The letter arrived in a pale pink envelope. He looked at it uncertainly, unsure of its strange appearance. His frown deepened at the sight of the unfamiliar handwriting. It was loopy and big, curling around the tails in full, luxurious circles. 'Gale Hawthorne, District Twelve' it read, with several instructions in other different hands that had redirected it to his residence in District Two.
Finally, he gave into curiosity and ripped it open. Four full-sized papers fell out. He attacked the first one, and began to read.
My Darling Gale,
I have written this letter several times, but it has never come out right. So I am giving up and just saving this as the final draft in my cupboard, in an envelope with your name and address. I will never post it, of course.
Firstly, it's because District 12 doesn't even have a postman, or a post office or even proper addresses. Secondly, I am sure that even if I put this at your door, chances are your siblings will find it, or worse, your mother will. Thirdly, of course, I am terrified about what you will do with this information. If you crumple this letter and throw it away, I will be crestfallen. If you grin and show it to Bristol or Tom, or worse, to Katniss, I will be mortified and die of shame. Please don't do either, just keep it among your most treasured possessions, among your inflammatory documents, pornographic magazines, secret liquor stash, I don't care. Just keep it somewhere no one can spot it. Because I'd simply die if someone read it. And, last but not the least, what I most fear in this world—you will confront me, yell at me, assault me, kill me or go out of your way to ignore me. Because what I am writing in here is not something anyone can read and forgive. So you will never see this letter. In fact, no one will.
You probably don't think this love letter (because that's what it is) is special. To you, it is just one out of the hundreds you have already gotten. I assure you, it most likely is, but then, I am sure nobody loves you like I love you, Gale. Because this love is not a synonym for attraction, which is the cause of—a sweeping statement, but all your other love letters. You are handsome. Everybody notices you. Yes, that's probably one of the reasons I love you. But that's not the only one, and is right at the bottom of the very long list.
I love you because I know Katniss. And I know you love her, too, and that's perhaps another reason why I am not going to send you this letter. Because you haven't looked at anyone like you look at her. I understood, before she was reaped, that you and she would marry eventually, the relationship was convenient, acceptable and meant to be. When I would think of this, I would cursed my comfortable lifestyle and the abundance of food on my table. But it was soon Saturday, and I would rush out to answer the door, because you usually came to sell me strawberries on Saturday, and I knew they were in season. And as I give you the coins that you have worked for, I smile when I know that you have overcharged me, and are probably thinking I'm unaware of it. But I'm pretending. It is my father who has a fondness for strawberries, but I am the one with the fondness for the strawberry-peddler. I also feel good to be contributing to your life, in my small, special way. The money I give you feeds your and Katniss' family, and I love to be responsible for helping you do that. So, on Saturdays, I usually don't curse myself for being rich, as that is the only thing that will bring you to my door.
On others, I curse my fate. If I had been a poor girl, I might have hunted illegally, too, and then met you. We might have been hunting partners. Then, you might have looked at me as you look at Katniss. And I'm sure I would look right back at you that way. Katniss doesn't know she loves you. No one knows if she does. But she's the reason I do. You might have heard I sit next to her during lunch. We don't talk much; we don't even attach the word 'friend' to each other. But when she does speak, she speaks about you. And that's why I say that your good looks are at the bottom of my list, because I heard about you before I even saw you. I might have noticed you before, of course, but I would have never thought of you as more than just a pretty face if Katniss hadn't started talking about you. Your skills in trapping prey. The way you look when you find something has caught in one of your snares. Your rebellious nature. Your unwavering love for your family. The boy that lost his childhood. The tall, dark, mysterious stranger with a tragic past. And through it all, you remain a fighter.
I heard you speaking against the Capital once, in the Woods. Now, you are probably wondering what I was doing in there. Truth is that I saw the most beautiful deer running along from the fence. And I just had to get a closer look, so I jumped over and ran after it. When I heard voices, I froze. But then I recognized them for you and Katniss' voices. And I couldn't help eavesdropping. I listened to your voice, laced with anger and resentment, as you told Katniss about how the Capital purposefully creates a rift between the people of the Seam and people in town. About how the Hunger Games was just a weapon to keep the government running on its staple diet of fear and mistrust. I stood, mesmerized by your voice, and what you were saying. It was all true, flitting around in my mind. But I had always been too afraid to voice it. Well, I didn't need to do so, because you were doing it so perfectly. I only turned to leave when you suggested the first course of attack was the Mayor's house, as it was the most prominent sign of the Capital's hold over the District.
It was me that gave you those vials of morphia. On the day you were wipped. I know you'd probably like to forget that day, so I won't say more, except I would have gladly taken that Peacekeeper's head off if I had as much hunting experience as the alternate-Seem version of myself, which I didn't. But Katniss did save you, so I guess she trumps over me not only in hunting, but also in rescuing abilities. I probably come in before her in your eyes only as a customer of fruit.
This letter will never reach you, so I might as well include the side of myself that I truly hate. The side that rejoiced when she volunteered after her sister's name was called in the Hunger Games. Because I wasn't thinking of her reaping in a negative way, thinking of her family, how they would survive. I was only thinking that next Saturday, I would get to see you alone, instead of with Katniss. And she wouldn't be marrying you, considering that there were twenty-three people blocking her way back to District Twelve. And all I could think of was that you would need to be comforted when she died on screen, and I vowed to seize the opportunity when this happened. I would use the 'best friend' angle to my advantage. I had to strike while the iron was hot. I remembered the look you gave my pin, the one of the Mockingjay. I knew you would remember it. If she wore it as a District token in the Games, it would seal the deal and declare me a friend of Katniss' in your eyes. So I went in to meet her after her family and the baker, and presented her with it. I even pinned it to her dress and made her promise she would wear it into the arena. It was a family heirloom, but all I was thinking of was that you would notice it on her. And that would, hopefully remind you of me. I kissed Katniss Goodbye, and left without another word, afraid she would notice that I was not really sad. So imagine my feelings when she offered the pin back to me. Imagine how I felt when it became a word for her, a word to represent the rebellion. While all along, it was supposed to be a symbol to remind you of me. So I just smiled and told her it was a gift when she tried to return it.
When she survived and returned to our district, I must admit that a small part of me was happy. For two reasons; one, that she had survived, bringing glory to herself and the district. And two, because she had come back with Peter. She and I continued to spend time together, this time, outside school, as well. She offered to take me to the Woods, and I began to think that the alternate, Seam girl version of myself may not be that far away from reality. Perhaps, if I could get half as good at hunting as Katniss, I could go hunting with you. I mainly agreed so that I could see the places that were so precious to you. You and her, I know, but I tried to ignore that as I tried to absorb the Woods, learn every stone, tree and animal while I could.
You might be interested to learn that I tried to repay her by teaching her the piano. She didn't have the enthusiasm I had. So, when we were at my place, she would just listen to me play, and refuse to play herself. I know that if it was you, you would have jumped at the chance to learn something new. When we were not playing, or in the Woods, we would talk. But this time, she only spoke about Peter. That's when I knew that the best thing had happened. She had come back, alive, but she was now in love with Peter. There was still one problem, though—you were still in love with her, as you had always been. And she was enjoying the attention, because she knew she had also always been attracted to you. So my initial delight soon changed to hate. Because now, she not only had you, but also Peter. And she wouldn't let you go, allow for the possibility that someone else might have a shot with you. No, she kept you trailing along, and it killed you. This made me hate her more than if she had chosen you. Because that meant you would be alone and miserable, which meant that I would be alone and miserable, as well.
I admire your strength, spirit and loyalty. They are the qualities I know you possess, and I can't be wrong, because I heard about them from your best friend, the one that knows you the most in this world. And though you might think I'm a stalker, but I also know all about your family .some of it is from Katniss' accounts, but I also observe you and them whenever I can. I also know about the other girls, but I know that you were not serious about any of them.
I hope you and Katniss finally work out. I know Peter is standing squarely in the way of you both, but you still have a chance, and though I know it would absolutely kill me to see you two together, if it means you are happy, I prefer it. After all, the Capital still controls our lives, and who knows, with this year's Quarter Quell, I might (despite your remarks otherwise) be going to the Capital, just like my aunt Maysilee.
The letter was unsigned. He scratched his head, absently. He remembered her, of course, but only vaguely. Golden, wavy blonde hair. Light eyes—probably green or blue. The Mayor's daughter. But what was her name?
Author's Note:,
This is my first Hunger Games fic. I had to do my dissertation on The Hunger Games, so I have read and re-read the first book thoroughly and the second one a bit, just for this story, as well as another Gale x Madge story I am planning to write.
If you couldn't figure it out, this letter is received by Gale after MJ, but was written by Madge before the announcement of the Quarter Quell. I am choosing to leave the way the letter got to Gale a mystery, though you can use your imagination.