Out of the corner of my eye, I can just see my family. I surge of excitement jolts me to my feet until I realize what I'm about to do.
I have to go face my family. No matter how much I love them, how much I've missed them, I can't imagine what they must think of me. I was uploaded to bring her home, and I didn't.

I take a deep gulp and stand up tall. The train doors slide open and the cheers engulf me into a sea of people.