Author's Note: Hi everyone! If you are new to my stories, welcome! If you are an old friend, welcome back! If you subscribed to me, you probably are because The New Generation series, but maybe it's because of The Tiger's Heart, who knows? ANYWAY, this was for school, I have to turn in a Utopia/Dystopia packet, and this is part of it, about The Hunger Games. The protagonist is Gale. Hope you like it!
TheLetters
The funny thing was, I didn't know if I wanted her reading those letters. I wrote them in my mind, all the things she had passed over as normal by me. She didn't know about the letters, I hid them, written in my mind and later translated into messy handwriting. I remembered the first one, written before she could remember knowing me, I knew her. The one who I saw next to me with the same look on her face as we heard the mines blown to bits. The one who stayed in town selling clothes no one would buy, then going home with bread a boy had given her. The one who wouldn't forget him. The one who I knew wouldn't choose me.
The letters were useless, expensive and not worth writing, she wouldn't see them anyway. But I still wrote them. Through the times we had hunted, to the times she comforted Prim, to the long days she left for the Games, I wrote them. And when she came back I wrote them, hoping I'd have the courage to send one, or two. I didn't stop writing them even when I kissed her, even when I fell in love with her, and watched her fall in love with him.
I thought she wouldn't come back, that day I found out she was going back to the arena. She did, though. He wasn't by her side, but he wasn't dead, and she kept holding on. I knew he was going to come back. I didn't think he would come back the same, but I had never imagined what he would become. I knew then. I had always known that it wouldn't be any use, but I knew it for sure then. But still I wrote the letters. One for every bruise on her neck that his fingers had inflicted. One for each kiss I wanted to lay upon her. One for all the times I didn't think.
When he came back to normal, I knew it was only a matter of time until it was for sure. And I wrote the letters. I wrote and wrote and continued to write as we came into the Capitol, as Peeta was assigned to our group, as Boggs and Finnick and all the others were killed. And I still wrote. I wanted to burn the letters. I wanted to trash the memories. But I didn't. I wrote.
And as her sister died as a victim the bomb I designed, I wrote the two words again and again on the pages of my many letters. I told Katniss. I couldn't tell Prim. I'm sorry. I would take it back if I could. But I can't. And she didn't forgive me. I knew Prim would've, but I also knew Katniss wouldn't. And I knew I didn't deserve it. So I wrote the letters. I told her I loved her again and again in the letters. I apologized again and again in the letters. But I knew that now I couldn't send them to her. I realized they weren't her letters. These letters were mine, and I couldn't destroy them. I couldn't trash the memories. I couldn't burn the letters.