Gale Hawthorne
A leather bag with food and a flask of hot tea. A pair of fur-lined gloves that someone rich (Peeta himself?) must have owned. Three twigs, broken off of one of the naked trees, pointing in an arrow on the snow covered ground to show me which direction to go. This is what I find from Katniss at our usual meeting place on the third Sunday of the Harvest Festival.
I look at the bag with the slightest hint of anger and plenty of distaste. Why is she offering me these? She's chosen Peeta, it's clear, I get it, does she really think that this bag of treats will make me feel any better? This tiny bag of trinkets really isn't really going to console me about anything that's happened between us.
For a moment, I simply eye Katniss's bag, wondering if I should just ignore her sign and go home. Whatever she has to say to me won't make me happy, not now that she is engaged to Peeta. If I ignore her, though, she'll ask why I didn't come. I could say I hadn't seen the sign, but that's such an obvious lie it isn't even worth considering. As if I could miss noticing something as clearly out of place as this sign. I'm a hunter. It's my job to notice details.
Finally I bend down, pick up the bag, but resolve not to eat or drink any of the items in here until I find Katniss and figure out what exactly is going on between us. I don't need any of her gifts, and I sure don't want them. The only reason I'm going to find her is so I can know if there's any chance of- well, of us- or not.
I still can't get myself to believe it. Katniss Everdeen, soon to become Mrs. Peeta Mellark. I recoil at the thought, but I can't help but wonder exactly how much of Katniss was acting in the arena, on the Victory Tour, even now. Some part of me can't help but think that if it weren't for these blasted Games, in a few years it might have been "Katniss Hawthorne." In fact, I'm almost certain it would have been. For me, it's just another reason to hate the Capitol. They stole my father, my life, and my love. They cannot have any more of me.
Katniss might insist she would never have married anyone, but now that she's accepted his proposal, I can't help but wonder how exactly she justified that in her mind. Who has she been lying to? Me, or the rest of Panem? I've known her so long, that it seems far more likely for her to be lying to the entire country, but it's one thing to pretend to be in love with someone, and quite a different thing entirely to accept that someone's marriage proposal.
I'm walking on a surprisingly unfamiliar trail in a part of the woods I have never had reason to be in before. It's clear that Katniss knows exactly where she's going and I wonder briefly where she is leading me. It's a long hike, and I know I should be hunting along the way so at least I'll have accomplished something productive, because all I can think about is how much of a disaster this conversation is going to turn out to be.
I just can't decide who I'm mad at. Partly at Katniss, yes. I wish she would just be straight with me, because ever since I kissed her that day in the woods, she's been ignoring me. I don't know if it's because she doesn't return my feelings for her or if it's because she can't, but today I'm determined to find out. I think it honestly must have caught her off guard, which is ridiculous because I've been in love with her for years now. Everyone knows it… except for, I guess, her. For someone with such amazing sight, she's remarkably blind when it comes to how I feel about her.
I'm angry at Peeta, of course, which I guess isn't fair of me but I really couldn't care less. It's natural that I hate him, since if he had never entered the picture Katniss and I might be hunting together as usual today with no need to even have this discussion. This strange, blonde baker's boy has become my greatest enemy and yet, I feel like I owe him. Because if it weren't for him, I don't know that Katniss would have made it home alive. So I'm grateful to him for protecting her, but I hate how he's made it so she has no choice but to return his love. Ever since he claimed that he was madly in love with her in that interview at the start of last year's Games, he's made it so he is her only option. After all, to the rest of the country I'm not even in the picture. I'm only her "cousin."
Regardless of how I feel towards him personally, I know I can't blame him entirely for this. My anger is directed at someone else. I know who I'm furious at, who I hate beyond reason, and it is not him.
It's the Capitol. The President. The Gamemakers. The citizens of the Capitol, who find teenagers being murdered every year to actually be an enjoyable bit of entertainment. The citizens of the Districts, who sit by as their own children are forced to battle to the death on television, forced to watch as the kids are either forced to grow up fast and learn to kill or to die themselves. I'm angry at everyone who still does nothing when the opportunity is right there.
And if I'm being completely honest, I'm angry at myself. I wish I could protect these kids- every year, as I watch the Games, I can only sit there and grit my teeth, wishing there was something I could do to save them. What will happen when Rory or Vick get picked out of the reaping ball? I'm too old to step up and take their place like Katniss did, no matter how much I want to, and I know that no one else is going to volunteer to take their place. But wishing isn't enough. It will never be enough. What we need is a full scale revolution, but I know that will never happen, not with communication between the Districts as restricted as it is. It would have to be all of us or none of us, and none of us is far more likely.
It's with the Capitol in mind that I whip out an arrow and shoot one of the wild turkeys that always runs through these woods. Cray, the Head Peacekeeper, loves them, and maybe I can sell this one to him for a good price. Yes, hunting is illegal, it's technically considered poaching, but I need the money and the food for my family in order to survive. There are only two options for me: die of starvation or break the law, and I know which one I'd rather do.
I stop, clean the arrow, and hang the dead bird from my belt. This should probably be enough. When I give the bird to Cray I'm convinced I'll get a good price for this turkey. I continue walking.
I've been hiking for a few hours now, annoyed that such valuable hunting time is being wasted simply to have a conversation with Katniss, but I have made up my mind that I will follow this path to the end. Wherever Katniss is, that's where I'll be.
I only wish it could be like that in real life. Always.
I love her. I can be honest enough with myself to admit as much. I've always loved her, from the moment I met her in the woods, and now I'm almost certain that she doesn't return the feeling. If she loves anyone, it would be Peeta, and a small part of me can't really blame her for her preference. He was the one by her side during the Games, not me. I haven't done much of anything for Katniss recently, not really. I'm just… well, useless.
Soon, the trail opens up into a large clearing, with a lake and what might be the remnants of houses on all sides. Only one house still stands, old and concrete, and I make my way over to the small house, knowing that's where she'll be. I can smell the smoke coming from the fireplace.
I walk over quietly, the snow crunching a little beneath my feet, and stand there in the doorway, unsure of whether I want to go inside or not. Finally I decide it won't matter either way- she'll still be engaged to Peeta, and I'll still be miserable. But for some reason I just can't get my feet to move any closer to her.
Katniss is sitting next to the fireplace on the hearth, warming her hands next to the little fire she has going. Her hair is in its usual braid, slung over one shoulder, and I can't help but notice how beautiful she is. I force myself to forget it. She and Peeta are together. Not me. Peeta.
Her grey eyes meet mine, and I can read her emotions perfectly. What I find surprises me.
She's hurting, too. I don't know if it's simply pain at my pain, or if it's pain because she honestly cares, but it's evident she's upset, and I don't know how I can fix it. Finally, Katniss speaks, her tone tired and hoarse.
"President Snow personally threatened to have you killed," she announces flatly, her tone lifeless.
I'm honestly not really surprised by this, and I'm definitely not scared. President Snow would be happy if I died?
Good. I'd prefer him dead, too. No love lost there.
"Anyone else?" I ask, but I'm preoccupied. I didn't come here to talk about the danger she thinks I'm in, but I know I need to listen to whatever she has to say.
"Well, he didn't actually give me a copy of the list, but it's a good guess it includes both of our families."
Huh. What's she done now? I finally decide it would be a good idea to come inside, and I go and join her next to the fire.
"Unless what?" I prompt. With the government, there's always an "unless." My voice is still almost absurdly upbeat, making light of the entire situation.
Katniss sighs, her eyes staring far into the distance at something I can't see. "Unless nothing, now." Her whole posture speaks to me. I've seen her like this before, when a trap doesn't set right or a prey escapes from one of her snares. It is her expression that means she thinks she's failed at something, that she'll never succeed.
Obviously I wonder what it is she thinks she's failed at, but I wait about a minute for her to explain what she means. I don't prompt her. When she says nothing by way of explanation, I roll my eyes a little.
"Well. Thanks for the heads-up." My tone is dripping with sarcasm, and for some reason I suddenly find this entire situation to be almost incredibly funny.
Katniss's head snaps up in anger, but she takes a look at me and begins to smile too, without having an explanation. The corners of her mouth are just turning upwards when she pulls them back down.
"I do have a plan, you know."
I know what she means- she thinks she can do something to save my life. She gets like that a lot. Where she thinks she can do anything she feels like, whenever she feels likes doing it. It's really endearing, usually, but right now it's just ridiculous.
"Yeah, I bet it's a stunner." I say. As if any plan of hers could save my life or my family if the President gets it into his mind that we'd be better off dead. I look at my hands and see the bag, Peeta's red gloves on top of the pile of things in there. I barely know what I'm thinking as I say, "Here. I don't want your fiancé's old gloves."
"He's not my fiancé," she explains, sounding part annoyed, part weary. "That's just part of the act. And these aren't his gloves, they were Cinna's."
Her stylist's gloves? Those I can accept.
"Give them back, then," I say. She hands them to me and our hands meet for the slightest moment. I'm tempted to kiss her again, but something inside me tells me that would be a really bad idea. Possibly the worst I've ever had. Instead, I simply slide on the gloves. They feel wonderful. Warm but flexible, and they fit perfectly.
"At least I'll be able to die in comfort," I say, not entirely sure that I'm kidding.
Katniss sighs again.
"That's optimistic. Of course, you don't know what's happened."
So tell me. I think. I say, "Let's have it."
And she gives it to me, the entire story that I've been waiting to hear.
She talks for a long time, and I finally get to know the truth. Haymitch says the Capitol thinks Katniss is rebelling against them? I can't believe that, even for one second. I know Katniss. The trick with the berries in the arena wasn't an act of rebellion or an act of love. She was just trying to save her and Peeta's lives, and that's honestly it. Because Katniss- the Katniss I've known for years now- wouldn't have rebelled like that on purpose, not in a million years. It's not that she doesn't despise the Capitol, because she does, it's just that she thinks about consequences, and she would have known the consequences of any form of rebellion would be severe.
As she tells me President Snow came to her house personally, telling her to act more in love with Peeta or he'd kill me, I take off the gloves and put them back into my pocket, feeling almost sickened by what I'm hearing. The President wouldn't have come all the way out to District Twelve unless he was very serious, in which case, Katniss is in a lot of trouble.
The President knows I kissed her. He thinks he can use me as blackmail against her. Well, he can't. Not for long, anyway. I want to get out of here, leave the Districts behind for good. It's a thought that has plagued me for years, but I don't know if Katniss would ever agree to it, and there is no way I could leave her behind. Especially not know that she's confirming all of my fears about her and the government and dying.
She keeps talking, saying that there's been tension in the districts, and when she says that three people were killed in District Eleven because of her, my face turns stony. It's whenever I hear about acts of violence like this that I start thinking about uprisings, and what exactly it would take to start a new revolution.
My mind is already racing, thinking about the people in the mines who might rebel with me. If we had an uprising we'd have to-
I suddenly realize I'm hardly listening to Katniss anymore, and I force myself to take a deep breath.
To control myself, I pull out the food from the leather bag and start to cook us a meal, toasting the food over the fire.
I'm cooking some cheese as she explains that the engagement was just a desperate attempt, a shot in the dark. She had hoped she could save me by it. I'm tempted to point out that to Peeta, that's probably not at all what it was, but I remain silent and think about this.
I'm a little amazed by it, frankly. What does President Snow think their little act will accomplish? Their love story will never be enough to defuse rebellion, if rebellion's what the Districts want. If a spark has seriously been started, Peeta and Katniss won't have any effect on it at all. It would be like trying to hide a fire by turning out the lights- all it'll do is make the tension more noticeable.
Katniss has been staring at my bare hands as she speaks, and I look down at them, a little self-consciously. I know they're not much to look at. Scarred, calloused, tough, my hands are the result of years of hard manual labor. And as she stares, I can't help but wonder what's so fascinating about them.
Finally, she ends her little confession spiel by telling me about her homecoming from the Victory Tour, and I try to think of a good way to reply.
"Well, you really made a mess of things," is all I can think of to say.
Katniss lets out a little moan. "I'm not even done."
"I've heard enough for the moment," I say. "Let's skip ahead to this plan of yours." I'm curious as to what she thinks she could possibly do to make this disaster any better.
She takes a deep breath, and then her grey eyes find mine. "We run away."
"What?" I can't believe what I'm hearing. The breath is literally knocked from me. It was the last thing I expected, because the last time I mentioned we do this, she made it clear the answer was an emphatic "No."
"We take to the woods and make a run for it." She explains, her voice hopeful and excited. I'm looking at her closely, trying to judge if she's serious. She stands up now, clearly annoyed and adds, "You said yourself you thought that we could do it! That morning of the reaping. You said-"
She doesn't need to remind me of what I said. If she really wants to, I'll go.
I'm overcome with such a sense of joy and relief that I put my hands on her waist, pick her up, and spin her around. I'm laughing, not able to control my almost dizzying amount of euphoria.
"Hey!" she exclaims, but I can tell she's happy at my reaction.
I finally put Katniss down, but my hands are still on her waist, holding her close to me. "Okay, let's run away."
At first she looks astounded, but then I see her relief. "Really? You don't think I'm mad? You'll go with me?"
"I do think you're mad and I'll still go with you," I tell her honestly. "We can do it. I know we can. Let's get out of here and never come back."
She stops looking so happy for a small moment. "You sure?" she asks. "Because it's going to be hard, with the kids and all. I don't want to get five miles into the woods and have you-"
"I'm sure." I interrupt. "I'm completely, entirely, one hundred percent sure."
I tilt my head down so my forehead meets Katniss's, and without knowing why, I pull her closer. We just stand there for a moment, next to the fire, the heat from the flames feeling incredibly good. She doesn't pull away. The fact that she looks so comfortable next to me makes me smile, and I whisper softly, "I love you."
This is the moment of truth. As soon as it is out of my mouth, I wish I could take it back, but I can't. I mean, it's true, I do love her, I'm just very worried about how Katniss will respond. There is a moment of silence and then she says in a strained voice, "I know."
It's the worst possible answer she could have given me. The joy I'd been feeling just moments ago vanishes, and as it does, I begin to move away from her. If that's how she feels, then-
Her hands grab my wrists, pulling me back to her. "I know! And you… you know what you are to me." she adds weakly.
It's not enough. Not for me. I break her grip on my hands effortlessly and step away.
"Gale, I can't think about anyone that way now." I can hear the pleading in her voice. Katniss wishes I could understand but I know I won't be able to. She continues. "All I can think about since they drew Prim's name at the reaping, is how afraid I am. And there doesn't seem to be room for anything else. If we could get somewhere safe… maybe I could be different. I don't know."
I cling to the small shred of hope that I still have. "So, we'll go. We'll find out." I say tonelessly, turning back to the fire. "But my mother's going to take some convincing."
"Mine, too." She frowns, not looking so happy either. "I'll just have to make her see reason. Take her for a long walk. Make sure she understands we won't survive the alternative."
"She'll understand," I say now, sure she will. "I watched a lot of the Games with her and Prim. She won't say no to you."
I remember watching the Games. It was torture for me, having to sit and watch and do nothing while my best friend was almost killed in numerous ways. Just because it was a mandatory viewing doesn't mean I had to enjoy myself as I watched. But the worst parts for me were the moments when Katniss kissed Peeta, and her mother would look at me, the pity in her eyes blaringly obvious. I didn't need pity. I only needed Katniss to stay alive.
"I hope not." she replies, a chill in her voice. "Haymitch will be the real challenge."
"Haymitch?" I am honestly astonished. "You're asking him to come with us?"
"I have to, Gale. I can't leave him and Peeta because they'd-"
I'm scowling at her. Of course Peeta is coming, too. I thought Katniss had meant it would be just her family and mine running away, but obviously she had other plans.
"What?" she demands. I can't stop myself from replying angrily.
"I'm sorry. I didn't realize how large our party was," I snap.
Katniss looks shocked at my outburst. "They'd torture them to find out where I was!" she exclaims.
I want to yell, "So let him die!" but instead I try to look at things slightly more logically. "What about Peeta's family? They'll never come. In fact, they probably couldn't wait to inform on us. Which I'm sure he's smart enough to realize. What if he decides to stay?"
Her expression wavers for a moment. "Then… he stays." Her voice cracks and the worry in her voice hurts. How can she care so much for him?
"You'd leave him behind?" I ask, trying to clarify. Maybe she'll say yes, but I know the answer is no. There's no way she would leave him.
"To save Prim and my mother, yes," she replies. "I mean, no! I'll get him to come!"
Good luck with that, I think.
"And me, would you leave me?" I demand solidly. "Just if, for instance, I can't convince my mother to drag three young kids into the wilderness in winter."
She doesn't know how to respond. "Hazelle won't refuse. She'll see sense."
"Suppose she doesn't. What then?" I need to know.
"Then you have to force her, Gale!" Her tone is rising and she looks angry. "Do you think I'm making this stuff up?" She might even be furious at me.
"No." I say, then change my mind. "I don't know. Maybe the president's just manipulating you. I mean, he's throwing you your wedding." I almost stutter over the word. "You saw how the Capitol crowd reacted! I don't think he can afford to kill you. Or Peeta." But he might kill me. I'm expendable. "How's he going to get out of that one?"
Katniss snaps. "Well, with the uprising in District Eight, I doubt he's spending much time choosing my wedding cake!" she yells.
It takes a moment for this to sink in, and when it does, I can't conceal my surprise or my excitement. I take a deep breath in. "There's been an uprising in Eight?" I ask, hushed.
Katniss tries to back her way out of this. "I don't know if it's really an uprising. There's unrest. People in the streets-"
I grab her shoulders and force her to face me. "What did you see?"
"Nothing! In person. I just heard something." I need to know what she knows. If there's an uprising in Eight… there could be one anywhere. Even District Twelve. "I saw something on the mayor's television. I wasn't supposed to. There was a crowd, and fires, and Peacekeepers were gunning people down but they were fighting back…" She bites her lip and I just look at her, waiting for her to continue, trying not to let my hopes get too high. "And it's my fault, Gale. Because of what I did in the arena. If I'd just killed myself with those berries, none of this would have happened. Peeta could have come home and lived, and everyone else would have been safe, too."
But I would never be happy, I think.
"Safe to do what?" I ask, trying to sound reassuring. "Starve? Work like slaves? Send their kids to the reaping? You haven't hurt people- you've given them an opportunity. They just have to be brave enough to take it. There's already talk in the mines. People who want to fight." It's true. Bristel and Thom from my crew, for starters. "Don't you see? It's happening! It's finally happening! If there's an uprising in District Eight, why not here? Why not everywhere? This could be it, the thing we've been-"
"Stop it!" She interrupts. "You don't know what you're saying. The Peacekeepers outside of Twelve, they're not like Darius, or even Cray! The lives of district people- they mean less than nothing to them!"
Why doesn't she see it?
"That's why we have to join the fight!" I reply sharply. It's so obvious to me, why can't she see this is a great chance, an opportunity to finally fix things? To get rid of the Capitol and stop the Games for good!
"No! We have to leave here before they kill us and a lot of other people, too!" Katniss is yelling at me, but I don't care. I shove her away. The Capitol is already killing hundreds of people. I think. They've threatened to kill me personally. If I'm going to die anyway, it might as well be for a cause.
"You leave then," I say darkly. "I'd never go in a million years."
"You were happy enough to go before!" Katniss sounds exasperated. "I don't see how an uprising in District Eight does anything but make it more important that we leave. You're just mad about-" She breaks off and I can tell from her expression she was about to mention Peeta. My expression twists for a moment at the thought of him, but Katniss quickly asks, "What about your family?"
"What about the other families, Katniss? The ones who can't run away? Don't you see? It can't be just about us anymore. Not if the rebellion's begun!" I shake my head in disgust, wondering how she can really be so blind to all the possibilities. "You could do so much."
My gaze falls on the gloves at my belt and I throw them to the ground at Katniss's feet. "I changed my mind. I don't want anything they made in the Capitol."
And I walk out of the house, back to the path, leaving a very shocked Katniss behind me.
This last comment was a dig at her, and I guess I should feel sorry for saying it, but I don't. I just can't understand how she doesn't see this as the miracle it is. An open act of rebellion that could very well turn into a revolution, and if there's a revolution, I know where I need to be. Here, In District Twelve.
The thing about rebellions is that you have to have someone who's brave enough to start one, to whisper treasonous comments in people's ears, to pass on revolutionary notions, to go against everything they're told to believe. The people in the mines have already begun this, but the problem is that many of them are afraid of the consequences, just like Katniss. That's what makes me different. I know the consequences, but I've never been worried about them, and in a situation like this one, the outcome can be nothing but good. We already have the Hunger Games. What else can the Capitol do to us?
I'm well-liked in the mines, even respected, and I know that if District Twelve ever does decide to rebel, I'll need to be up at the front lines of attack, telling people that this is what we need to be doing.
And that's the real reason I could never leave, not now that I have hope. Because I need to be ready at any moment for a warning, for a sign that the people who agree with the rebellion are ready to make their stand.
After the long hike back, I leave my bow and arrows in the woods and crawl back through the hole in the fence into the Meadow. The electricity is off, as always, and I have my turkey with me, so I decide the first place I'm going to stop is Cray's house, to sell him the bird.
I walk down the streets of the Hob, nodding hello to some of the other black-market dealers, but I'm in no mood for casual conversation. I just want to get rid of the stupid bird and get my money and go home.
Cray's house is as it always is, large and stunning, and as usual part of me is disgusted by it. He hardly does his job, he works for the Capitol, and he's one of the Capitol creeps who mess with the local girls. Actually, there are a few there now, along with other people who are milling about in the streets.
I go around to the back of the house, ring the doorbell and wait for Cray to open it, ready to haggle over the price. He usually pays pretty well.
I'm thinking about my argument with Katniss and wishing that she would see sense when the door opens.
It's not Cray standing there. Instead is a new man in the Peacekeeper's uniform, his hair short and grey, his hard face long and angled, and the contempt for me obvious in his black eyes. I can't understand why he hates me so much. I don't even know him.
"Um. Is Cray home?" I manage to get out, wondering if this man is a guest.
He smirks at me a little.
"No, Cray is not at home, nor will he be in the near future. Don't get too comfortable waiting." His pitch black eyes land on the dead turkey in my hands and his expression hardens, his eyes narrowing.
"What's your name, boy?" he demands. Then I get it. He's not from District Twelve. This man is actually upset that I've been hunting.
"Gale Hawthorne," I reply, because I don't know what else to do. I know hunting's illegal, punishable by death, and I really don't feel like dying in the near future. My mind is whirring, trying to put a spin on the situation so there's at least a chance I'll make it out of here alive.
"You're under arrest for poaching on government land."
I can't believe it. No one gets arrested for hunting. I can't even think of a way to defend myself. Thread calls back into the house, calling for two more Peacekeepers who I suppose were in some sort of meeting.
"Take the turkey from him." he commands. They do so, grabbing it from my disbelieving hands with apologetic looks on their faces.
"Yes, Mr. Thread," one of them murmurs. Thread.
"What happened to Cray?" I hear someone on the street whisper. A crowd seems to have gathered, watching as the two Peacekeepers tie my hands behind my back with rope.
Thread looks thoughtful. "Now, tell me, Hawthorne, how exactly did you kill this bird?"
I think quickly, trying to decide what to say so I don't get shot.
"Well, sir," I say, making my voice waver (it's not that hard, I'm absolutely terrified), "It was wandering around the Seam, sir. Right there on the street in front of my house! I guess it must have gotten over the fence somehow and I figured it wasn't much use alive and, well, I stabbed it with a stick, sir. I'm really sorry, sir, I was just so hungry. I didn't think that counted as poaching."
Thread looks disapprovingly at me, and I'm tempted to stare right back, but this is not the time to be bold or proud. No, if I want to remain alive, I need to grovel for this man, and for some reason I can't get myself to do it.
Sometimes I really am such an idiot.
"Unfortunately for you, that's still a crime, and one punishable by death. It's too bad, though, really. I'll feel awful about killing you." he says sarcastically.
I can't help it. A sneer starts to form on my face and I try to wipe it off as soon as I realize it's there, but it's too late. Thread has seen how much I hate him, and now I really am going to be in some major trouble.
He checks that the knots on my wrists are good and tight (they are, I can barely feel the circulation in my hands) and then commands the two Peacekeepers to take me to the square, where I will be "tried" and punished by whatever it is he finds appropriate. My life is entirely in this strange man's hands.
I trudge to the town square, held between the two white-clad figures, wondering how on earth I got myself into this mess. The day had seemed so promising and now… well, I'd be lucky if I live even five minutes longer.
Thread stands next to me, and it's clear that all the people in the crowd are trying to figure out who I am and what I've done to get punished. He clears his throat, then says loudly, "Gale Hawthorne, you have been arrested for poaching, a crime that only results in death. How do you plead?"
At the sound of my name, the silent crowd erupts into whispers and conversations, and I can catch snippets of what they are saying.
"Gale? But he's always hunted."
"Who's the new Peacekeeper? Cray loved Hawthorne."
"They can't seriously be going to kill him, can they?"
It is the last question that I wonder myself, and my stomach is rebelling at the thought that these might very well be my last minutes of life.
All I can do is pray that my mother and siblings aren't in the crowd. If I'm seriously about to die, I don't want them seeing it.
"Guilty," I mutter.
Thread acts like he can't hear me. "Excuse me?" he demands. He knows full well I'm guilty and he's just using this entire situation to make an example of me to the rest of the District. I get it. If he's the new Head Peacekeeper, my entire district is doomed. He repeats the question louder. "Gale Hawthorne, how do you plead?"
"Guilty." My answer rings in the silence of the square, and I can feel every eye is trained on me. My heart feels like it is about to leap out of its chest. I've always known I could die for my hunting, but I never dreamed I actually would.
"Well then." says Thread quietly, so only I and the people in the front row can hear. "We're going to have to punish you then, aren't we."
"I suppose so, sir." To anyone else my sentence would have sounded completely polite, but I know that Thread is going to take it as me mocking him. I suppose he could just shoot me now, but after this I don't think that's going to happen. In fact, looking into his inky eyes, I know I'm going to get something far worse than a shooting.
"You are punished to a public whipping, to be carried out immediately." He announces loudly. The crowd gasps quietly. We have an old whipping post, but it hasn't been used since before Cray. I suddenly know that this will not be a set number of whips, but only until Thread gets tired of my pain. This could very well be a death sentence itself, but a far more painful one than what I was expecting. One of the Peacekeepers, Darius, I think, is commanded to tie my wrists to the pole, my back towards the crowd.
But first, he and several others remove my jacket, sliding it off and dumping it to the ground. Then someone tears at my shirt and I am powerless as they remove it, standing there in the cold, shivering as the chill wind hits my bare chest.
"I'm so sorry, Gale," Darius whispers to me as he binds my hands to the whipping post. I nod, showing him that I don't blame him for it at all, but he still looks very uneasy as another Peacekeeper hands Thread the whip.
Thread raises it above him and cracks it experimentally in the air. I jump and so do hundreds of others in the crowd at the noise it makes, and all I can think is that this is going to hurt very, very badly.
But it's when Thread hangs my turkey onto the post with a nail in its neck as a sign of what I have done that I decide that I am going to stage my own private rebellion. I'm not going to make a sound when he strikes me. After all, it may be a crime to hunt a turkey in the first place, but in my opinion- and just about everyone else's in District Twelve- it's a far worse crime to let a perfectly good dead turkey go to waste.
Thread looks at me, raises the whip (this time for real), and I grit my teeth in anticipation, my eyes on the ground. The only warning I have that it is about to hit me is the whistle through the air as it comes down, and then it collides with my bare skin.
The pain is awful and immediate, and I just barely hold my cry in. A small groan slips through my teeth, and I realize I had no idea how bad a whipping was. There's no way I will be able to keep up my vow of silence, especially not with the crowd the size it is, who are making the noises for me. They're gasping as they see my flesh, which I think may be bleeding already. Honestly I don't have any way to tell. All I can think about is how much I hate this man, how rebellion is the only answer. No one in the Capitol has to be punished for hunting- in fact, no one in the Capitol has reason to be hunting in the first place! They already have everything they need. And the fact that the Districts have to submit so fully to them- well that's the truly horrific part.
I decide I don't care how blinding the pain is, my sheer willpower will keep me from crying out.
It whistles again, cracks down on my skin, and I jerk, but since my arms are tied to the post I have no where I can go. In the silence between whips I can hear the crowd whispering, but I can't actually tell what any of them are saying.
Soon I have five down, who knows how many to go, and now I know for a fact my back is bleeding, because I can feel it dripping down my back and legs, and it is not a pleasant sensation. I wonder if Katniss is here, watching, and I decide that I'd prefer it if she wasn't. I've already seen her suffer and bleed in the Games, she shouldn't have to watch this happen to me.
I don't know if Thread is enjoying himself or not, but it seems like it. Around the tenth stroke, it seems like he's hitting harder now, and all I know is that I am no longer thinking straight, because when I look down, I become fascinated with the color of my blood.
I never knew blood could be so pretty. Of course, I'm now feeling disoriented, weak, dizzy, and maybe my blood isn't that exciting to anyone else, but I know for a fact that the color of the snow beneath me is the exact same shade as Posy's favorite color, a medium tone of pink. It startles me when I realize that all the blood is mine, and that it belongs inside me. I didn't think anyone could lose this much blood and live.
The next strike, I know I can't hold it in any longer.
When Thread hits me this time, I cry out. Not loudly, but loud enough that he can hear it. I want to curse myself for letting him get the better of me, but I can no longer think straight. All there is is the pain. I'm counting the strokes by the sounds I hear, because I can hardly keep my eyes open.
Whistle, crack, a cry, a gasp. Thread, the whip, me, the crowd. Over and over and over again. And now I am crying out, shouting as he cracks his whip onto my back.
Around the eighteenth stroke, my legs give out from under me, and the only thing keeping me up is my wrists. Still the pain keeps coming, and now I think I might be crying, but I'm not sure. I know that around the twentieth stroke, someone says furiously, "That's enough," and I think for a second that my punishment is actually over, and that I may be allowed to live. But now, there's a hollow thud, a gasp from the crowd, and someone is lying on the ground, unconscious. It's only a small pause, and then Thread's merciless beating continues. I can't even allow myself to think about who's unconscious next to me. I'm just focused on staying alive.
Around the twenty-fifth stroke, I am starting to wonder that maybe death is better than this, that I would prefer the serenity and quiet of whatever comes after to what is happening to me now, and I know I'm losing my grip on reality. I don't know how much longer I can survive this, and all I can think is that even if death isn't approaching, unconsciousness certainly is.
At the thirty-second stroke, I know I can't hold out any longer. I know I'll soon be dead, and in a strange sort of way, I welcome it. At least my family didn't get in trouble. At least the president has one less person to use as blackmail against Katniss. And at least Katniss will never have to worry about if she loves me or Peeta, because he'll be the only option left.
The blackness rolls over me like a wave, and I sink into unconsciousness.