Hereafter

Hereafter: Part I Crossing Over, Chapter 12

12

FOR ME, THE 74TH HUNGER GAMES was over, as was my role in the You Are There version of the film. A few moments after my glorified body clone died from the nightlock poisoning, full consciousness returned to my body sitting in the auditorium. Since Lydia, as Rue, died a few minutes earlier, she was already fully awake and present, and had her eyes trained on mine as I came to.

“Fallon . . . are you back with us, girl?” Lydia teased while rubbing my shoulders and softly stroking my hair.

“Lydia . . . I’m so sorry . . . I killed you, I mean Rue . . . I didn’t want that to happen . . . can you ever forgive me?” I blurted out, my emotions still back inside the alternate-reality horror of the Hunger Games.

“What are you talking about . . . look, I’m right here, alive and well. Snap out of it . . . the movie’s over.”

I sat up in my chair and looked around. She was right, I was sitting in a theater and on the screen were the closing credits to the film we’d all just been a part of. Added to the names of the original actors was the list of substitutes from our group and what part each of us played. I looked down at my body, expecting it to be bruised, cut, scraped, dirty, battered, and bloody, but it was perfectly all right. With that realization, I felt a rush of joyful relief that the nightmare of the Hunger Games was over for me.

“Oh my G . . . sorry . . . gosh, Lydia, I’m not dead . . . you’re not dead!”

Going through the vicious, heartless bloodbath of the Hunger Games had my emotions shredded raw. In order to survive, I used my hunter instincts to suppress any feelings I might have had for my victims, but seeing my arrow snuff out Rue’s life was more than I could bear. My resurrected conscience sparked the resurgence of my feelings. I knew better than to not care when I hurt someone else for no good reason—and simply me surviving was not a good enough justification.

In the aftershock of surviving the Hunger Games, I was experiencing the spiritual trauma of pushing aside my believer’s values in order to operate on the level of an animal. It was worse than that. At least animals only kill to eat or protect themselves. I was operating at the level of necrotic narcissistic evil—what happens to me is the only thing in the universe that matters. Before the Games, I wouldn’t have thought myself capable of such heartless, selfish acts, but inside of me was the sick soul of a stone-cold killer. How was that possible, and what was I going to do about it?

After giving Lydia a long welcome-back-to-reality hug, we both decided to sit tight and just unwind from our ordeal while the rest of the film credits rolled. Looking around the auditorium, modeled after grand, ornate movie palaces, often named the Majestic, the Oriental, or the Orpheum during the golden age of mid 20th Century cinema, one by one all the other actors were returning to their glorified bodies. When the film ended, the house lights came back on and our host returned to the podium.

“See, you’re all back with us safe, sound, and in one piece just as promised. Please, give yourselves a well-deserved round of applause for your accomplishment!”

We all obliged, but the clapping didn’t last long as we were more than a little drained from the ordeal.

“It’s all right . . . I realize that was a lot to process and much of it unexpected. This kind of gut-wrenching spiritual nourishment takes awhile to digest, so give it time and do discuss your experiences with friends, family, or others here today who went through the Hunger Games with you. Past the exit doors you’ll enter a lounge prepared for you to do just that, so do take advantage of this opportunity while what happened is still fresh in your mind. Goodbye for now and thank you all for participating in our You Are There showing of The Hunger Games!”