23. Epilogue

Seven to five days later, Gale found himself on the train once again. The appearance of his old bedroom on the train was so sudden, that Gale had at first suspected himself to be dreaming. One moment he had been passing out on the veranda of a wealthy neurosurgeon, after inhaling copious amounts of an unknown substance at his host's insistence, and then next he was opening his eyes to the shaking movement of the train. Gale ran his hand through his hair, brushing off the lingering survivors of a battalion of glitter that had been dumped in his hair somewhere between three and four days previous. He wasn't quite sure. The days and nights blurred together as he swam through party after party, most of which he wasn't entirely anxious to remember in the first place. His hosts had usually been more then happy to help on this front, and Gale couldn't yet decide if he grateful for it or not.

He shrugged the covers off before stepping out of bed, and wandering to the shower. No one had thought to provide the convenient little pills to kill his hangover, and it was returning with a vengeance. He hadn't drunk anything, but whatever drugs he had taken weren't kind on the body. He could still vividly picture the exact gesture with which the woman had offered several brightly colored pills, with a slurred, "They'll make tonight the best you've ever had." She was slipping off the love seat as she held them out to him, but although her entire body collapsed in on herself, the hand with the pills remained steady until she landed ungracefully on the floor with a faint "ooof," and a tittering giggle. After that, nothing. He didn't ever remember taking them, only looking around for escape and being confronted only by smiling, eager, faces and security cameras. And she might even have been telling him the truth. It could have been the greatest night in the world, or the worst. He would never know for sure.

The steamy shower was a pleasant relief to his aching body, but the complex scents it bombarded him with went straight into his brain and began digging their way into his skull, like plants suddenly taken root over night. Despite his fervent attempts, he couldn't quite wash all of the multihued flecks from the arbitrary locations they had decided to colonize. He gave up after only a few minutes effort. Gale was tired, and a few bits of glitter weren't going to kill him. There was a time when he would have considered each speck of frivolity a direct affront to his entire person, but that was before the Games.

When Gale left the bathroom, an outfit was already placed on his bed. It was relatively modest by his new standards, garishly disgusting by his old. He glanced over to the closet, but didn't enter, not entirely trusting himself not to grab the most comfortable thing inside to wear instead. But he wasn't home yet, and he had an image to maintain. He shoved his arms through the sleeves of the glimmering shirt. Sequins and sparkles had somehow become his token look, much to his regret. He would have to mention his dislike for them the next time he spoke with Portia.

Gale wandered into the dinning car, unsurprised to see Effie quietly ignoring him in favor of a small electronic planner, and Haymitch glumly staring at his juice. He pulled up a chair, not bothering to acknowledge either before shoveling food into his mouth at the fastest rate he could manage without ruining his clothes. Despite the copious amounts of food offered at the parties he had attended, Gale had quickly lost his appetite at the sight of guests throwing up in the bathrooms. It had been a close tie between his instinctual disgust at the act, and his well-thought-out loathing of the implications behind it, but eventually, after seeing one person return for fifths, his outrage had won out. People literally ate more in one sitting than he had eaten some weeks in the months immediately following his father's death.

But now he was hungry, and Haymitch's disheveled appearance wasn't about to put him off his breakfast. He had already torn through several eggs, and half a loaf of toast before Effie began speaking.

"We arrive in the station at twelve noon, district 12 time, and where the Mayor will formally congratulate you on your victory. Usually there's also a ball at one of the Victor's houses welcoming you into the community, but…" Here she trailed off with look directed at Haymitch that would have been contemptuous, if her glee at her recent rise in popularity hadn't still been evident in her every action. "As Haymitch was busy in the Capitol, there hasn't been time to arrange anything. I believe some of your friends may have planned something." Gale hoped to god they hadn't, but at the very least their parties would be much less horrible than the Capitol's. What Gale really wanted to do was duck off into the woods, but he doubted he would have the opportunity to do so for some time.

"At any rate," Effie concluded, pulling Gale back into the conversation, "I think it will be quite lovely."

"What will?"

"The ceremony. Haven't you been paying attention?"

"Sorry."

"Now go occupy yourself until the train pulls in." Gale could tell she was still rather miffed at him, but he knew she would forgive him quickly. After all, his success had meant her success, and as she had elatedly related to him at some point, she had been told she would receive a position in district 4 as soon as its current escort retired. She had quickly added that while district 4 hadn't won since the half-mad girl Annie, they would probably be making a comeback soon. Gale thought that they wouldn't dare to do anything else under Effie's command.

After his dismissal, Gale spent the next few hours enjoying the first peace he had had since those blissful few hours before the Re-Cap. While he wouldn't have dubbed them peaceful at the time, compared to the constant, unending stress of the parties, a few minutes of mental breakdown sounded like heaven. He watched the scenery flicking by him, and Gale found it difficult to comprehend that he was, at this very moment, going home. More than two weeks had passed since he had traveled this path before, and it felt like both yesterday, and a lifetime ago. Part of him still feared he would wake up and find that he had dreamed his victory, that he would find himself sleeping next to Pearl or Glimmer. But that wasn't possible. Because he had won, and they were dead. He had known them less than a week in total, and yet Gale felt connected to the Careers, even Cato, in a way markedly different any other relationship he had ever had. Although they were dead, Gale knew he would see their faces in his nightmares for the rest of his life.

He didn't know them, not at all. One small, couldn't have given him even a small of their picture life. But the Games was their life. It was their dream, their hope, their goal, and their one time to shine. And each had thought they had what it took to succeed. Which was a greater insight to the soul, a few short days of intense concentration, or years of cursory study? How could he know these people better than those he had grown up with, better than Jay, or Thatch? Did he know them at all, or was all he saw just a front. For all he knew, Cato could have been a loveable puppy-dog once you got to know him. Gale snorted. Ok, maybe it couldn't be that bad. But how well did he really know Marvel, or even Glimmer? Gale felt there was something much more to them, but it would be impossible to discover. They were gone. Dead and buried by this point. Gale wondered if, during the Victory Tour, he could see their graves. If he would be allowed to, by both their family members and the all-seeing Capitol.

Gale rested his elbow against the windowpane, and was startled to feel a lump under his skin. He felt around on his arm, before realizing the object's identity. The tracker. Gale moved mechanically into the bathroom, glancing into the mirror. A stranger's face greeted him. By anyone's standards, the face opposite him was more handsome than the one that would have been reflected in it a few weeks previous. His skin was flawless, his hair perfectly styled. His scraggly teenaged beard was gone. He was clean, and even the garish clothes didn't make him look foolish.

But he was empty. Expressionless. Before the games, he had been filled with anger. Hatred. Passion. Emotion. Before the games, he had actually given a fuck about something. That Gale would have hated this Gale. Would have punched him in his moronic the face for going along with the Capitol's plan so docilely. That Gale was also spoiled, selfish. Stupid. That Gale had frightened a few Gamemakers for the hell of it. That Gale had decided to forget his supposed cares and throw a party on the rooftops. Whenever that Gale had acted, he had felt something. He had done what needed to be done, but regretted it. Had to struggle against every instinct he had to do something as simple as smile at the crowd, or flirt casually with a camera.

Gale looked at his reflection. Looked at the gaudy clothes, and the manufactured look. Manufactured emotions, too, he thought, as he gave himself a winning smile.

But he couldn't do it. Maybe he wasn't so different from that Gale after all, because he couldn't just sit here and stare at the innocent little bulge on his arm that imprisoned him as surely as any iron chain. Because that bulge meant nothing he ever said, or did was safe. It could have microphones. It could have sensors, detecting his pulse, telling the entire world when he lied. It could even have poison, ready to be released the moment he did something they didn't like. He could never know, and would have to live his life in fear every moment it resided under his skin. So his decision was actually rather simple.

Gale punched the mirror. Cameras would be on him, but he doubted destruction of property was something whoever was monitoring him had never seen before. Gale grabbed one of the larger pieces, and before he could think, plunged it into his arm. The sharp edge bit and tore at his muscles, and it hurt, but Gale couldn't find it in himself to care. It was as though the pain he was feeling was somehow disconnected from the rough motion of his hand as he made an incision next to the lump in his muscle. The cut was messy, and blood began obscuring his view, but soon Gale felt plastic stop the motion of the glass. Glancing down, through the mess of fluid, he could just barely make out a clear cylindrical object.

He removed the tracker, sometimes digging with his nails, other times pushing from the other side. It didn't come easily. His flesh had healed around it, and protested as the muscles were forced to relinquish their new companion. Gale rinsed off the bit of plastic and metal, eyes focused on the circuitry within. Parts were moving, and Gale knew for a fact that someone, somewhere, knew he had torn it out. He could only hope they didn't care enough to get him a replacement. Gale took the object, and mechanically moved to the window. Wind rushed into his room as soon as he opened the pane of glass, and his sheets were thrown every which way. Gale let go of the tracker without any warning or hesitation, and it was swept instantly away in the breeze.

Task complete, Gale wandered over to his bed, sat down, and waited for Effie to come bursting in and to berate him about his arm.

Yep, it's done. To be honest, I'm just not feeling very motivated to write this story, and this felt like a good place to end it. There will probably not be a sequel, unless I get roughly one billion reviews begging me to continue it. I don't have much time right now, so instead I'm focusing my energy on a piece of original fiction. Thank you so much for reading, and please review with any final thoughts, even you're just yelling at me. :)

PS. To those reading this several weeks/months since this chapter was published, please review too, it'll still be nice to hear from you.