Fighter | The Hunger Games

Chapter Twenty-Seven

There was a period of time where I lost touch with the concept of home. After being taken away from my family, traveling hundreds of miles to the Capitol, and being forced to survive fifteen days in a brutal arena I was unsure of where I belonged in this world. 

Walking home with my family that day was like rediscovering myself. The familiar crunch of the gravel pathways beneath my feet filled my heart with joy as we approached our small wooden cabin. The bird songs around us blended into a beautiful harmony, one that I had been longing to hear. Even the large pine trees shook in reverence as our little family of four walked past them. I turned my head up to the blue sky and enjoyed the feeling of the cool air on the back of my neck. I belonged here in Seven. 

Faith gripped my hand tightly as we followed closely behind our parents. There were no words to be said yet, instead we relished in each other's presence as we snaked our way through crowds of friendly neighbors, all eager to participate in my homecoming. 

Time had written itself onto my parents like a clock. They appeared much older; as if the Games aged them in ways that were nearly readable. Beautiful wrinkles settled over my mother's forehead while my father's hair was becoming gray. Even Faith seemed as if she had lost some of her childlike innocence; her eyes flickered with maturity. I could only wonder how I appeared to them, especially dressed in my emerald silks and beige wedges. 

It was not long before we reached the small front porch of our modest home. I smiled as I noticed my mother had planted a few iris flowers inside a hand crafted flowerbed. "They're beautiful" I commented as my father opened our front door. My mother tucked her hair behind her ear and smiled. "The Hobbs girls brought them over the day you left." A part of me twinged with guilt. I could hardly imagine how difficult it was for my family to return home from the reaping without me.

"Your mother has prepared a welcome home meal!" My father chuckled to himself as we all stepped inside the house. I closed my eyes for a second in order to savor the feeling I had been looking forward to for so long. The house smelled like comfort. It was warm, slightly muggy, and filled with love. I smiled as I noticed the kitchen table was set with our finest silverware and glasses. "I'm not a celebrity!" I joked as I admired the effort my mother put into preparing the meal. "There was no need to bring out the fancy dining ware." My parents looked relieved that I still somewhat had a sense of humor. "It's not every day your daughter wins the Hunger Games" my father said sincerely. 

Everything in the house looked just as it did the day I left: the blankets strewn over the couch, the pile of cards on the ground, even the coats hanging on the front door. I kicked off my shoes and felt nearly embarrassed to see them sitting upon the miscellaneous pairs of work boots. Faith eyed my wedges with a look of wistfulness. "You sorta are a celebrity" she mumbled. "You even look like one." I bit my lip for a moment before responding. "Well my amazing stylist Ezra actually sent a few dresses and pairs of shoes over for you so I guess you're a celebrity as well then." Faiths eyes widened and a smile broke over her face. "No way!" She squealed enthusiastically. 

My mother was already in the kitchen but she turned her head around. "So that's what arrived in that package. I left it on your bed Avery. I figured it was something for you." I nodded and winked at Faith "why don't you go try one of the outfits on for our 'fancy' meal." She did not hesitate before hugging me and rushing into our bedroom. 

"Avery" my mom called again. "A letter also arrived for you this morning. I left it on the small table next to the couch." A pit formed in my stomach as I suddenly remembered the letter I addressed to President Marx several days ago. Could this be a response from him? I took a deep breath and located the thick cream envelope, running my fingers over the expensive material. It was not labelled, but I knew it had been sent from the Capitol. My hands shook as I pulled the handwritten note from the envelope and steadied my breathing before reading it.