A ghostly visit [Freshy]

Two weeks.

It had been two weeks since he had been torn away from his family, the only thread that connected him to them having snapped. He had clawed at the air for as long as he could, his wings no longer able to carry him up towards the sun. It was like he was leaning over a balcony, standing on the tips of his toes to kiss the wild hallucinations of ghosts that materialized in the clouds. Little, wispy fingers would brush against his arms, he would be lifted up into the air —

and then he would fall.

It had to have been a sign that he flew out of the nest too soon. He thought that when the Gamemakers presented him with that shiny, arresting seven, he thought he would at least have the strength to get away from the Cornucopia. But no, he didn't fly fast enough, and he didn't find hard enough. All he could do was offer his apologies to anyone he had burdened, and hope that the cameras were able to leave the Cornucopia for a moment and focus on him. He was falling, unable to find a cliff to cling onto for dear life. The air was being pushed out of his lungs, his body was numbing, and his glassy eyes could no longer stay open.

Jabber spent days in the afterlife, wandering on the silver shores and watching the waves crash against the sand. More of his fellow tributes were appearing around him; Bae, Cleo, Sam, Nightshade. Within days he was surrounded by twenty-one familiar faces, all hugging and talking amongst themselves as if they hadn't just lost their lives to a game that had been taken too far. Jabber should've been celebrating with them, embracing the freedom he had, finally able to be infinite. Instead, he isolated himself from the crowd, just like in the Capitol, unsure whether to scowl at the people who had raised their weapons against him or to smile, pat their backs and tell them it was all good. All he could do was stare at the scars on their skin, the fading silver streams of tears on their faces, and see bloodied, quivering lips behind every smile. How could they smile when Opal and Yaa were still in that arena, and when people they loved were still fighting for their lives?

"Mr. Jay, are you sure you don't want anything?"

Jabber turned, looking at the small, trembling boy behind him. He realized how intimidating he must be, towering over him by at least two feet, with a misshapen jaw, wild hair and scars lining his arms. He dropped to one knee, resting a hand gently on the boy's shoulder. "I'm fine, Roland. I'm just adjusting to things, that's all," Jabber murmured, his voice cracking. His parents were here. He could be with them, making up for the three years lost. Instead he chose to be a wallflower, watching the people who had suffered more than he had, as if they didn't know the half of what he had been through. How long would it take him to come to terms with the fact that his life had ended, and that things would be different?

"Do you want to go for a walk again, Mr. Jay?"

Jabber nodded, slowly returning to his normal height and leaving the beach and his fellow tributes behind.

~

On Jabber's first day in the afterlife, Roland had given him the tour. He had shown him a wall of mist, and specifically instructed him not to cross. "Why not?"

"You won't be able to handle what's behind that barrier. It's far too... what's the word? Risky."

Now he realized that he should have listened, for he somehow ended up dematerializing and reappearing in a room that was so familiar that it was frightening. Fawn sat just feet away from him, jaw slack and eyes unreadable. "I thought you were dead," she deadpanned.

Jabber didn't know what to do other than to force a small smile. "Surprise," he croaked, unable to steady his breathing. Here he was, inexplicably standing before the girl he had left behind, the one whose heart had been shattered into a million pieces by his own calloused hands. What a strange predicament.