Voices of the Dead: A Hunger Games FanFiction ©

7. Macon

I must’ve been hallucinating; it was the only reasonable explanation for the sight before me. I blinked furiously and felt my jaw go slack as I took in his face, a face that warmed my heart and eased my pain; my father. His hair was slightly tousled, his eyes crinkled in worry, a backpack was slung over his shoulder,  and he was dressed in the designated uniform, but there was no mistaking; it was him.

No, it couldn’t be. I must’ve hit my head harder than I thought. This wasn’t real. Maybe I had died? Was that it? Had the burns been too much? I’d heard it said that when someone died, the things you loved most were what awaited you in your afterlife; was that the case here?

“Dad?” I croaked, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Makin’ trouble Macon?” he answered, his eyes shining with unshed tears.

“How?” I started to ask before he cut me off. Kneeling, he wrapped his strong arms around me, flooding my senses with the realism of the situation.

My body reacted; hugging him back tightly, afraid that the lovely illusion he was would fade away if I let go for even a second. Under my ear, I could hear the steady rhythm of his heart, could hear the evenness of his breaths. His scent reached my nose; wood-smoke, leather, desert winds, and a hint of musk. He smelled like home.

I felt like a child again, blubbering and holding on to my father like he was the only thing safe in the world. Silly tears streamed down my face and I did my best to hide them, embarrassed to have him see me this way.

“What are you doing here?” I managed to ask when I caught a breath. “It’s not safe here, why did they bring you?”

He pulled away and scratched his head before he answered. “I’m not sure, I don’t even remember how I got here,” he admitted, “I suspect I’m here to help you though. You’re gravely injured and I can heal you.”

My hands gripped at his jacket, panic rising through me at the thought of him leaving. “So you won’t stay then,” I whispered, “they’ll take you away?”

He shrugged, ruffling my hair and smiling warmly. “I have no clue, honestly I don’t. But what I do know is that I’m going to do all that I can while I’m here with you.”

My heart swelled and I found myself relax; something I never thought I’d be able to do while confined behind the walls of this hellish game.

Supporting my weight, my father wrapped his arm under my shoulders and helped me to stand. Hobbling slowly, we made our way to one of the buildings nearby. It was only when we’d finally settled in that my mind suddenly jerked awake to a new reality.

“The boys, Bodey and Smalls, where are they?” I said in a panic, “I told them to run, to leave to safety. Did they make it out alright? I have to go find them.”

“Sit down, you are in no condition to be walking around looking for those kids,” my father ordered as he pushed me back to the floor. “I know you’re trying to be kind and noble son, but right now is not the time for that. Don’t you want to come back home? Risking your life for those two will only lower your chances at getting out of this alive.”

His words hit me like a literal blow to the gut. Who was this man? My father would’ve never thought, much less said, such things. Life was valuable, and innocence was precious, those boys signified both. I pulled back and scrutinized his face. “Who are you?” I demanded.

“Your father Macon, that’s who I am!” he suddenly roared, his body shaking, “and you are my only son. God Macon, I’ve already lost your mother, I couldn’t bear to lose you too,” he kneeled next to me, his eyes wild, “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel bad for those boys, but that’s all they are to me right now; just boys. You are my life Macon, I love you, and I will not let you put yourself in danger while I’m here.”