Ghosts
It was nothing really. A book filled with memories that a girl kept close to her heart.
It wasn't important. She wasn't important.
They found it under the heap and rubble of the mayor's house. No one survived. The owner's name is engraved on the spine of the book; leather-bound, rich and was owned, obviously, by someone from the Merchant in District Twelve. It has worn away because of the bombing, but otherwise was pretty much intact, entries could be read with effort and was in a nice condition in the context of the situation it had gone through. There was confusion among the workers as to what they should do with it. They didn't want to toss it away, feeling it was dismissive of the dead and rude, but the book itself wasn't going to do anything for the new world.
Eventually they opened up the book, looked through entries, read her emotions, thoughts and feelings on certain days of the year, the book itself covering a large span of her life. The girl had poured her heart and soul into a book, only to die in the war.
It was suggested by one of the workers to send the diary to a person who was mentioned inside, in hope that they were relatively close to them.
First, they tried Katniss Everdeen. She held the book in hand, staring at it blankly as one of the workers stood nervously before the Mockingjay. She rejects the book, almost in a fit of rage, but is overcome with sudden calmness and settles the book on the table.
"Send it to someone else and get out of my house," she breathes, her voice cracking. She pushes away the book and runs up the stairs.
The book remains unopened.
He arrives home after another hard day of work.
A month or two have passed since the war ended.
He stays in District Two with his family.
He settles into his chair at the desk, leaning back and relaxing, but his eye catches sight of a package on his desk. He hasn't received mail before, let alone a gift of sorts. He wonders what it could be. It's probably just work, he shrugs, paperwork. He almost sighs at the thought of more work to do, though he knows it's inevitable. He picks it up mindlessly, but before he can touch the parcel paper, there is a message.
This book was found under the mayor's house, during the reconstruction of District Twelve.
You are the most mentioned person inside.
Please accept this as a last wish of the deceased.
Thank you,
District Twelve reconstruction workers
His eyebrows furrow, confused at what exactly was this book. He rips off the parcel paper without a care.
The book itself is beautiful. Leather-bound, a musty brown covers it; he knows it's a rarity to have such a thing in District Twelve. His hand brushes over the cover of it, feeling the texture of it contact with his skin is glorious and reminds him of past times. It brings a smile to his face.
Eventually he turns the book over and instantly notices the name embedded into the leather on the spine: Madge Undersee.
He throws the book down on the table in a fit of rage and covers his face with his hands. She was the only person he couldn't save. Gale Hawthorne couldn't save Madge Undersee from the bombing. And he was angry with himself because it would always be that way. Everyone lost something in the war: Katniss with her sanity, Peeta with his mind set, Madge with her life. The effects of war were horrible. The image of her diary on makes him angry at the Capitol again and what they did to his home, to Madge.
His hand closes around the diary tightly and he throws it into the bin. There is a clatter and the room is silence once more.
Gale, who so very rarely cries, covers his face once more and sobs. The memories flood back of their interaction, how their relationship bloomed whilst Katniss was in the arena. The side glances at each other, the twitch of small, nervous smiles, the first time they laughed together. It seemed like so long ago, when it was merely a year or two back. There are so many questions that will never be answered.
He sighs, defeated and licks his lips nervously. He gently picks up the diary out of the bin, brushes off the dirt and gently places it on the table again. That was no way to treat his only artefact of Madge.
There is a ghost of a smile on his face as he reminisces once more about the girl with the strawberries, before his fingers trace the diary and gently opens up the cover to unveil the story of Madge Undersee.
This was inspired by a headcanon I saw on tumblr by Hawthorny. I posted it on my tumblr before but moved it here after encouragement. Thank you for reading, reviews and construction criticism are appreciated to the nth degree!