Gale's P.O.V
~3 years after the rebellion~
District 2 is nothing compared to District 12. It's too mechanical, too exact. District 12, even though a fence surrounded the place, offered so much freedom. A pine scented breeze would always sweep through the streets and the dirt was warm, begging to be run through. District 12 is a happy place. District 2 is a jail.
I work every day, no breaks. This does bring some comfort though, a distraction. My work is a distraction from my past. The bomb explosion still haunts me during day and night with no rest. The yearn for the woods ache my bones as I plan out yet another spread sheet for the government. I could travel back to District 12, I have enough days scheduled for vacation to take a journey. But I'm running away from my past, and going there is like bringing it all back.
Her name follows me everywhere I go, begging to be brought to my attention. Katniss. That name is like a dagger to the heart, a shear pain to my nerves. Maybe District 2 is a jail because she isn't here with me. Katniss used to be the only one to bring me joy and that freedom that I so greatly desire. Yes, fighting against the Capitol and winning was a great success to celebrate, but the smile that was so rarely uncovered is what will bring me my own smile.
I can't do that to her. I can't just show up to her doorstep and expect her to bury the past as I have tried to do. And what if, when I show up at her doorstep, it's not her that answers? If that blue eyed baker boy opens that door, my heart would shatter. Or worse, a little boy or girl who has her eyes and and his hair could come and ask who I am. I would tell the child my name and they would stare at me curiously and say they never heard of me. She would never tell them stories of us. The worst part is, I don't blame her.
I simply cannot pretend to forget her, though. I'm just lying to myself. I want to escape this concrete jungle of a city and run through the woods that are so familiar. I need to see what has become of my safe haven, but I just can't. I tried calling her once, when the alcohol was burning my insides.
"Hello?" a smooth voice answered.
My heart had sunk into my chest as soon as I heard who had answered.
My mind was foggy, and all I could make out was "Is there a Ms. Everdeen here?"
A laugh was barely audible in the background.
A deeper voice answered, "No, but there is a Mrs. Mellark."
I hung up. I never called again.
That's what I'm trying to forget, and between the nightmares that haunt me and the voices that echo in my mind, I'm not making much progress.
