A/N: I'm alive, I'm alive, I'm alive! I am not dropping this story I promise. I have written this chapter as it comes to me rather than forcing it out. I have a lot of emotional investment in to writing an extension/fourth book, epic epilogue to the Hunger Games and doing it well so I am at the mercy of when the words want to flow. Thank you so much for those who continue to review my stories as fitfully as they start and stop. You are all so encouraging and I want each update to be worth the wait.
Absolution
Sinking815
October 11th, 2014
"You know you came from it,
And someday you'll return to this
Elm-shade red-rust clay you grew up on." ~florida georgia line, "dirt"
His eyes wander the newly constructed town square. He can see the brightly colored awnings, the fresh paned glass storefronts, the smiling faces drifting up and down the sidewalks.
Gale promptly stumbles off one of those said sidewalks and is nearly run down by a car. He grimaces and raises his hand in apology but he still sees the angry shake of the driver's head when the car whips by.
Gale thinks he is amused at how new that experience is to him. He's walked this square so many times in his previous nineteen years of residence and never once had the pleasure of falling off the curb into oncoming traffic.
The solid resonance of his boots on the cobblestone path sounds more sure and steady to his ears than did the crunch of dusty gravel. There's an aura of permanence in this square, one that was obviously vacant when buildings and lives settled by the wayside beneath ash.
He frowns at the clean smooth stones beneath his feet and wonders if they have street sweeps here too.
Of course he realized that District 12 had changed. That coming back would be the same in some ways and different in a lot of others.
Change was inevitable, his twenty-five years of life had taught him that much. But Gale never thought that his deliverance would be as well.
He had put a lot of time and effort into circumventing Paylor's attempts to bring him back.
At first, she had tried subtlety, claiming one of the districts was in desperate need of the leading director of the Rebuild. He'd claimed he'd take a look when he had time, only to later find that District 12 was the title of the file. Paylor found every single folder promptly returned before her office opened the next day.
Then, she tried guilt trips. The longer he refused, the more she pulled on his personal ties. She'd never say her name outright. No, that was the quickest way to ensure his negative response. But Paylor soon recognized that though Gale's heart ached to see his family again, his bullheadedness about her staved off the longing for a family reunion.
After three months went by without any pleas, hints, suggestions, or prayers, Gale was beginning to think he had won.
Until four days ago, he opened the sealed file he found waiting for him on his desk.
Director Hawthorne:
You presence is mandatory during the renovation and reconstruction of the mines in District 12. Enclosed you will find your travel documents and overview of the building schedule. Expenses will be paid in full.
I am done asking nicely.
Regards,
President Paylor
PS: Sorry.
And so Gale finds himself walking streets he only intended to walk in his worst nightmares and his best dreams. His feet still remember the winding way to his old house, but it shocks him when he sees the new building in its place nonetheless.
The late afternoon summer sun glints off the pristine siding with a lazy haze. The shutters are all present and painted a beautiful charcoal, the edges clean and crisp. It's bigger but not boastfully so, and though Gale was instrumental in reviewing the construction plans, he still can't reconcile his old memories with this new reality.
He thinks there may always be a part of him that will only see the gray.
The breeze blows gently down the street just like it always did, but instead of stirring up thick dust, it catches the lilac ribbons on the summer wreath on the front door. The purple bow is a perfect complement to the decoration, full of green and daises and life. Except for one yellow flower that draws his eye, its vibrancy almost so brilliant it casts a shadow over its neighbor flowers. Gale steps closer to peer at it and the familiar scent of its petals makes him backpedal with visceral panic.
Suddenly, that same flower is delicately tucked into the golden hair of two long braids. He tries not to let his mind's eye catch the little girl's own bright blues but she does and she smiles.
He didn't realize that flower was real. Alive when all the surrounding white was false.
But his heart pounds, his palms sweat, and Gale knows all too well that his horror is real and he needs to find his nerve but he's not going to find it standing staring at the namesake of that little girl.
He drops his small bag at the door and takes off, running for the one place that will always be a refuge in moments of crisis.
Gale runs until his lungs burn, until his eyes tear, until his sweat slips in rivers down his back. He runs past faces he might recognize if he slowed. He runs until his head beats with the rhythm of his heart and his pain is tangible spasms in his legs and chest. He runs until he expects a barbed electrified fence to stand in his way and stop him.
Gale doubles over in the middle of a meadow in full summer bloom. The sun is hot on his back and sweat runs into his eyes when he looks over his shoulder to see if a little girl's ghost has followed. Nothing sways behind him except that grass dotted with purples, and yellows, and white. He chokes on a sob of relief and forces himself to stand, his chest still pumping with the dregs of terror.
Then he sees the gravestones.
Boulders of varying size haphazardly spread across the Meadow like sentinel troops quietly manning the fallen they represent. It's breathtaking and not in a good way.
Gale turns his head left and right, but they stretch every which way he can see.
He is surrounded by death in a field of life.
A tranquil calm settles over Gale and he thinks that this is just some otherworldly feeling that graces a person that finds themselves immersed in a sea of lost souls. He thinks that if he just embraces it and wades through the stones that nothing will rise to trap him amongst them. That he can sneak his way through without the baggage he desperately does not want to carry.
As he walks, it strikes him that his eyes are actually seeking a name. Some of the stones are empty faces and he can only imagine a face that it hopes to represent. Some stones are engraved, most names familiar to him, but the countenances he remembers just bring a sadness bubbling beneath his simmering panic.
The past five years have taught Gale the difference between sadness and grief. Sadness is passive, an emotion you certainly feel, but it's like a choice. You can shut it off. Grief is active, an encompassing wave that drowns you despite the time and place you find yourself in. There's no rising to the surface.
The next stone is different than the ones before it. The name is been painted on with a beautiful flowery script. There are no dates to bookend the life of the girl it quietly lays for. Brilliant yellow namesake roses tied with handmade twine have been placed carefully so as to adorn the name, not obstruct it.
He falls to his knees to touch the name and those flowers.
Primrose Everdeen
Gale thinks he's been drowning for five years now.
The tears come hot and fast, and Gale feels as if he's being ripped in two. He is not a stranger to feeling completely and utterly helpless, but the level he feels now is the blurred line between helpless and hopeless. He wants her back. He thinks it would be so much better if he could just bring her back. This pain would simply melt away and he could hold her and whisper how sorry he was and is. How he would do anything to give her back. To personally deliver her to Katniss.
Gale goes hollow at the name. He stares at the gray stone and sees her gray eyes instead. He hasn't thought her name for this very reason. He's entranced and haunted and when he hears her voice, it holds the same malice it does in his dreams.
"Get. Up."
He thinks this is horribly cruel that his mind can recreate her voice in such perfect detail at the mere thought of her name.
But a twig snaps beneath a booted foot and a shadow spares him the heat of the sun on his head.
This is not a dream.
"I said get up!"
Gale looks up to see Katniss for the first time in five years, and finds himself at the end of her arrow and fury instead.
~Fin