Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to present the victor of the Seventieth Hunger Games, Johanna Mason of District 7!
She hears the words in her dreams, mixed in with the screams of the children who suffered at her hand. She sees herself, covered with the blood of her slain opponents,with fire in her eyes, sending axe after axe straight through bodies. She sees the faces of her parents, her brothers, her closest friends, her boyfriend; all dead now. Not by her hand, but because of her actions. She was the one to refuse Snow’s request, and really, would it have been so bad? Was her freedom worth their lives? She’s not free, though. Not really. She’s shackled to the past, and the guilt is worse than any punishment she can imagine.
She is alone most of the time now. The house is too big, and too empty. Too quiet. There’s too much stuff, and there’s too much empty space. Too, too, too. Never just right.
There are moments when she thinks that she did chose the right thing after all. When she sees Finnick in the Capitol, and notices the look in his eyes. He chose a different path than Johanna, and she can’t figure out which one of them is the right one.
She drinks too much, and swears too much. She is glad that she’s no longer required to work, because axes make her feel sick. She chose woodcarving as her talent, but she’s mediocre at best. Her hands aren’t nimble enough for such detailed work. Mostly her woodcarvings end up dented from being thrown at the wall or being cut into a thousand pieces by an enraged Johanna.
No one comes to visit her. No one hears her screaming at herself, at the Capitol, at Snow, at the ghosts from her past because how dare they have turned her into one of them. Her face has become permanently molded into a frown, and she can’t remember how to undo it.
She is alone, so alone, because she killed everyone who loved her.