Prologue
The war is over.
It just seems to surreal. The aftermath of the bombs, when the smoke cleared away- our victory.
But at what price?
I've got to admit that life now has its perks. The new Capitol has offered me a high-paying job in exchange for my services. Paylor seemed pleased that I stuck through with the rebellion from beginning to end. An act of loyalty, she had told me as she awarded me with war honors that I had earned.
Beetee was also working with me down in Two, both of us developing new weapons and given high-ranked military statuses that would allow us both to command troops and regulate the new Peacekeepers.
The feeling of power was one that I never expected to fall into my hands. Being born and raised in 12 reinforces that. You're poor. Barely able to feed your family. Pathetic compared to the Peacekeepers. Weak.
At least that was before the rebellion.
Now I'm a new man.
But at what price? I ask myself this constantly only because the answer rings true for me.
I developed the bombs and the plans that killed countless innocents.
I killed my best friend's sister.
I lost my best friend in the process.
My hands grip the sides of my head. My fingers grasp at my hair, pulling at the strands painfully, but I can't bring myself to care.
No pain can equate to the hole in my chest that my mistakes had created.
I can feel my face shifting into an expression of agony, but there's no point in fighting it. It will always come back twice as strong.
All because I think about her.
Those grey Seam eyes, sharp with instinct and mysteriously unreadable. The deadly precision with the bow and arrow. The braid that would swing around her shoulder when she hopped the dying log in the forest we always passed to check the strawberries.
But what I miss the most is her honesty. Her strength. She held me together. We worked as a team, even when starving. Dying. We never gave in.
But now she's gone. No doubt hating me for what I've done.
My muscles are cramping, they're tensed so tightly. I force myself to breathe, but the breaths come out harsh, panting. I can't get enough air into my lungs but it doesn't matter.
It doesn't matter because my world is crashing down without her.
A guttural cry erupts through the room. With a snarl, I grab the smooth black marble table top of the coffee table and heave. It goes flying and lands with a crash against a wooden shelf.
The impact seems to knock the sense back into me as I stand, chest heaving, and stare at the damage the heavy marble slab had done to the shelf. The contents from the shelf have spilled down onto the floor, leaving shattered glass and chips of wood lying around dangerously. I shake my head, breathing deeply, before crossing the room and kneeling down to pick up the pieces.
Just as I consider fetching a dustpan to sweep up the pieces, I feel a shooting pain through my hand as my fingers grasp a particularly sharp shard of glass. Cursing inwardly to myself, I throw the piece into the trash can. As if things couldn't get any worse.
But then I notice the fallen picture frame lying nearby. I had almost forgotten that it had been on the shelf. Perhaps one of the Capitol assistants had put it there when they helped me relocate to District 2.
I pick up the frame, gently shaking it to dislodge any debris. Tinkering glass pieces fall to the floor but I ignore them.
Its her. And me. It was rare for anyone in District 12 to have their pictures taken, but this was when she had returned to District 12 after the 74th Games. A Victor. With Mellark.
Mellark.
The surge of despair returns, but I only stare at the picture harder, trying to hold back the rage that builds when I think of all the circumstances that changed our fates forever. The Reaping. The Games. The war. The bombs-
No. I stare harder at the picture of Katniss and I, hanging onto that one shred of memory I have left that can console my pain.
She's smiling in this picture. I remember it all clearly. The reporters were all allowed to watch her reunite with her family. And I, playing the part of her cousin, was allowed to be one of the first to welcome her home with open arms.
She had just finished hugging her mother and had turned expectantly in my direction. Even from the distance between us, I could see the warmth flood into her eyes. The relief.
As soon as my arms went around her, I knew I could never let her go again. That she was the one. The Games only strengthened that for me. Her absence was a part of my own self vanishing into thin air. Without her there, I never felt more alone in my life. It only made me clutch her all the more tightly.
I can still remember the forest scent of her hair, still the same even after her time in the Capitol. I can still remember how thin and exhausted she had been as she held me tightly. I can still remember her words as if she has just breathed them into my ear. "I missed you, Gale."
I drop the picture frame with a clatter, closing my eyes tightly and letting my head fall back in anguish. With my face to the ceiling, no one would ever see the tears that would spill out every time she crossed my mind.
My hand drops ungraciously to my side, but not before a drop of blood falls and lands on the cracked glass of the frame, right where Katniss and I remain embraced.
