Collins owns THG
Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.
The clouds were smaller yesterday, she thinks as ash seeps into the expensive fabric of her dress as District 12 lights up. There is a half-second.
It's evening and incoming rain would have disguised her tears. Madge doesn't cry. The flame feeds along the sky, burning bright and big across the way.
His Seam-grey eyes were forefront in her mind, twisting like the rain cloud overhead. Grey like the ash falling from the sky. Gray like smoke.
Their last moment together had been subtle:
His hands entwined in her golden hair, barely a whisper across the back of her neck. She feels the breeze with shiver, and he brings her closer. Gale promises never to let her die cold. She whispers that she'll see him tomorrow.
She doesn't.
Madge feels an awakening, as if she has lived through this before – it scares her more than the bombs. There will be no funeral. The half second passes too quickly, and the fire spreads, a wonder to see as her mouth hangs open in a silent scream.
He had promised her that she would not freeze to death when the clouds were smaller yesterday.
She is glad to know he kept his promise as the orange and yellow burst in the house and she is no more.